Mary Berry 1802
Géricault Life
Mary Berry and her friend Mrs. Damer, an English artist and actress, arrived in France in March, 1802. In many ways, Ms. Berry arrived searching as much for the past as the present. That said, Mary Berry’s keen eye, intelligence, and familiarity with France inform her observations of life in Paris in 1802. We begin with the pairs’ arrival in Paris on March 8th, their visits to shops, theatres, and the homes of the new nobility. We conclude with their visit to the ball at the Hotel de Longueville and the exhibition of David’s ‘Rape of the Sabines‘ a month later.
“…Sunday, 14th.[March, 1802] — Not a single tree cut down in the road between Chantilly and Paris. The château at Chantilly totally demolished; the stables remained, and have been used as dragoon barracks. The town through which we passed (for the inn, a new one, is beyond the town) looked, I thought, much worse than formerly. At a village between Lusarche and Ecouen, where there is a large stone church undefaced, many people were going to church. At another village, upon another undefaced church the words Temple de la Raison were painted over. Most of the churches between Chantilly and Paris are less injured than any that we have yet seen. I wish I could say as much of the venerable and beautiful church of St. Denis, now christened la Françiade, but universally called St. Denis. Its roof is more than half off, that is to say, nothing but the broken charpente left, which has the most melancholy appearance possible, and one of its spires is quite destroyed, down to the tower, from which it rose. The corresponding spire seems to have been spared, and the portail and the beautiful Gothic tracery of the east window appeared to me, as I saw it (en passant), not much injured. The entrance to Paris this way was never striking, and we had got into the Chaussée d’Antin, now called the Rue du Mont Blanc, and stopped at Perrégaux’s* door, before I knew where we were. (*Jean Frederic Perrégaux, Senator and President of the Bank at Paris, was born at Neufchatel, in Switzerland. He established one of the first banking houses in Paris, and was much favoured by Napoleon. — Dict. des Contemporains.) The Boulevard struck me, as it always did, with its appearance of gaiety, though I think the large houses looked less well painted and less well kept up than they used to be. From Perrégaux’s door we drove to the Hôtel de l’Empire, Rue Cerruti, a street above the Boulevard, where we had taken an apartment. The salon was adorned with great glasses and expensive pieces of furniture, but was by no means as comfortable as any apartments I ever occupied before in Paris, and is at the enormous price of eighteen louis for fifteen days, or thirty for a month. After a little murmuring, and a good deal of regret at losing time in getting settled, we sent the maid and the courier in search of another in the Faubourg St. Germain, the quarter of Paris to which we were both most accustomed. After a tedious absence they returned, having been in more than half-a-dozen hotels which were all full, but saying that we might have the first floor of the Hôtel d’Orléans, Rue des Petits Augustins, for the next day, at the rate of five louis a week. The hotels in the F. St. Germain are no longer the fashion, as they used to be. The brilliant quartier is the one we left, and is so far convenient that is now near all the theatres, and in the Hôtel de l’Empire there are certainly most elegant apartments, and indeed they ought to be so, for Mr. Caulfield, a young Irishman, was occupying one for which he paid ninety louis a month. The rest of the house was full of English. We hoped, in spite of our unsettle state all the morning, that in the evening at least we should be able to go to some of the theatres in some loge grillée of Perrégaux’s, as in former days. Mais, point de tout, Perrégaux never came; and we spent the evening in posting our journals, not without often complaining, with Titus, diem perdidi.
Monday, 15th. — Left the Hôtel de l’Empire in a fiacre, of which, bye-the-bye, there are more than ever at Paris, and certainly better than they used to be, though by no means ‘good carriages,’ as in England we heard they were. There are as many chariot-fiacres as coaches, and, in addition to these, there are long stands of cabriolets to hire in the same way, in almost every quartier of Paris, and both the horses, the harness, and the carriages are much neater and better-looking than one could possibly expect. They have all a number painted upon them, as the hackney coaches, and are obliged at night to have lamps lighted and at all times a grelot [bell] under the horse’s neck or somewhere about the harness. So have all the cabriolets belonging to individuals, and all are under the same obligations with respect to lanterns and grelots. In our chariot-fiacre (chariots seem to be considered as the genteeler of the two) we arrived at our Hôtel d’Orléans, where I found not one pin had been altered since I knew it sixteen years ago; consequently, it was not a little dirty as to hangings, paintings, and furniture.
Received a visit from Barrois, [almost certainly Louis-Théophile Barrois (1780-1851) son of Pierre-Théophile Barrois] the son of a great bookseller here, whom we knew formerly with Edwards* in London, and whom Edwards had desired to come to us as soon as we arrived. (* Edwards, a very well-known bookseller in London: shop in Pall Mall.) From him, a very sensible, unpretentious young man, we learnt a number of things by no means favourable to the present state of affairs in this country, and from him and his sentiments could pretty well guess at the opinions, the fears, the prejudices, and the prospects of the far greater part of the better order of people, if not in France, at least in Paris.
At one o’ clock went to the Gallery of the Louvre. To strangers it is open every day (except the Decades) from ten till four, by merely showing their passports at the door. To give any idea of this gallery is quite impossible. You ascend to it (at present) by a commodious plain staircase, and first enter a large square room about twice the size of the exhibition room in Somerset House, lined with all the finest Italian pictures, very well placed as to light. Out of this room you enter a gallery — such a gallery! But such a gallery!!! as the world never before saw, both as to size and furniture! So long that the perspective ends almost in a point, and so furnished that at every step, tho’ one feels one must go on, yet one’s attention is arrested by all the finest pictures that one has seen before in every other country, besides a thousand new ones. The small pictures, and all those taken from palaces, are in their own handsome gilt frames, but the large ones and those taken out of churches are, for the present at least, only in flat frames of yellow wood. The first half of this gallery contains the Flemish, Dutch, and French schools; about the middle there is a recess on each side, from which commence the Italian schools. All I can say, and, indeed, all I could see, of the pictures was, that each of these general divisions contained all the noted and exquisite pictures that one had formerly admired in their separate countries. They appeared in very good order, and not as if they had been varnished or worked upon.* (*Upon further examination, I am sorry to say, we found this not to be the case with the Italian pictures of the old schools, which their reparations are destroying. I mean destroying the identity of the picture and the touch of the master. – M.B.) The light, too, is by no means bad, and if they had blinds to the windows, as is intended, would be as good as could be expected for such a multitude of pictures. In the same gallery, on the ground floor, are the statues, but here the space is divided into several different rooms (called by the different names of salle d’Apollon, salle des Muses, &c. &c.) or rather divisions made by columns, all open one to another. The walls are stucco, painted to look as if incrusted with red and green granite, in a fine, simple style, worthy of Italy, and at the same time very advantageous to the statues, which are all a thousand times better placed than ever they were in Italy, not excepting the Apollo, which stands in a niche at the end of the rooms and admirably lighted. Of the statues, their numbers, their beauty, the feelings they excited as old acquaintance, &c. &c., like the pictures I shall say nothing. In the gallery we met Mrs. Cosway,* (*Maria Cosway, daughter of an innkeeper of the name of Hadfield, at Leghorn, wife of the English artist of that name, and artist herself. After her husband’s death she went to Paris with the object of drawing the Gallery of the Louvre, and accompanying each separate drawing with the history of the picture and its painter. This intention was not fulfilled; but she remained at Paris, and became a devoted admirer of David the artist. After some years of residence in Paris, tired of the pleasures of the world, she retired to a convent near Lyons, of which she became the Superior. — Dict. des Contemporains.) who is etching a general view of it, with a little sketch of each of the pictures. She introduced us to a secretary or keeper, M. de la Vallée, a modest quiet man who seemed really to have taste, and showed us many things.
In the evening we had intended going to the Théâtre François, now called the Théâtre de la République, but finding no places either in the first or second row, we enquired of our valet de place (who in Paris are a sort of cicerones [guide for visitors], and used to be extremely clever in their office) in what other good theatre we were likely to get in. He carried us to the Théâtre de Vaudeville close by. We were shown into a box au premier rang, where only one man of very ordinary appearance was sitting in the front row. We supposed he would offer us his place, mais point de tout, he did not even look towards us; he never even made the least movement by way of inviting us to sit beside him. This is indeed a revolution in France, and such a one as I could not have believed if I had not seen it! We found ourselves in a good-sized theatre, rather dirty but prettily ornamented, and filled by people whose appearance certainly promised very little; but it is now quite impossible to judge from appearances in France as it was formerly, though from directly opposite reasons. We sat for a time behind our man, who, to complete the business, chewed tobacco, and at every instant spat into the empty place beside him! In time we obtained from the ouvreuse a stage-box, and were thus relieved from the neighbourhood of the spitting man, which really had made us sick. The appearance of the men in this theatre was still worse than that of the women – I mean more dirty and slovenly. More of them were powdered than would have been in England, but in great-coats, boots, and had in every way a neglected appearance. The women were none of them indecently dressed, but few smart and all unbecoming. The sortie of this little theatre is convenient, under cover, and one carriage only, being able to come up at a time.
Tuesday, 16th. — Went to deliver some letters of introduction to Madame Chabot de Castillane, to Madame de Beauvau, and Madame de Montemart, to Madame Louise de Tallyrand Périgord, to Madame d’Audenarde, &c. It used to be a necessary etiquette at Paris to deliver your letters yourself, and even to ask to be admitted before the people knew you, when they were to read the letter in your presence, that was to tell them who you were. But now sending them by a servant with a ticket would, I believe, do quite as well. Went to Madame le Roi, at present the Mademoiselle Bertin of Paris* (*The well-known Mdlle. Rose Bertin was dressmaker to Marie Antoinette. During the Reign of Terror she was visited by commissaries of the Government, desiring to know the amount and details of the queen’s debts to her; but apprised of their intended visit, she destroyed her accounts, and declared with unshaken firmness that the queen owed her nothing. Mdlle. Bertin died in 1813. – Dict. des Contemporains.) She is lodged in a ground-floor of a magnificent hotel in the Rue de Richelieu, now the Rue de la Loi. She was very civil, and not at all pert; but if she had anything pretty, treated us en dames étrangères, and showed us nothing that I should have liked to have worn, not on account of its singularity or youthfulness, but of its common vulgar look. Mrs. Damer ordered a bonnet (at the price of two louis) to be made on the model of one entirely of lace, which was to cost of seventy-two louis. The furniture of Madame le Roi’s apartment was elegant in the extreme, purple lustring, festooned à l’antique with a deep orange fringe. The chairs, &c. &c., mahogany, with the same furniture. Mahogany furniture is, I find, become very general at Paris. In the evening went to the Opera; in a box au premier, containing six places, for which we paid the enormous price of 57 livres. But the crowd is always great there, and on the beaux jours, of which this was one, no possibility of securing places in any other manner.
This theatre, built in the Rue Richelieau, is new and handsome. It has three rows of boxes, and some near the stage, for the people of the theatre. The ornaments are all in pale browns, and bronze, and gold, not very gay. The lustre or circle of Argand lamps by which it is lighted, in perfect taste. The pieces given were ‘Anacréon’ with a long dance introduced; and, at the end, Télémaque.’ Laÿs,* the first man of the opera, who was Anacreon, has a very fine voice, and the music very pretty, and they were all perfectly well dressed à l’antique. (*Francis Laÿs, born 1757, was originally destined for the Church; but in 1779 he appeared on the stage, and continued a favourite with the public till his retirement in 1822. – Dict. des Contemporains.) The head of Anacreon was perfect: but a French opera is always a dull thing. The dancing is certainly more marvellous than ever. I do not think it more pleasing. In the first ballet there was only one entrée of men, three together, all the rest were women, of whom six were capital dancers; but the women now dance in the style of the men, that is to say, with all the difficult steps and tours de force possible. A long pas de deux was performed with such a perfect ensemble and precision, that one was obliged to rub one’s eyes to feel sure it was not two machines moved by the same strings. ‘Télémaque’ was not half so well given as by D’Egville in London. Vestris was Télémaque — that style of dancing never was what suited him best — he is still marvelous and has movements that nobody else ever had, but he is grown so much thicker that his figure looks écrasé and his head too large; his wig was bushy light hair, curled all over. Mdlle. Clotilde was Calypso*, and at first I did not much admire her figure, which is remarkably tall, but when she came in dressed for hunting, she was the exact copy of the statue called the Diana Caciatrice, the drapery of which is open just above the knee, and in my life I never saw such perfect legs, nor legs so perfectly resembling those of the Apollo, into the attitudes of which they fell a thousand times. (*Clotilde Augustine Malfrattrai, born in 1776…In 1802 she married Boildieu, the composer, but her misconduct was such that in 1808 they were finally separated. She quitted the stage 1819, and died 1826.) All the other women dancers were dressed in one petticoat of white muslin, or something as thin, with another drapery of the same stuff arranged in various ways about half as long as the first, but both allowing the whole form to be fairly perceived up to the waist, covered with flesh-coloured tricot. Some of them had no covering above the waist but flesh-coloured tricot, with some little strap on one shoulder. The company at the Opera, though everybody was there, did not appear brilliant; the women all wrapped up in their frightful shawls, with heads by no means looking dressed, and the men, even at this most favourite spectacle, have a neglected, dirty appearance. Indeed, it is at the sortie of the theatre that one of the wonderful changes that have taken place in Paris is very decidedly visible. That of the Opera, where one used to see brilliant groups of all the young people of fashion, and all the fashionable filles who rivalled and surpassed them in appearance, is now the strangest collection of odd, blackguard-looking people that can be conceived. We stood for some time waiting for our carriage, and had the leisure to remark them. I did not see one woman who had the appearance of a gentlewoman, though there was one standing next to me for some time who had a lace veil over her hat which could not have cost less than sixty or eighty guineas, and a large real shawl nearly as costly. The order in going away is still very good in these great theatres; if one stays to the last, one is obliged to wait some time for the carriage, but it is sure to come up and get away without interruption or accident.
Friday, 19th. — In the morning at shops. Vaché, a great silk mercer, is lodged in a vast hotel, Rue Vivienne, under the same roof with Lignereuse, the successor of d’Aquerre, and likewise with a considerable dépôt of Sèvres china. This sort of shops being in great hotels is quite a new thing at Paris. Vachés magazin is in a very large apartment, and consists of everything that has to do with silk mercery, trimmings, &c. &c; it is reckoned the first magazin in Paris. Lignereuse’s disappointed me. There were fewer things than I expected; all in the most expensive, and very few, if any, in real good taste. Of mahogany and ormolu mixed together almost everything is now composed; and the ornaments of the candelabra, the pendules, &c., in a minute frittered style. The new Sèvres china, too, is not in pretty taste: tortoise-shell, steel, and all sort of odd dark colors form the ground of the cups, with gold borders upon them.
Dined at Madame Chabot de Castellane to whom Madame de Staremberg had given us a letter. We were appointed at half-past five. A prettyish house in a garden, Rue Plumet, Faubourg St. Germain. The lady herself looking cross, but civil and sensible. Company consisted of nine persons, of whom ourselves and the master and mistress of the house and the instituteur of their children (who dined at a side table) made five; the others were Madame de Staël, Mat. de Montmorency, M. de Crillon (a very gentlemanlike Frenchman of the best sort of middle-aged man). The dinner all served at once, except a remove of fish and four plates of vegetables, which made more meat on the table than ever I saw before in a French house. The dinner lasted a little shorter time than formerly.
Saturday, 20th. — Went to the Paper Magazine [wallpaper shop] on the Boulevard — formerly Arthur’s, now Robert’s Papers. All flock, of one colour, to look like casemir, with flock borders; very good effect. But here again the taste less good than I expected.
In the evening went with Mr. Jackson to make visits to some of the Ministers’ wives – to Madame Luçay, the wife of the Préfêt du Palais, and Madame Fouché, of the Minister of Justice. We sat out on this business a little before ten. Got to Berthier’s,* the War Minister, who received on this day. (* Louis Alexandre Berthier, born 1755; brought up as a soldier, he remained faithful for a time to the Bourbons, and assisted the escape of the aunts of Louis XVI. Under the republic he was made chef d’état-major to the army in Italy. In 1798 he commanded at Rome, when the Pope was deposed. It is said he unwillingly accompanied Buonoparte to Egypt, having fixed his attentions on an Italian lady. On the downfall of the Directory, 1799, he became Minister of War…He accompanied Napoleon to Russia. In 1814, he returned to his old allegiance, and in 1815 accompanied Louis XVIII to Ghent. Wishing to remain neutral, he retired to Bambert. Here he was murdered by six men in masks [this death may have been a suicide.], supposed to be emissaries of some secret societies, who, suddenly entering his room, thrust him of window into the street, from when he was taken up dying.) He is lodged in a great hotel, called the Hôtel de la Genèvre; the staircase dirty, and no appearance of servants or attendants. (At all the Ministers’ houses there are sentinels, not only at the door but in the antechamber.) The apartment very handsome. In the second room were a number of men only; in the third, where Berthier received (for he has no wife), about a dozen women, and a great many men in uniforms of some sort, either military or of the constituted authorities. Berthier received us very civilly. He is a little rather ill-looking man, with a crop curled head of dark hair; his dress the uniform of a Minister d’Etat — blue cloth, with a broad silver embroidery. But a greater revolution seems to me to have taken place in the race of tailors than in that of any other set of men. Nobody’s coat is now well made, and more especially the uniforms of the constituted authorities — they all look too long and too big; in short, like coats made by a village tailor. Cambacérès,* the Second Consul, was among the company; he came late, and was received without any sort of distinction. (*Jean Jacques Regis de Cambacérès, born at Montpelier Oct. 1783; died at Paris June 1824…) He is an uncommonly ill-looking shortish, thick man, with his eyes sunk in his head; his hair badly dressed; hie dress the undress uniform of the Consuls — blue velvet, with a broad gold embroidery, fustian breeches, and common turn-down boots. General Macdonald (he that commanded in Italy), neatly dressed in uniform, like a soldier, and with a very intelligent though not a noble countenance; the hereditary Prince of Orange, in his uniform; the President of the Tribunât, in his uniform — blue cloth, embroidered with gold, pantaloons, and hussar boots bound with gold tassels. We found ourselves almost immediately surrounded by a number of acquaintance whom we had met elsewhere — the old original Princess St. Croce, looking quite as young and well as she ever did in Italy, and quite uncovered as anybody in France; Madame Doria from Genoa, &c. &c. We were presented to a number of French women –Mesdames de Semerville and Joubert, Madame Le Conteuse, Madame de Marmont, Perrégaux’s daughter (married to General Marmont, a favourite of Buonaparte, Madame Visconti, a very handsome Italian, the mistress en titre of the master of the house; Madame de Staël too there. Most of the ladies loaded with finery of shawls, laces, and a good many diamonds, and abominably dressed; Madame Visconti well dressed in black velvet, with only diamonds in her head. The servants who served refreshments were in boots. The ladies sat all around the room, as in a small assembly in London; and the men stood in the middle….
Sunday, 21st.– Walked in the Tuileries from the Place de Louis XV to the door at the Pont Royal. The day was not fine, and threatened rain; however, as the Decade and the Sunday happened to meet, a good many people were walking in the alley next the Terrace des Feuillans; but there exists now little of that charming variety which used to distinguish the public walks of Paris. All the men are equally ill-dressed; and among the women the old costume of different états has almost vanished. The parterre before the Palaces is much prettier than it was: in each former division of parterre they have made a grassplat surrounded by borders, whch divisions are enclosed with a sort of rough treillage and very pretty shrubs and plants growing well within. Several of the statues have been removed from other places to the terrace immediately before the Palace.
In the evening at the Théâtre du Louvois, by far the prettiest I have seen in Paris, both as to coupe and decorations: the coupe is that of the burnt Théâtre Français; the decorations, a pink or dark buff-colored ground with arabesques, griffins, &c., in bronze color; the backs of the boxes painted as if hung with blue cloth or silk. The pieces given were ‘Les Provinciaux à Paris,’ followed by ‘La petite Ville;’ both most laughable comedies, or rather successions of scenes written by Picard,* himself an excellent actor in both pieces – indeed, all the characters were represented with that perfect naturel, that ensemble only to by found on the French stage. (* Louis Benedict Picard, dramatist, born at Paris 1769; died in 1828. His first production was ‘Le Badinage Dangereux,’ followed by a long succession of clever comedies. ‘Le Contrat d’Union,’ ‘La Petite Ville,’ and ‘Les Marionettes,’ are considered the best. He was also a writer of poems and of novels. – Rose’s Biog. Dictionary.) In the morning called on Madame de Stäel. Found her in an excessively dirty cabinet — sofa singularly so; her own dress, a loose spencer with a bare neck. The shops between its being both a Decade and Sunday, were nearly all half shut, and many altogether.
Monday, 22nd. — In the morning, Statue Gallery some brocantines [second-hand shops]. These shops at present contain treasures of old Sèvres china and rich ornaments of all sorts, which have been bought for nothing out of the great hotels, and are selling now for a fourth of their original price.
In the evening to Madame de Luçays, the wife of the Préfet du Palais. This again was an assembly about as numerous at that at Berthier’s, but less well composed as to women; here again, was all the Corps Diplomatique: Cardinal Caprera,* the Nonce du Papa, in his regular cardinal’s dress, (*Cardinal Caprera, born 1733; was sent to France in 1801, when the First Consul solemnly re-established the ordinances of religion. The Cardinal led the Te Deum that concluded the ceremony on this occasion; and in 1805 he crowned the Emperor Napoleon King of Italy. He died in 1810. – Dict. des Contemporains.) Cardninal Erskine,* in that of a monseignor; he is only a cardinal in petto as it is called, consequently has no right to the dress. (*Charles Erskine, born at Rome 1753; descendant of a Scottish family who followed the Stuarts into exile. He was made Cardinal by Pius VII and was well received by the First Consul. He died in 1811. – Dict. des Contemporains.) The same Italian squad of women and some French, but dreadfully vulgar-looking.
The apartment was too small for an assembly, but arranged prettily enough, painted to look like panels of satin-wood and mahogany. The mistress of the house a pretty and very civil little person; the master very civil too, bien coiffé and not in uniform. To this meeting we went at ten o’ clock, came back to our hotel a little before twelve to supper, and then started for a ball at what is called the Circle des Etrangers: it is given in a large and very handsome hotel near or upon the Boulevards, in the Rue Grange Batlière, and I believe the expenses are defrayed by a club of men. We are told that here we should see les nouveaux riches. If all the company consisted of them they are numerous indeed! It was a meeting of many hundreds, I think not less than three hundred or four hundred persons. There was a file of carriages of nearly a quarter of a mile long on the Boulevard, another in the street by which we came. In London this would have been the making of breaking a dozen carriages; here, some soldiers stationed on the Boulevard allowed one carriage of each file to come up successively. Of the dress and the undress of the women in the ball, and the appearance of the men, and indeed of the whole company, I can give no idea. The little coloured prints of the Paris fashions are exact unexaggerated representations of their dresses, but in reality they are seldom exhibited upon as handsome figures. Loads of finery in gold and silver, excessively fine laces, bare necks and shoulders more than half-way down the back, with the two bladebones squeezed together in a very narrow-backed gown; arms covered with nothing but a piece of fine lace below the shoulder; and trains that never ended: in short, an endless variety of bad taste, without one single figure that one’s eye could repose on with pleasure. Such were the women. Among the men, in vain I looked for les merveilleuses et les incroyables. A general unsmartness of appearance pervaded them all; and even those whom we saw dance (and excessively well) a French country dance. We left the ball between one and two o’ clock, with people still coming in. It continues all night, and the company sup at any time they like in separate rooms. I must not forget to say that these extraordinary figures of men and women waltzing together, in the slow and deliberate manner in which in France they think it graceful to perform this dance, was ludicrous in the extreme. From every circumstance, both of the meeting and of the people composing it, it was nearly impossible to believe oneself in Paris; but then I should add we were told that the principal part of the company was what they call the second order of the nouveaux riches….
Thursday, 25th. — In the morning, to the Musée des Monuments Nationaux, which occupies the whole emplacement of the Convent des petits Augustins. Here they have brought together all the figures of their kings from St. Denis and every other place; all the tombs and monuments of their great men and women; all the tombs and monuments of their great men and women; in short, all the spoils of their churches and convents from almost every part of the country, and everything of former ages in way of sculpture, which the Vandalism of the present time in the moments of effervescence left undestroyed. These are partly arranged and arranging (for there are a vast number of workmen now employed here by a M. Le Noir) in large salles, some formed by the church, and others by the cells and dormitory of the monks, and everything is thrown together according to their centuries, — that is to say, all the sculptures and tombs of the thirteenth century together, then of the fourteenth, and so on. We had only times to give a rapid coup d’œil, but M. Le Noir gave us tickets to revisit the Musée when we pleased. It is curious to observe the rapid decay of the art from the days of Francis I to those of Louis XIV. The admired tomb of Cardinal Richelieu, which happens to be placed in what was the Capucins’ Church, and surrounded by a number of tombs of the former period, will not bear any comparison with them. In the garden surrounded by the cloisters are hundreds of figures yet unplaced: a beautiful one of Ignatius Loyola, in marble; a whole-length bronze of Louis XIV, a boy, very clever. At all these museums and collections one must be an artist and only an artist, to admire without regret or often without indignation. In the large garden of the convent, which is prettily planted, M. Le Noir is arranging tombs and cenotaphs to all the great geniuses of France. Here he has (or says he has) the heart of Molière and the bones of Racine, &c. &c.; in short, he calls it the Champs Elysées. This said M. Le Noir, the only violent Jacobin (in conversation) that I have heard, is the only person viséed in his discourse, towards the abuse of religion, &c.
In the evening were were presented by Mr. Jackson to the Second and Third Consuls; we went first to Cambacérès’, who inhabits the Hôtel d’Elbœuf: we found him in the second room of a large apartment on the ground-floor, lined entirely with Gobelin tapestry, Turkish stories, after designs of a French painter; when admiring its freshness, he (M. Cambacérès) said it had been up above sixty-four years, and is certainly still more brilliant than even pictures for furniture.
The company consisted of a circle of men all standing as at a levée, in the middle of which we were presented to the consul, and led by him to a row of chairs, where were ranged about eight or ten women, all of them the wives of some of the constituted authorities; they were only in demi-toilette, as this is not called an assembly. Most of the men in uniforms, military or civil. M. Cambacérès manner is very civil; he spoke as much to us as in such a meeting one can expect, and asked us to come to his next assembly on Septidi (Sunday).
From hence went to Le Brun’s* (*Charles François le Brun, Duke of Piacenza, born 1739; deputy to the States-General 1789; appointed Third Consul Dec. 1799…He died in 1824); he is lodged in that part of the Tuileries called the Pavillon de Flore entered from the corner of the Great Cour. The apartment is small, not magnificently furnished like the others, but containing some good pictures. Here was just the same sort of meeting as at Cambacérès’, indeed many of the same faces who had followed or preceded us there; amongst the rest General La Fayette* was announced (*Marie Jean Motier, Marquis de la Fayette, born 1757, at the Castle of Chevagnac in Auvergne. As a general and as a politician he occupied a prominent place in three great revolutions, and acquired fame in both hemispheres….); he was in no sort of uniform – a plain blue coat, round hat, and cropped head; he is rather a gentlemanlike, sickly-looking man, but as I never happened to see him before, I am no judge how much he is changed. I observed that two young men, the one General De la Roche, the other the general who commanded at Porto Ferrajo; neither of them spoke to him. Cambacérès has no wife or lady who does the honors. At Le Brun’s (who is a widower), there was an old vulgar-looking housekeeper woman, some relation, to whom everybody made a bow; she came civilly and sat by me, but she was so entirely ignorant of everything around her, that she did not even know the names of anyone in the room. Le Brun was the son of a farmer of Vire, in Normandy, secretary to the famous Maupeou, for whom he wrote all the edicts and proclamations; called by Maupeou ‘Mon Bijou;’ was of the Constituant Assembly; then of the Conseils des Anciens, from whence, when Buonaparte came from Egypt, he was made Consul. He has the manners and appearance of a clever man; he recollected Mrs. Damer, from having seen her a long ago as when the Prince of Conti’s pictures were sold here in 1775. He is a man of letters, has translated ‘Tasso’s Jerusalem’ and the ‘Iliad of Homer’ into French prose.
After staying about half an hour at Le Brun’s, we returned where Barrois was to meet us, and changing our dress, that is to say, making ourselves less smart, we were conducted by him to one of the many public rooms open most nights for dancing in this great town. The one we chose, as the nearest, was called the Hôtel de Longueville, in the Place de Carouzel. It is a very long low room, painted in arabesques, very dirty, but very well lighted by the patent lamps suspended from the ceiling. We found this place at eleven o’ clock about half full of shabby-looking people; masks were admitted that night, so that a third of the company were in masks, which I regretted. After all the repeated histories one has heard of the indecency of the dress and manners in Paris, I felt some degree of uneasiness before I went in, for fear of seeing somewhat too much. My fears were quite superfluous. I never was in a more quiet decent assembly; there was not one woman dressed the least indecorously, not one half as naked as those at the Bal des Etrangers. Nor was there any impropriety of manners; there was indeed much less gaiety than I should have expected in such a meeting, much less than I have formerly seen in dances of this order of people in France. The dances were principally waltzes, for which there is such a rage at present, that in every society they have in a manner superseded their own pretty country dances, in which they excel, while they don’t waltz half as well as the Germans. All the women who dance in the sort of balls I am now speaking of, are sensées to be of bad character, which made the decency of their dress and manners the more remarkable. There were several bons bourgeois, both men and women, walking up and down the room, for it is only dancing which is forbid à des honnêtes femmes in these places. There were several women in men’s clothes, a fashion now very general in this order of people, sometimes for convenience, and at other times, I dare say, for less excusable reasons. There were likewise several men in women’s clothes, but these wore masks, or intended to do so. We remained at this ball nearly an hour, and left the room much fuller than when we entered. It was to continue all night.
Friday, 26th — In the morning, walked in the Champs Elysées from the Place de Louis XV quite up to the Barrière. It was between three and four o’ clock, and there was almost a string of carriages then going to the Bois de Boulogne — so much are the hours of Paris altered. The Bois de Boulogne is more than ever the fashionable rendezvous of all the world that have horses and carriages. Saw three women on horseback, well mounted, with hats and habits exactly like that of English women. The road upon each side of the pavé through the Champs Elysées very rough, and the walks through the trees are by no means in good order. There were not many people walking, though the day was fine and warm.
Wednesday, 7th. [April, 1802] — Went in the morning to meet Mrs. Cosway in the Gallery, to see David’s picture of the ‘Rape of the Sabines; ‘ but it happened to be the day of the Decade, on which it is shut to the world, to be swept and cleaned – certainly very necessary in so public a place. We went on with Barrois to see David’s picure, which is exhibited, for his own profit, at one shilling and six-pence a-piece. Barrois said that many other painters in Paris had attempted thus exhibiting their works, but nobody had found it worth their while but David; and I dare say very few people indeed except strangers go and see this picture. It is in a room by itself, and a glass so placed as to reflect it. It is worth seeing, as a picture in which the artist has done his utmost, and that utmost is something considerable. It is well drawn, and, generally speaking, well composed; the details well executed; the colouring of the two principal male figures too good — I mean out of harmony with the rest. Of mellowness it has none : it gave me the idea of a finely-coloured bas-relievo more than of a picture. The old French school rises greatly indeed, placed as it now is in the Gallery, not only by comparing it with other modern schools, but still more by the modern French…”