PARIS CORRESPONDENCE.

No. III.

THE RUE DE RIVOLI, AND ITS NEIGHBOURS.

Dear Editor,

In my last I told you of this street of Rivoli, and all its proximate gentilities, and all its near abodes of wretchedness, and now I come to continue my facts of things as they were, and my facts, fancies, and pictures of things as they are.

The statue of Louis the Fourteenth was replaced by that of Napoleon in 1810, when the Colonne de la Place Vendôme was erected. The pedestal, shaft, and capital, built of cut stone, are covered externally with bronze, which is cast into bas-reliefs. This bronze has been formed out of the twelve hundred cannon taken from the Russian and Austrian armies in the memorable campaign of 1805. The shaft of the Colonne has been designed in imitation of that of Antoninus at Rome, and is covered with bas-reliefs representing the principal events of the campaign of 1805, from the departure of the troops from the camp of Boulogne, to the conclusion of the Peace, after the battle of Austerlitz. The first statue of Napoleon which crowned the noble column, represented him in the garb of a Roman Emperor. On the entrance of the Allies in 1814, the Royalists, under the protection of a foreign army, proceeded to enact an outrage, such as had not, till then, disgraced Paris. If the Revolution destroyed so many monuments, it was the act of the dregs of the people, infuriated by ages of suffering, maddened by a moment of freedom. But in men of high rank and education, the defenders of "order" and "enemies of the revolution," we might have expected to find better manners. From the representatives of the ancient Chivalry of France, a more high-bred courage might have been looked for, than that which had strength enough to trouble public order but not sufficient to subdue the Revolution, and which could only reach that zero in the scale of heroism which consisted in insulting their countrymen under the protection of an army of invasion. The emigré was forced to fly from his native land by the Jacobin canaille, who overthrew, as we have seen, the statues of the kings of France in the Great Revolution. After a quarter of a century the emigré returns,

and his first act is to imitate the barbarous frenzy he once so loudly censured. In March, 1814, the Royalists, headed by some of the greatest names in France, in so far as their birth was concerned, flocked to the Place Vendôme, and attempted to pull down the statue of Napoleon from the summit of the famous column. Their efforts were in vain. Baffled in their attempt, they went so far as to send a written order to the artist who had cast the statue, threatening him with immediate military execution if he did not aid them, by his intimate knowledge of the work of his own hands, to destroy the monument. They likewise conceived the plan of mining the place, and blowing pedestal, shaft, capital, and statue to pieces, when the Allies interfered, and “squelched" the notable project. But, though the column remained, the statue was removed a month afterwards. Sixteen years from that date, the government of Louis Philippe decreed the elevation of a new statue of Napoleon, to be erected on the same spot. It is that which now stands on the column of the Place Vendôme. It differs from the ancient one in the matter of costume, and represents the Emperor in his redingote and cocked hat.

We shall now take leave of this "neighbour" of the Rue de Rivoli, and returning thither by the Rue de Castiglione, we leave behind us the Ministere des Finances, and Meurice's Hotel; pressing still eastward, we turn a little to our right, after passing the Louvre, and rest in the shadow of St. Germain l'Auxerrois! On the same spot where it now stands, Chilperic built a church in the sixth century, which has been partly destroyed and again restored, at various inter. vals during a period of nearly thirteen hundred years. In the sixth century! What was Paris then?

Through a long era of decay the Roman Empire nodded to its fall. During the fourth and fifth centuries, language, laws, manners, costumes, were mixed and confounded together in such a fashion on the soil of Gaul, that it was difficult to distinguish the line which separated the ancient Roman domination from the Gallic nationality. The harmonious language of the south began to borrow a barbarous fire, and uncouth brevity, from the wild accents of the north. At this very hour, French is a corrupted Latin. I constantly hear it said in society, that such a one " cause bien." More than beauty, the French prize conversational powers. "Elle est très jolie-très gaie-et elle cause très bien." Or, "Il a l'air aimable-il est tres gai-et-il cause bien." Such is the climax of qualities by which the

French express their opinion of a woman or of a man, as it may be, who fulfils their idea of perfection. Those two phrases-I hear them repeatedly, over and over again-contain more of the true French character, than all that either they themselves or foreigners bave ever said or written on the subject. Il cause bien! A discourse on the art of conversation would be here out of place-as, indeed, such always is, for dissertations, however learned, cannot teach it ask the French-but, notwithstanding, I may remind you of the obvious truth, that the aptitude of the language which serves for the medium of communication, is as requisite for this accomplishment as individual wit or information. And what language is that of the gay, amiable, and refined people, amongst whom to "chat" well is esteemed the greatest of social merits, perhaps of intellectual acquire ments? No other than the provincial and crumpled Latin which shocked the high-born and cultured Roman's ear in the Gaul of the fifth century. There is a double lesson of humility in the fact. The favored language has fallen into desuetude, and perished ages ago from the daily occupations of men. The language then despised has since taken the place of the Roman tongue in Europe, and is the recognized medium of communication between man and man all over the civilized world. The Latin is a "dead" language, whilst of all living languages, the French is the most vivacious. Rooted in the genius of a people the most energetic of modern times, it has put forth branches in every clime. It was spoken in times when the Druid sacrificed in the midst of unbrageous groves, and the gods of Olympus had still their worshippers. In its first rude accents were preached to the Gauls the truths of Christianity, which finally displaced the mythological system of the Romans, and the wild legends of the Barbarian worship. The new religion gathered strength amidst revolutions, disengaged itself from all that could endanger, and intertwined itself with all that could foster, its growth. It suffered to fall away, or actively extirpated all that was evil, it protected and cherished all that was good, in the highly social system of the Roman Empire. Whilst the civilization of the old Roman society was dying out, or was trampled out, a new civilization took shelter in the cloister and the church, which were not then merely places of prayer, but a refuge for arts and literature. The Roman, the Gaul, and the Barbarian, were alternately ascendant. What could come of this chaos? But the principle of life was ever there to encounter the elements of dissolution. St. Geneviève confronts

Attila; Clotilde appears at the side of Clovis; and in the midst of the Brunehaults, the Chilperics, and the Frédégondes, beams the serene dignity of St. Germain de Paris.

Under the Merovingions, Paris was still confined to the little island of the times of Cæsar, and of Julian the Apostate, which is now the centre of modern Paris, and called the "Cité," as I have had occasion to observe in a previous number. Let us climb to the summit of the hill Lucotitius, (St. Geneviève) and regard the Paris of these Frankish ages with its environs. Near us is the church called "Of the Apostles," built by Clovis, and to the east and south east extend vast marshes traversed by the Bièvre. At our feet lies the Palace of Julian (the Palais des Thermes) in its colossal strength, and scattered around it we see several churches, amongst which we remark that of St. Etienne-des-Grès (des degrés, de gradibus), so called from its position on the steep slope of the hill whereon we stand; casting a glance over the immense plain which extends to Issy, the splendid monastery of Sainte-croix and St. Vincent, with its gilded roof glittering in the sun, attracts our attention. And opposite, on the other side of the river, is the church of St. Germain, called le Rond from its circular shape. To the north, seated on its island throne in the midst of the Seine, is old Lutetia, with its strong walls, the towers which guard its bridges, the mills which serve to prepare food for its inhabitants, the metopolitan church (the ecclesia mater, as it is called in the old records), the palace, and the prison. The houses are of wood, the streets dark and narrow, the churches numerous. Amongst the latter we notice one built by Chilperic. This monarch, whose character was a compound of vice and virtue, like that of most of his contemporaries, resolved to erect a church in honour of St. Germain de Paris, whither he proposed to transfer the relics of that saint, who had been Bishop of Paris, and it was completed in the close of the sixth century. Under the second race, this church was called St. Germain le Rond. it was rebuilt by King Robert, and it was then named for the first time St. Germain l'Auxerrois, to distinguish it from the Abbaye de St. Vincent, to which the name of St. Germain had been added. This church, built by Robert, fell into decay in its turn, and was replaced by constructions of an after date, in the twelfth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries. In its quality of parish church of the Louvre, the history of St. Germain l'Auxerrois is synonymous with that of many of the Kings of France. But the splendour which it

Under the third race

derived from the neighbourhood, and from the frequent visits of royalty, did not prevent it from being the scene, oftentimes, of the loudest clamours of the Ligue, and within its walls thundered the Cardinal de Lorraine. It was from the same pulpit that Maillard attacked the vices of his time, under the reign of the celebrated Louis the Eleventh, who frequently considered himself as personally alluded to in the sermons of the preacher. On one occasion the monarch went so far as to threaten to have him thrown into the Seine.

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"Tell the King," said the intrepid Maillard, " that, in that case, I'll go quicker to heaven by water, than he can with his post horses." It is necessary, for the complete understanding of this mot, to remind you that it was Louis the Eleventh that instituted post in France, and the transmission of mails throughout the principal towns of the kingdom. Amongst the celebrated persons buried in St. Germain l'Auxerrois, may be named Malherbe, Coysevox, and the Daciers, husband and wife. The Revolution twice assailed the venerable walls of this church, in 1793, and again in 1831, a year in which émeutes were frequent. On the occasion of a commemorative service in honour of the Duke de Berri, assassinated many years before, the mob attacked the church, pillaged it, and threatened to reduce it to utter ruin. But the rioters were fortunately diverted from their course, and St. Germain l'Auxerrois still remains to us grey with the traditions of thirteen hundred years.

It was in the Rue des Fossés, St. Germain l'Auxerrois, that Gabrielle d'Estreés died. In that part of the street lately demolished in the course of the improvements which the Rue de Rivoli and its Neighbours have of late undergone, existed a portion of the Hôtel de Sourdis, which communicated with the cloister of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, and which was inhabited by the Marquise de Sourdis, the aunt of the royal mistress. The journal of Henry the Fourth, for the year 1599, informs us that Gabrielle, after having passed part of the Lent at Fontainebleau, returned to Paris, and lodged in the house of one Zamet, an Italian, who had amassed an immense fortune in the administration of the taxes, and who, in the marriage contract of one of his daughters, described himself under the original title of "Lord Paramount," not of such or such a territorial property, but of "seventeen hundred thousand crowns.” He was born a couple of centuries too soon. He should have flourished under Louis Philippe, and had his hôtel in the Rue de la Chausseé d'Antin, amidst his peers of the "aristocratic bourgeoise