Over the Ocean Part 21

THE LOUVRE! Every letter-writer goes into ecstasies over it, is struck with wonder at its vastness, and luxuriates in the inspection of its priceless treasures. The completion of the connection of the Louvre with the Tuilleries, made by Louis Napoleon, gives a grand enclosed s.p.a.ce, surrounded on all sides by the magnificent buildings of this great gallery of fine arts and the royal palaces.

At one end, dividing the court-yard of the Louvre from that of the Tuileries, rises the triumphal Arc du Carrousel, erected by Napoleon in 1806, surmounted with its car of victory and bronze horses; and here the memory of the army of the first empire is perpetuated by statues of cuira.s.siers, infantry and artillerymen, in the uniform of their different corps, and the fashion in vogue at that time, while ba.s.s-reliefs represent various battle scenes in which they figured. It was in this open s.p.a.ce, now the most magnificent court in Europe, that the guillotine was first set up, before it was removed to the square which is now the Place de la Concorde. An iron fence runs across the court-yard at this point, making a division of the s.p.a.ce, as it is from an entrance in the palace, fronting this arch, that the emperor, empress, and imperial family generally make their entrance and exit.

The architectural appearance and ornaments of these elegant buildings combine to form a splendid interior, as it were, of this vast enclosed square; the buildings, fronted with Corinthian columns, elegant and elaborate sculptures, and statues, form a s.p.a.ce something like a vast parallelogram, their uniformity being interrupted by magnificent and lofty pavilions, as they are called. When we say the Boston City Hall is somewhat of a poor copy of one of these pavilions, it may give the reader an idea of what they are. Their fronts are adorned with great groups of statuary, wreaths, decorations, and allegorical figures, beautifully cut, and through their vast gateways ingress is had from the street. All along the front of the buildings, upon this interior s.p.a.ce, are statues of distinguished men of France. I counted over eighty of them. Among them were those of Colbert, Mazarin, Racine, Voltaire, Vauban, Buffon, Richelieu, Montaigne, &c.

The completion of the connection of the two palaces by Louis Napoleon has rendered this court-yard indescribably grand and elegant, while its vastness strikes the beholder with astonishment. The s.p.a.ce that is now enclosed and covered by the old and new Louvre and Tuileries is about sixty acres. An idea of the large amount of money that has been lavished upon these elegant piles may be obtained from the fact that the cost of the sculptures on the new part of the building is nearly half a million dollars; but then, perhaps, as an American remarked, it ought to be a handsome place, since they have been over three hundred years building it. Some of the finest portions of the architectural designs of the facade of the Louvre were completed by Napoleon I. from the designs of Perrault, a physician, and the author of fully as enduring monuments of genius--those charming fairy tales of Cinderella, Bluebeard, and the Sleeping Beauty. Perhaps the ornamental columns and beautiful decorations were something of a realization of his ideas of palaces of the fairies and genii, in his charming stories.

The work of improvement upon the buildings and court-yard of the Louvre is still going on, and the present emperor will leave here, as well as in many other parts of Paris, the impress of his power, as used for beautifying the French capital, and raising enduring monuments of the encouragement of improvements, progress, and the arts, during his reign.

We have been in and through the Louvre, not in one visit, but again and again, over acres of flooring, past miles of pictures,--a plethora of luxurious art,--days of wonder, and hours of sight-seeing. How many originals we have gazed upon that we have seen copies of in every style!

how many pictures of great artists that we have read of, and how many curious and wonderful historical relics and antiquities! What an opportunity for the student and the artist, what a source of amus.e.m.e.nt and entertainment, what a privilege, in these old countries, is the free admission to these costly and well-stocked galleries of art--here, where we may see hundreds of celebrated pictures and statues, any two of which would "pay handsomely," placed on exhibition in one of our great American cities; here, where there are seven miles of pictures, and their catalogue makes a thick book of over seven hundred pages; here, where, if you were to start and walk constantly, without stopping an instant to rest, it would require three hours to pa.s.s through the different apartments; here, where, perhaps, the American tourist or newspaper correspondent sharpens his pencil and takes a fresh note-book, with the feeling that it is a prolific field, but is overwhelmed with an ocean of art, and consoles himself with the thought that the Louvre has been so often described, written about, and commented on, that the subject is worn threadbare; and that the public has had enough of rhapsodies and descriptions of it.

And he is more than half right. The Louvre alone is a great exposition, that would suffice to attract thousands of foreigners to Paris. The number of visitors is immense. Galignani says that the produce of the sale of catalogues amounts to forty thousand dollars a year, and more than twenty thousand dollars per annum are taken for depositing canes and umbrellas at the door, the charge for which service is only two or three sous. It is best to avoid, if possible, the taking of canes, parasols, and umbrellas with you, as it may chance that you will desire to make exit at some point distant from that of entrance, and save the trouble of returning for the _impedimenta_.

I commenced with a determination, like many others, to see the Louvre thoroughly and systematically, and therefore began with the bas.e.m.e.nt story, entering the museum of a.s.syrian antiquities, thence into Egyptian halls of curiosities, where the visitor gets view of a large and interesting collection from the cities of Nineveh, Thebes, &c., the results of the researches and discoveries of French _savants_ and travellers in the East--vases, mummies, fragments of sculptured stones and figures, ma.n.u.scripts, besides articles of domestic use among the ancient Egyptians.

Here were the mirrors that Theban dames arranged their dark tresses at, and the combs, needle and toilet cases that they used; musical instruments, games, and weights and measures; articles of ornament, and of the household, that have been exhumed from the monuments of ancient cities--a rare and curious collection; then come the Algerian museum, the Renaissance sculpture gallery, with beautiful groups of bronze and marble statuary, dating from the commencement of the sixteenth century, among which is the celebrated one of Diana with the Stag, the likeness being that of Diane de Poitiers, mistress of Henry II.; then come the five different halls of modern sculptures, where we saw Canova's Cupid and Psyche, Julien's Ganymede and Eagle, Bartolini's colossal bust of Bonaparte, and groups representing Cupid cutting his bow from Hercules'

club, Perseus releasing Andromeda, and many others.

Next we reach the museum of antique marbles, a grand gallery, divided off into half part.i.tions, and rich in superb ancient statuary. One of the halls of this gallery is noted as being that in which Henry IV. was married; and here, too, was his body brought after his a.s.sa.s.sination by Ravaillac; but the visitor's thoughts of historical a.s.sociations are banished by the beautiful works of art that meet him on every hand. Here is Centaur overcome by Bacchus, the Borghese Vase, the Stooping Venus, Pan, the Three Graces, Hercules and Telephus, Mars, Cupid proving his bow, Dancing Faun, a magnificent figure of Melpomene, twelve feet high, with the drapery falling so naturally about as almost to cheat belief that it was the work of the sculptor's chisel; another magnificent colossal figure of Minerva, about ten feet high, armed with helmet and shield; the Borghese Gladiator, a splendid figure; Wounded Amazon, Satyr and Faun, Diana and the Deer, Wounded Gladiator, Ba.s.s-relief of triumphal procession of Bacchus and Ariadne, &c.

I am aware that this enumeration will seem something like a reproduction of a catalogue to some readers, though it is but the pencilled memoranda of a very few of the notable pieces in this magnificent collection, before which I was enabled to halt anything like long enough to examine strictly and admire; for the days seemed all short, our few weeks in Paris too brief, and this grand collection, with other sight-seeing, a formidable undertaking, as we now began to contemplate it, when I found myself still upon this bas.e.m.e.nt floor of the Louvre after nearly a day's time, and the thought that if my resolution to see the whole, systematically and thoroughly, were faithfully carried out, almost a season in Paris would be required, and but little time left for anything else.

I have seen copies, and busts, and engravings of the Venus of Milo a hundred times, but never was attracted by it enough to go into raptures over its beauty, being, perhaps, unable to view it with an artistic eye; but as I chanced to approach the great original here from a very favorable point of view, as it stood upon its pedestal, with the mellow light of the afternoon falling upon the beautiful head and shoulders, the effect upon me was surprising to myself. I thought I never before had gazed upon more exquisitely moulded features. The features seemed really those of a G.o.ddess, and admiration divided itself in the beauty of the production and the genius of an artist that could conceive and execute it. I am not ashamed to say, that during the hour I spent in the room in which this beautiful work of art is placed, I came to a better understanding concerning some of the enthusiasm respecting art manifested by certain friends, which I had hitherto regarded as commonplace expressions, or was at loss to understand the real feeling that prompted their fervor.

If the visitor is amazed at the fine collection of sculpture and statuary, what are his feelings at beholding the grand and almost endless halls of paintings as he ascends to the floors above! Here, grand galleries, s.p.a.cious and well lighted, stretch out seemingly as far as the eye can reach, while halls and ante-rooms, here and there pa.s.sages, and vestibules, and rooms, are crammed with the very wealth of art; here the _chefs d'oeuvre_ of the great artists of Europe, known all over the world by copies and engravings, are collected; and the pleasure of looking upon these great originals is a gratification not easy to be described.

The lover of art, as he pa.s.ses from point to point, from one great work to another, to each fresh surprise that awaits him, feels like shaking hands mentally with himself in congratulation at the enjoyment experienced in seeing so much of real and genuine art collected together, and under such favorable circ.u.mstances.

The paintings in the galleries are all arranged according to different schools of art. Thus the Spanish, Dutch, and German schools are arrayed in one gallery, the Italian in another, the modern French school in another; and these are further arranged in subdivisions, so that the student and art lover may study, inspect, or copy, in any department of art that he may desire.

What a host of masterpieces in the great gallery! And here were artists, male and female, copying them. Some, with little easel and chair, were merely sketching a single head from a group in some grand tableau.

Others, with huge framework, and mounted up many feet from the floor, were making full copies of some great painting. Students were sketching in crayon, upon crayon paper, portions of designs from some favorite artist. Ladies were making cabinet copies of paintings, and others copying celebrated heads upon tablets of the size of miniatures; and one artist I observed putting a copy of a group upon a handsome vase that was before him. Nearly every one of the most noted paintings by great masters had two or three artists near it, making copies.

The Grand Gallery, as it is called, is a quarter of a mile long, and over forty feet wide, and with its elegantly ornamented ceilings, its magnificent collection of nearly two thousand splendid paintings, including some of the finest masterpieces in the world, and superb vista, presents a _coup d'oeil_ that can hardly fail to excite enthusiasm even from those who are not professed admirers of pictures.

Think of the luxury of seeing the original works of Raphael, Rembrandt, t.i.tian, Rubens, Claude Lorraine, Holbein, Paul Veronese, Guido, Quintin Matsys, Murillo, Teniers, Ostade, Wouverman, Vand.y.k.e, David, Andrea del Sarto, Vernet, Leonardo da Vinci, Poussin, Albert Durer, &c., besides those of other celebrated artists, all in one gallery! And it is not a meagre representation of them either, for the Louvre is rich in works from each of these great artists. There was Paul Veronese's great picture of the Repast in the House of Simon the Pharisee, thirty-one feet long and fifteen high, and his Marriage at Cana, a magnificent tableau, thirty-two feet long and twenty-one high, the figures splendid portraits of celebrated persons; t.i.tian's Entombment of Christ; Raphael's beautiful picture of the Virgin and Child; Murillo's Conception of the Virgin, which cost twenty-four thousand six hundred pounds; Landscape by Claude Lorraine; a whole gallery of Rubens, and another of Joseph Vernet's Seaports; then there is the Museum of Design, of fourteen rooms full of designs, over thirty thousand in number, of the great masters in all schools of art. Here one may look on the original sketches, in pencil and India ink, of Rembrandt, Holbein, Durer, Poussin, and other great artists.

It would be but a sort of guide-book review to enumerate the different halls and their wonders, such as one that is devoted entirely to antique terra cottas, another to jewelry and ornaments of the mediaeval and renaissance period, another to specimens of Venetian gla.s.s ware, of exquisite designs and workmanship, another to bronzes, &c. The Museum of Sovereigns was interesting in historical relics; for it was something, remember, to have looked upon the sceptre, sword, and spars of Charlemagne, the arm-chair of King Dagobert, the alcove in the room where Henry IV. ("King Henry of Navarre") used to sleep; Marie Antoinette's shoe, her cabinet and casket; Henry II.'s armor, and the very helmet through which the lance of Montgomeri went that killed him in the tournament in 1559; Charles IX.'s helmet and shield, the coronation robes of Charles X., and a host of other relics that have figured in French history.

One room is devoted to relics of Napoleon I., and is called the Hall of the Emperor. Here you may look upon the very uniform that he wore on the b.l.o.o.d.y field of Marengo, a locket containing his hair, the flag of the Old Guard, that he kissed when he bade adieu at Fontainebleau, the veritable gray overcoat which he wore, and the historical c.o.c.ked hat which distinguished him, the c.o.c.kade worn when he landed from Elba, the great coronation robes worn when he was crowned emperor, his sword, riding whip, and saddle, the pocket-handkerchief used by him on his death-bed, articles of clothing, &c. The cases containing these articles were thronged, and the curious French crowd looked upon them with a sort of veneration, and occasional exclamations of wonderment or sympathy, as some descriptive inscription was read and explained to an unlettered visitor by his more fortunate companion.

But suffice it to say that the Louvre, with its superb collections, and its almost endless "Salles de --" everything, is overwhelming in the impression it gives as a wealth of art. It is impossible to convey a correct idea of it to the lover of art, or even the longing lover of travel who has Europe in prospect. In the words of the modern advertisers, it must be seen to be appreciated, and will require a great many visits to see enough of it to properly appreciate it.

Right opposite the Louvre, across a square, is the Palais Royal, attractive to all Americans and English from the restaurants, and jewelry, and bijouterie shops, which are on the ground floor, and form the continuous arcade or four sides of the square of the garden which they enclose. This garden is about a thousand feet long and four hundred wide, with trees, flowers, and fountain, and a band plays in the afternoon to the entertainment of the crowd of loungers who have dined at the Trois Freres, Vefour, or Rotonde, lounge in chairs, and sip _cafe noir_, or absinthe, if Frenchmen, or smoke cigars and drink wine, if Americans. The restaurants here and in the vicinity are excellent; but one wants a thorough experience, or an expert to teach him how to dine at a French restaurant; otherwise he may pay twice as much as he need to have done, and then not get what he desired. Fresh arrivals, English and Americans, are rich game for the restaurants.

They know not all the dodges by which the Frenchman gets four or five excellent courses for almost half what it costs the uninitiated, such as ordering a four-franc dinner, with a privilege of ordering so many dishes of meat, so many of vegetables, or one of meat for two of the latter, or the ordering of one "portion" for two persons, &c. And I do not know as my countrymen would always practise them if they did; for being accustomed at home to order more than they want at a restaurant, and to make the restaurant-keeper a free gift of what they do not use, they are rather apt, in Paris, to "darn the expense," and order what suits their palates, without investigating the cost till they call for the garcon with "_l'addition_."

The jewelry shops in the arcade around the Palais Royal Garden are of two kinds--those for the sale of real jewelry and rich fancy goods, and those selling the imitation. These latter are compelled by law to keep a sign conspicuously displayed, announcing the fact that their wares are imitation, and any one found selling imitation for real is, I understand, severely punished. The imitation jewelry stores are very attractive, and it is really quite remarkable to what perfection the art is carried. Imitation of diamonds, made from polished rock-crystal, which will retain their brilliancy for some months, mock coral, painted sets, imitation gold bracelets, chains, necklaces, sleeve-b.u.t.tons, and earrings, of every conceivable design, very prettily made.

The designs of this cheap jewelry are fully equal to that of the more costly kind, and it is retailed here in large quant.i.ties at a far more reasonable price, in proportion to its cost, than is the Attleboro'

jewelry in our own country. The arcade used to be thronged with Americans, who purchased generally from a handful to a half peck each of the attractive and pretty articles which are so liberally displayed here.

The French shopkeepers are quick to detect a stranger or foreigner, and very many of them regulate their prices accordingly; so that one soon ascertains that it is not labor in vain to urge a reduction in price, even in establishments where huge placards of "Prix Fixe" inform you that they have a fixed price for their goods, which may mean, however, that it is "fixed" according to the customer and his anxiety to purchase. I myself had an experience in the purchase of a pair of ornaments. Inquiring the price, I was informed, "Eight francs."

"Ah, indeed! That is more than I care to pay."

"For what price does monsieur expect to obtain such beautiful articles?"

"Six francs."

"C'est impossible!" (_shrugging his shoulders and elevating his eyebrows_); "ici le prix est fixe;" but monsieur should have them for seven francs, as they had been taken from the show-case.

Monsieur was indifferent; he "remercier'd" the shopkeeper; he did not care to pay but six francs, and walked towards the door; but the salesman followed him, and, as he reached the threshold, presented monsieur the articles in question, neatly enveloped in one of his tissue-paper shop-bills. It was positively too cheap, but "pour obliger monsieur," he would give him this "bon marche" for the six francs.

We paid the six francs accordingly; but our satisfaction respecting the "bon marche" was somewhat dampened at seeing the very self-same description of articles we had just purchased at six francs a pair displayed in a window, scarcely half a dozen stores distant, ticketed, in plain figures, three francs a pair.

Pa.s.sing along through one of the busiest streets of Paris one day, we observed the entrance or pa.s.sage from the street to the lower story of one of the houses hung with black and decorated with funeral trappings; in fact, the interior arranged as a sort of little apartment, in the midst of which, exposed to full view to all pa.s.sers by, stood a coffin, surrounded by candles, with crucifix at its head, and all the usual sombre emblems of mourning; pedestrians, as they pa.s.sed, respectfully uncovered, and such exposition, we were told, is one of the customs in France when death occurs in a family. Funerals often take place at night, although we have met the funeral train during the day, when all who meet it, or whom it pa.s.ses, remove their hats--a mark of respect which it is pleasant to observe, and which the newly-arrived tourist makes haste to record as one of the evidences of French breeding and politeness.

When I was a boy, and studied first books of history and geography, there was in one of them a picture in which a Frenchman was represented as taking off his hat and making a ceremonious bow to a lady; underneath, as part of the pleasing fable in which the youth were then, and may be, in many cases, to this day are instructed, was printed that the French were the most polite people in the world. If courtly speech, fact.i.tious conventionalities, and certain external forms const.i.tute politeness, then the French _are_ the most polite people; but if politeness embraces in its true definition, as I hold that it does, spontaneous unselfishness, refined generosity, carrying kindliness into common acts, unselfishness into daily life, and a willingness to make some self-sacrifice for others, making itself felt more than seen--then there never was a more monstrous humbug than French "politeness." It is nothing more than a certain set of hypocritical forms, the thin, deceptive varnish which is subst.i.tuted for the clear, solid crystal of hearty honesty.

The Frenchman will raise his hat at a funeral, will "mille pardons, monsieur," if he accidentally jostles your elbow, bow gracefully to the _dame du comptoir_ as he leaves a restaurant; do these and a thousand graceful and pretty things that tend to exhibit himself, and, that cost nothing; but how seldom does he perform an act that calls for the slightest self-sacrifice! He never surrenders a good place that he holds for an inferior one to a lady, an aged person, or a stranger; but he will, if possible, by some petty trick at an exhibition, a review, or public display, endeavor to obtain it from them for himself. The excess of civility shown by the cringing and bowing shopman, with vertebrae as supple as if oiled or supplied with patent hinges in the middle, he expects to put into the price of the goods when he cheats you in your purchases. Attendance in sickness, and service at your hotel, are measured by the francs' worth, till at last, understanding the hollowness of French politeness, its hypocrisy and artificial nature, you long for less ceremony and more heart, and feel that there is much of the former, and little, if any, of the latter, in the Frenchman's code.

Speaking of funerals naturally inclined us to turn our steps towards the celebrated cemetery of Pere Lachaise, which has suggested many of the rural cemeteries in our own country that in natural attractions now so far surpa.s.s it; but Pere Lachaise cemetery, which was formerly an old Jesuit stronghold, was first laid out in 1804, and now it is the largest burial-ground of Paris. It contains over twenty thousand tombs, besides innumerable graves, and occupies two hundred and twelve acres of undulating ground. Some of the older parts of it present a rusty and ill-kept appearance. Before reaching the entrance gate, we had indications of its proximity from the long street through which we pa.s.sed being almost entirely filled on both sides with the workshops of marble and stone cutters, and funeral wreath manufacturers. Monuments of every conceivable design, size, and expense were displayed, from the elegant and elaborate group of statuary to the simple slab or the little one-franc plaster _Agnus Dei_, to mark the grave of the poor man's infant. There were quant.i.ties of shops for the sale of wreaths of _immortelles_, bouquets, and other decorations for graves, and scores of men and girls at work fashioning them into various designs, with mottoes varied for all degrees of grief, and for every relation. These are the touching ones: "To My Dear Mother," "My Dear Father," "My Sweet Infant,"

"To My Dear Sister;" and the friendly ones, "To My Uncle," "My Aunt,"

"My Friend;" or the sentimental ones, "Mon Cher Felix," "Ma Chere Marie," "Alphonsine," "Pierre," &c.; besides bouquets of natural flowers, and vases for their reception, of every style, and graduated for every degree of grief and the limit of every purse; and you are beset by children offering pretty little bunches of violets or bouquets and wreaths of natural flowers. Arrived at the gate, we were furnished with a guide, whom it is quite necessary to have, to save time in traversing the cemetery, and direct one to the monuments that one most wants to see of celebrated persons.

Our guide was a retired old soldier, slightly lame, and still preserving a sort of military gait, as he stumped along in front of us; but the combined perfume of the pipe he had learned to smoke while campaigning, and the garlic he loved to eat at home, caused him to be a companion that one would prefer occupying the windward side of.

The older part of the cemetery of Pere Lachaise is very much crowded; the tombs or vaults in some avenues stand as close together, comparatively, as the doors of blocks of houses in a city thoroughfare.

Many of these vaults, facing the avenues, have open fronts, guarded only by a light, iron latticed gate, through which the visitor may look into a little square chapel, reached by a descent of three or four steps; in this little chapel-vault stands a little altar, or shelf, on which is placed cross, wreaths, and vase or vases of flowers, this being the place of offering or prayer for the relatives, the interment being made below the slab in the floor or side.

These vault chapels are more or less pretentious, according to the wealth of the proprietors, some being fifteen or twenty feet square, with marble sides, flooring, and sculpture, beautiful altar, candles, vases, and handsome _prie dieu_, while the names cut into the carved panels indicated what members of the family have been placed behind them in the narrow chamber for their last sleep. Garlands, wreaths, and mementos are in every direction--within, about, and upon the graves and tombs; and in one department, where children were buried, upon the little graves, beneath small gla.s.s cases, rested some of the little toys--the dolls, and wooden soldiers, and little rattles--that had belonged to them when living. We found, as we advanced, how much a guide was needed, for we should never have been able to have threaded unaided the labyrinths or the winding cypress-shaded paths of this crowded city of the dead.

There were, we were informed, over eighteen thousand different monuments in the cemetery, ranging from the simple cross or slab to the costly mausoleum, such as is raised over the Countess Demidoff,--the most expensive and elaborate monument in the grounds,--which is reached by elegant flights of steps, and consists of a broad platform, supported by ten splendid white marble Doric columns, upon which rests a sarcophagus, bearing a sculptured cushion, with the arms and cornet of the deceased resting thereon. This monument stands upon the brow of a hill, and occupies one of the most conspicuous positions in the cemetery. But let us follow our guide, taking a glance at a few of the notable features of the place; for that is all one can do in a single visit and in the three hours' stroll which we make through the most attractive parts.

You can hardly walk a dozen steps without encountering tombs bearing names familiar and celebrated in military, scientific, religious, or literary history; and the opportunity one has to study the taste in monuments, obelisks, urns, mausoleums, pyramids, and sarcophagi, may be inferred from the fact, that upon these tributes to departed worth, and mementos of loved ones, no less than five millions sterling, or about twenty-five million dollars in gold, have been expended since the cemetery was first opened. The paths and walks of the old portion of Pere Lachaise are rough, and in sad contrast with the newer part, and suffer much in comparison with the broad, s.p.a.cious, well-rolled avenues of our own Mount Auburn and Forest Hills, or the natural and artificial beauties of Greenwood Cemetery.

We first took a glance at the Jewish division of the grounds, which is separated from the rest by a wall, where the monument of Rachel, the celebrated actress, was pointed out to us, and also those bearing the name of Rothschild and Fould. We then walked to that most interesting monument, generally the first one of any note visited by tourists, an actual evidence and memento of the truth of that sad and romantic history which is embalmed in the memory of youth, the monument of Abelard and Heloise. This is a little open Gothic chapel, in which is the sarcophagus of Abelard, and upon it rests his effigy, and by his side that of Heloise.

The monument is built from the ruins of Paraclete Abbey, of which Heloise was abbess, and its sculptured figures and decorations are very beautiful, although suffering from decay and neglect. A bunch or two of fresh violets and forget-me-nots, which we saw lying upon the breast of the rec.u.mbent figure, showed that sentimental visitors still paid tribute to this shrine of disappointed love.

As we advanced farther into the grounds, monuments bearing well-known names, distinguished in science, literature, and art, met the eye on every side. Here is that of Arago, the astronomer; Talma, the great actor of Napoleon's time; Bernardin de St. Pierre, the author of Paul and Virginia; David, the celebrated painter; Pradier, the great sculptor; Chopin, the musician; Scribe, the dramatist; Racine, the poet; Laplace, the astronomer; and Lafitte, the banker. Then we come to the names of some of those military chiefs that surrounded the great soldier of the first empire, and helped him to write the name of France in imperishable records upon the pages of history.

Here rests Marshal Kellermann; here rises a granite pyramid to Marshal Davoust, who won his laurels at Eylau, Friedland, and Auerstadt, the great cavalry action of Eckmuhl, and, except Ney, who was the most prominent in the tremendous battle of Borodino, and the disastrous retreat from Russia; here Suchet, who commenced his career with Napoleon at the siege of Toulon, sleeps beneath a white marble sarcophagus; Macdonald and Lefebvre are here; and a pyramid of white marble, bearing a ba.s.s-relief portrait, rises to the memory of General Ma.s.sena, "a very obstinate man" and "the favorite child of victory"--him whom Napoleon once told, "You yourself are equivalent to six thousand men." Pa.s.sing monument after monument, bearing names the birthplaces of whose t.i.tles were victorious battle-fields, we were guided by our conductor to a little square plat of ground enclosed by a light railing; it was gay with many-hued flowers in full bloom, filling the air with their fragrance. The old guide stopped, and reverently taking off his cap, turned to us, saying,--

"_Hommage, monsieur, a le plus brave des braves--a Marechal Ney._"

I involuntarily followed his example. "But where," asked I, looking about on every side, "where is his monument?"