Three Years in Europe by William Wells Brown

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From the Tuileries, I took a stroll through the Place de la Concorde,
which has connected with it so many acts of cruelty, that it made me
shudder as I passed over its grounds. As if to take from one's mind the
old associations of this place, the French have erected on it, or rather
given a place to, the celebrated obelisk of Luxor, which now is the
chief attraction on the grounds. The obelisk was brought from Egypt at
an enormous expense; for which purpose a ship was built, and several
hundred men employed above three years in its removal. It is formed of
the finest red syenite, and covered on each side with three lines of
hieroglyphic inscriptions, commemorative of Sesostris--the middle lines
being the most deeply cut and most carefully finished; and the
characters altogether number more than 1600. The obelisk is of a single
stone, is 72 feet in height, weighs 500,000 lbs., and stands on a block
of granite that weighs 250,000 lbs. He who can read Latin will see that
the monument tells its own story, but to me its characters were all
blank.

It would be tedious to follow the history of this old and venerated
stone, which was taken from the quarry 1550 years before the birth of
Christ; placed in Thebes; its removal; the journey to the Nile, and
down the Nile; thence to Cherbourg, and lastly its arrival in Paris on
the 23d of December, 1833--just one year before I escaped from slavery.
The obelisk was raised on the spot where it now stands, on the 25th of
October, 1836, in the presence of Louis Philippe and amid the greetings
of 160,000 persons.

Having missed my dinner, I crossed over to the Palais Royal, to a dining
saloon, and can assure you that a better dinner may be had there for
five francs, than can be got in New York for twice that sum, and
especially if the person who wants the dinner is a coloured man. I found
no prejudice against my complexion in the Palais Royal.

Many of the rooms in this once abode of Royalty, are most splendidly
furnished, and decorated with valuable pictures. The likenesses of
Madame de Stael, J.J. Rousseau, Cromwell, and Francis I., are among
them.

* * * * *

After several unsuccessful attempts to-day, in company with R.D. Webb,
Esq., to seek out the house where once resided the notorious
Robespierre, I was fortunate enough to find it, but not until I had
lost the company of my friend. The house is No. 396, Rue St. Honore,
opposite the Church of the Assumption. It stands back, and is reached by
entering a court. During the first revolution it was occupied by M.
Duplay, with whom Robespierre lodged. The room used by the great man of
the revolution, was pointed out to me. It is small, and the ceiling low,
with two windows looking out upon the court. The pin upon which the blue
coat once hung, is still in the wall. While standing there, I could
almost imagine that I saw the great "Incorruptible," sitting at the
small table composing those speeches which gave him so much power and
influence in the Convention and the Clubs.

Here, the disciple of Rousseau sat and planned how he should outdo his
enemies and hold on to his friends. From this room he went forth,
followed by his dog Brunt, to take his solitary walk in a favourite and
neighbouring field, or to the fiery discussions of the National
Convention. In the same street, is the house in which Madame Roland--one
of Robespierre's victims--resided.

A view of the residence of one of the master spirits of the French
revolution inclined me to search out more, and therefore I proceeded to
the old town, and after winding through several small streets--some of
them so narrow as not to admit more than one cab at a time--I found
myself in the Rue de L'Ecole de Medecine, and standing in front of house
No. 20. This was the residence, during the early days of the revolution,
of that bloodthirsty demon in human form, Marat.

I said to a butcher, whose shop was underneath, that I wanted to see La
Chambre de Marat. He called out to the woman of the house to know if I
could be admitted, and the reply was, that the room was used as a
sleeping apartment, and could not be seen.

As this was private property, my blue card of membership to the Congress
was not available. But after slipping a franc into the old lady's hand,
I was informed that the room was now ready. We entered a court and
ascended a flight of stairs, the entrance to which is on the right; then
crossing to the left, we were shown into a moderate-sized room on the
first floor, with two windows looking out upon a yard. Here it was where
the "Friend of the People" (as he styled himself,) sat and wrote those
articles that appeared daily in his journal, urging the people to "hang
the rich upon lamp posts." The place where the bath stood, in which he
was bathing at the time he was killed by Charlotte Corday, was pointed
out to us; and even something representing an old stain of blood was
shown as the place where he was laid when taken out of the bath. The
window, behind whose curtains the heroine hid, after she had plunged the
dagger into the heart of the man whom she thought was the cause of the
shedding of so much blood by the guillotine, was pointed out with a
seeming degree of pride by the old woman.

With my Guide Book in hand, I again went forth to "hunt after new
fancies."

* * * * *

After walking over the ground where the guillotine once stood, cutting
off its hundred and fifty heads per day, and then visiting the place
where some of the chief movers in that sanguinary revolution once
lived, I felt little disposed to sleep, when the time for it had
arrived. However, I was out this morning at an early hour, and on the
Champs Elysees; and again took a walk over the place where the
guillotine stood, when its fatal blade was sending so many unprepared
spirits into eternity. When standing here, you have the Palace of the
Tuileries on one side, the arch on the other; on a third, the classic
Madeleine; and on the fourth, the National Assembly. It caused my blood
to chill, the idea of being on the identical spot where the heads of
Louis XVI. and his Queen, after being cut off, were held up to satisfy
the blood-thirsty curiosity of the two hundred thousand persons that
were assembled on the Place de la Revolution. Here Royal blood flowed as
it never did before or since. The heads of patricians and plebians, were
thrown into the same basket, without any regard to birth or station.
Here Robespierre and Danton had stood again and again, and looked their
victims in the face as they ascended the scaffold; and here, these same
men had to mount the very scaffold that they had erected for others. I
wandered up the Seine, till I found myself looking at the statue of
Henry the IV. over the principal entrance of the Hotel de Ville. When we
take into account the connection of the Hotel de Ville with the
different revolutions, we must come to the conclusion, that it is one of
the most remarkable buildings in Paris. The room was pointed out where
Robespierre held his counsels, and from the windows of which he could
look out upon the Place de Greve, where the guillotine stood before its
removal to the Place de la Concorde. The room is large, with gilded
hangings, splendid old-fashioned chandeliers, and a chimney-piece with
fine antiquated carvings, that give it a venerable appearance. Here
Robespierre not only presided at the counsels that sent hundreds to the
guillotine; but from this same spot, he, with his brother St. Just and
others, were dragged before the Committee of Public Safety, and thence
to the guillotine, and justice and revenge satisfied.

The window from which Lafayette addressed the people in 1830, and
presented to them Louis Philippe, as the king, was shown to us. Here the
poet, statesman, philosopher and orator, Lamartine, stood in February
1848, and, by the power of his eloquence, succeeded in keeping the
people quiet. Here he forced the mob, braved the bayonets presented to
his breast, and, by his good reasoning, induced them to retain the
tri-coloured flag, instead of adopting the red flag, which he considered
the emblem of blood.

Lamartine is a great heroic genius, dear to liberty and to France; and
successive generations, as they look back upon the revolution of 1848,
will recall to memory the many dangers which nothing but his dauntless
courage warded off. The difficulties which his wisdom surmounted, and
the good service that he rendered to France, can never be adequately
estimated or too highly appreciated. It was at the Hotel de Ville that
the Republic of 1848 was proclaimed to the people.

I next paid my respects to the Column of July that stands on the spot
formerly occupied by the Bastile. It is 163 feet in height, and on the
top is the Genius of Liberty, with a torch in his right hand, and in the
left a broken chain. After a fatiguing walk up a winding stair, I
obtained a splendid view of Paris from the top of the column.

I thought I should not lose the opportunity of seeing the Church de
Notre Dame while so near to it, and, therefore, made it my next rallying
point. No edifice connected with religion has had more interesting
incidents occurring in it than this old church. Here Pope Pius VII.
placed the Imperial Crown on the head of the Corsican--or rather
Napoleon took the Crown from his hands and placed it on his own head.
Satan dragging the wicked to ----; the rider on the red horse at the
opening of the second seal; the blessedness of the saints; and several
other striking sculptured figures were among the many curiosities in
this splendid place. A hasty view from the gallery concluded my visit to
the Notre Dame.

Leaving the old church I strayed off in a direction towards the Seine,
and passed by an old looking building of stately appearance, and
recognised, among a throng passing in and out, a number of the members
of the Peace Congress. I joined a party entering, and was soon in the
presence of men with gowns on, and men with long staffs in their
hands--and on inquiry found that I was in the Palais de Justice;
beneath which is the Conciergerie, a noted prison. Louis XVI. and Marie
Antoinette were tried and condemned to death here.

A bas-relief, by Cortat, representing Louis in conference with his
Counsel, is here seen. But I had visited too many places of interest
during the day to remain long in a building surrounded by officers of
justice, and took a stroll upon the Boulevards.

The Boulevards may be termed the Regent Street of Paris, or a New Yorker
would call them Broadway. While passing a cafe, my German friend Faigo,
whose company I had enjoyed during the passage from America, recognised
me, and I sat down and took a cup of delicious coffee for the first time
on the side walk, in sight of hundreds who were passing up and down the
street every hour. From three till eleven o'clock, P.M., the Boulevards
are lined with men and women sitting before the doors of the saloons
drinking their coffee or wines, or both at the same time, as fancy may
dictate. All Paris appeared to be on the Boulevards, and looking as if
the great end of this life was enjoyment.

* * * * *

Anxious to see as much as possible of Paris in the limited time I had to
stay in it, I hired a cab yesterday morning and commenced with the Hotel
des Invalids, a magnificent building, within a few minutes' walk of the
National Assembly. On each side of the entrance gate are figures
representing nations conquered by Louis XIV., with colossal statues of
Mars and Minerva. The dome on the edifice is the loftiest in Paris--the
height from the ground being 323 feet.

Immediately below the dome is the tomb of the man at whose word the
world turned pale. A statue of the Emperor Napoleon stands in the second
piazza, and is of the finest bronze.

This building is the home of the pensioned soldiers of France. It was
enough to make one sick at the idea of war, to look upon the mangled
bodies of these old soldiers. Men with arms and no legs; others had legs
but no arms; some with canes and crutches, and some wheeling themselves
about in little hand carts. About three thousand of the decayed soldiers
were lodged in the Hotel des Invalids, at the time of my visit. Passing
the National Assembly on my return, I spent a moment or two in it. The
interior of this building resembles an amphitheatre. It is constructed
to accommodate 900 members, each having a separate desk. The seat upon
which the Duchesse of Orleans, and her son, the Comte de Paris, sat,
when they visited the National Assembly after the flight of Louis
Philippe, was shown with considerable alacrity. As I left the building,
I heard that the President of the Republic was on the point of leaving
the Elysee for St. Cloud, and with the hope of seeing the "Prisoner of
Ham," I directed my cabman to drive me to the Elysee.

In a few moments we were between two files of soldiers, and entering the
gates of the palace. I called out to the driver and told him to stop;
but I was too late, for we were now in front of the massive doors of the
palace, and a liveried servant opened the cab door, bowed, and asked if
I had an engagement with the President. You may easily "guess" his
surprise when I told him no. In my best French, I asked the cabman why
he had come to the palace, and was answered, "You told me to." By this
time a number had gathered round, all making inquiries as to what I
wanted. I told the driver to retrace his steps, and, amid the shrugs of
their shoulders, the nods of their heads, and the laughter of the
soldiers, I left the Elysee without even a sight of the President's
mustaches for my trouble. This was only one of the many mistakes I made
while in Paris.

LETTER VII.

_The Chateau at Versailles--Private apartments of Marie Antoinette--The
Secret Door--Paintings of Raphael and David--Arc de Triomphe--Beranger
the Poet._

VERSAILLES, _August 31_.

Here I am, within ten leagues of Paris, spending the time pleasantly in
viewing the palace and grounds of the great Chateau of Louis XIV.
Fifty-seven years ago, a mob, composed of men, women, and boys, from
Paris, stood in front of this palace and demanded that the king should
go with them to the capital. I have walked over the same ground where
the one hundred thousand stood on that interesting occasion. I have been
upon the same balcony, and stood by the window from which Maria
Antoinette looked out upon the mob that were seeking her life.

Anxious to see as much of the palace as I could, and having an offer of
the company of my young friend, Henry G. Chapman, to go through the
palace with me, I set out early yesterday morning, and was soon in the
halls that had often been trod by Royal feet. We passed through the
private, as well as the public, apartments, through the secret door by
which Marie Antoinette had escaped from the mob of 1792, and viewed the
room in which her faithful guards were killed, while attempting to save
their Royal mistress. I took my seat in one of the little parlour
carriages that had been used in days of yore for the Royal children;
while my friend, H.G. Chapman, drew me across the room. The superb
apartments are not now in use. Silence is written upon these walls,
although upon them are suspended the portraits of men of whom the world
has heard.

Paintings, representing Napoleon in nearly all his battles, are here
seen; and wherever you see the Emperor, there you will also find Murat,
with his white plume waving above. Callot's painting of the battle of
Marengo, Hue's of the retaking of Genoa, and Bouchat's of the 18th
Brumaire, are of the highest order; while David has transmitted his fame
to posterity, by his splendid painting of the Coronation of Napoleon and
Josephine in Notre Dame. When I looked upon the many beautiful paintings
of the last named artist, that adorn the halls of Versailles, I did not
wonder that his fame should have saved his life, when once condemned and
sentenced to death during the reign of terror. The guillotine was robbed
of its intended victim, but the world gained a great painter. As Boswell
transmitted his own name to posterity with his life of Johnson, so has
David left his, with the magnificent paintings that are now suspended
upon the walls of the palaces of the Louvre, the Tuileries, St. Cloud,
Versailles, and even the little Elysee.

After strolling from room to room, we found ourselves in the Salle du
Sacre, Diane, Salon de Mars, de Mercure, and d'Apollon. I gazed with my
eyes turned to the ceiling till I was dizzy. The Salon de la Guerre is
covered with the most beautiful representations that the mind of man
could conceive, or the hand accomplish. Louis XIV. is here in all his
glory. No Marie Antoinette will ever do the honours in these halls
again.

After spending a whole day in the Palace and several mornings in the
Gardens, I finally bid adieu to the bronze statue of Louis XIV. that
stands in front of the Palace, and left Versailles, probably for ever.

* * * * *

PARIS, _September 2_.

I am now on the point of quitting the French Metropolis. I have occupied
the last two days in visiting places of note in the city. I could not
resist the inclination to pay a second visit to the Louvre. Another hour
was spent in strolling through the Italian Hall and viewing the
master-workmanship of Raphael, the prince of painters. Time flies, even
in such a place as the Louvre with all its attractions; and before I had
seen half that I wished, a ponderous clock near by reminded me of an
engagement, and I reluctantly tore myself from the splendours of the
place.

During the rest of the day I visited the Jardin des Plantes, and spent
an hour and a half pleasantly in walking among plants, flowers, and in
fact everything that could be found in any garden in France. From this
place we passed by the column of the Bastile, and paid our respects to
the Bourse, or Exchange, one of the most superb buildings in the city.
The ground floor and sides of the Bourse, are of fine marble, and the
names of the chief cities in the world are inscribed on the medallions,
which are under the upper cornice. The interior of the edifice has a
most splendid appearance as you enter it.

The Cemetery of Pere la Chaise was too much talked of by many of our
party at the Hotel for me to pass it by, so I took it after the Bourse.
Here lie many of the great marshals of France--the resting place of each
marked by the monument that stands over it, except one, which is marked
only by a weeping willow and a plain stone at its head. This is the
grave of Marshal Ney. I should not have known that it was his, but some
unknown hand had written with black paint, "Bravest of the Brave," on
the unlettered stone that stands at the head of the man who followed
Napoleon through nearly all his battles, and who was shot after the
occupation of Paris by the allied army. Peace to his ashes. During my
ramble through this noted place, I saw several who were hanging fresh
wreaths of everlasting flowers on the tombs of the departed.

A ride in an omnibus down the Boulevards, and away up the Champs
Elysees, brought me to the Arc de Triomphe; and after ascending a flight
of one hundred and sixty-one steps, I was overlooking the city of
statuary. This stupendous monument was commenced by Napoleon in 1806;
and in 1811 it had only reached the cornice of the base, where it
stopped, and it was left for Louis Philippe to finish. The first stone
of this monument was laid on the 15th of August, 1806, the birth-day of
the man whose battles it was intended to commemorate. A model of the
arch was erected for Napoleon to pass through as he was entering the
city with Maria Louisa, after their marriage. The inscriptions on the
monument are many, and the different scenes here represented are all of
the most exquisite workmanship. The genius of War is summoning the
obedient nations to battle. Victory is here crowning Napoleon after his
great success in 1810. Fame stands here recording the exploits of the
warrior, while conquered cities lie beneath the whole. But it would take
more time than I have at command to give anything like a description of
this magnificent piece of architecture.

That which seems to take most with Peace Friends, is the portion
representing an old man taming a bull for agricultural labour; while a
young warrior is sheathing his sword, a mother and children sitting at
his feet, and Minerva crowned with laurels, stands shedding her
protecting influence over them. The erection of this regal monument is
wonderful, to hand down to posterity the triumphs of the man whom we
first hear of as a student in the military school at Brienne, whom in
1784 we see in the Ecole Militaire, founded by Louis XV. in 1751; whom
again we find at No. 5, Quai de Court, near Rue de Mail; and in 1794 as
a lodger at No. 19, Rue de la Michandere. From this he goes to the Hotel
Mirabeau, Rue du Dauphin, where he resided when he defeated his enemies
on the 13th Vendimaire. The Hotel de la Colonade, Rue Neuve des
Capuchins is his next residence, and where he was married to Josephine.
From this hotel he removed to his wife's dwelling in the Rue
Chanteriene, No. 52. In 1796 the young general started for Italy, where
his conquests paved the way for the ever memorable 18th Brumaire, that
made him dictator of France. Napoleon was too great now to be satisfied
with private dwellings, and we next trace him to the Elysee, St. Cloud,
Versailles, the Tuileries, Fontainbleau, and finally, came his decline,
which I need not relate to you.

After visiting the Gobelins, passing through its many rooms, seeing here
and there a half-finished piece of tapestry; and meeting a number of the
members of the late Peace Congress, who, like myself had remained behind
to see more of the beauties of the French capital than could be
overtaken during the Convention week. I accepted an invitation to dine
with a German gentleman at the Palais Royal, and was soon revelling amid
the luxuries of the table. I was glad that I had gone to the Palais
Royal, for here I had the honour of an introduction to M. Beranger, the
poet; and although I had to converse with him through an interpreter, I
enjoyed his company very much. "The people's poet," as he is called, is
apparently about seventy years of age, bald on the top of the head, and
rather corpulent, but of active look, and in the enjoyment of good
health. Few writers in France have done better service to the cause of
political and religious freedom, than Pierre Jean de Beranger. He is the
dauntless friend and advocate of the down-trodden poor and oppressed,
and has often incurred the displeasure of the Government by the arrows
that he has thrown into their camp. He felt what he wrote; it came
straight from his heart, and went directly to the hearts of the people.
He expressed himself strongly opposed to slavery, and said, "I don't
see how the Americans can reconcile slavery with their professed love of
freedom." Dinner out of the way, a walk through the different
apartments, and a stroll over the court, and I bade adieu to the Palais
Royal, satisfied that I should partake of many worse dinners than I had
helped to devour that day.

Few nations are more courteous than the French. Here the stranger, let
him come from what country he may, and be ever so unacquainted with the
people and language, he is sure of a civil reply to any question that he
may ask. With the exception of the egregious blunder I have mentioned of
the cabman driving me to the Elysee, I was not laughed at once while in
France.

LETTER VIII.

_Departure from Paris--Boulogne--Folkstone--London--Geo. Thompson, Esq.,
M.P.--Hartwell House--Dr. Lee--Cottage of the Peasant--Windsor
Castle--Residence of Wm. Penn--England's First Welcome--Heath Lodge--The
Bank of England._

LONDON, _Sept. 8th_.

The sun had just appeared from behind a cloud and was setting, and its
reflection upon the domes and spires of the great buildings in Paris
made everything appear lovely and sublime, as the train, with almost
lightning speed, was bringing me from the French metropolis. I gazed
with eager eyes to catch a farewell glance of the tops of the regal
palaces through which I had passed, during a stay of fifteen days in the
French capital.

A pleasant ride of four hours brought us to Boulogne, where we rested
for the night. The next morning I was up at an early hour, and out
viewing the town. Boulogne could present but little attraction, after a
fortnight spent in seeing the lions of Paris. A return to the hotel, and
breakfast over, we stepped on board the steamer, and were soon crossing
the channel. Two hours more, and I was safely seated in a railway
carriage, _en route_ to the English metropolis. We reached London at
mid-day, where I was soon comfortably lodged at 22, Cecil Street,
Strand. As the London lodging-houses seldom furnish dinners, I lost no
time in seeking out a dining-saloon, which I had no difficulty in
finding in the Strand. It being the first house of the kind I had
entered in London, I was not a little annoyed at the politeness of the
waiter. The first salutation I had, after seating myself in one of the
stalls, was, "Ox tail, Sir; gravy soup; carrot soup, Sir; roast beef;
roast pork; boiled beef; roast lamb; boiled leg of mutton, Sir, with
caper sauce; jugged hare, Sir; boiled knuckle of veal and bacon; roast
turkey and oyster sauce; sucking pig, Sir; curried chicken; harrico
mutton, Sir." These, and many other dishes which I have forgotten, were
called over with a rapidity that would have done credit to one of our
Yankee pedlars, in crying his wares in a New England village. I was so
completely taken by surprise, that I asked for a "bill of fare," and
told him to leave me. No city in the world furnishes a cheaper, better,
and quicker meal for the weary traveller, than a London eating-house.

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