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Call the Midwife A Memoir of Birth Joy and Hard Times
Jennifer Worth Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Jennifer Worth
ISBN(s): 9780143116233, 0143116231
Edition: Reprint
File Details: PDF, 11.36 MB
Year: 2009
Language: english
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 Praise for Call the Midwife

“Worth is indeed a natural storyteller—in the best sense of the

term, with apparent artlessness in fact concealing high art—and
her detailed account of being a midwife in London’s East End is
gripping, moving, and convincing from beginning to end. . . . [Call
the Midwife] is also a powerful evocation of a long-gone world . . .
and in Worth it has surely found one of its best chroniclers.”
—David Kynaston, Literary Review

“A chilling insight into life for the average mother [in the 1950s].”
—Sunday Express

“Worth is a stylish and dramatic writer.”

—Matthew Parris, Spectator

“This delightful memoir brings to vivid life London’s East End . . .

full of humor . . . Worth’s talent shines from every page.”
—Sainsbury’s Magazine

“In her marvelous new book . . . there are desperately sad stories
here, but tales of great hope too. Of ordinary people living, giving
birth and building their families despite enormous hardship and
poor sanitation. And of midwives delivering superb care in the
toughest conditions.” —East End Eife

“Nobody who reads [Call the Midwife] will ever forget it.”
—The Woman Writer

“The Docklands in London’s East End in the 1950s seems more like
the nineteenth century than fifty years ago.”
—Good Book Guide

“Sheer magic.” ■The Lady

 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jennifer Worth trained as a nurse at the Royal Berkshire

Hospital in Reading. She then moved to London to train as a
midwife. She later became a staff nurse at the Royal London
Hospital, Whitechapel, and then ward sister and sister at the
Elizabeth Garrett Anderson Hospital in Euston. Music had
always been her passion, and in 1973 Jennifer left nursing in
order to study music intensively. She gained the Licentiate
of the London College of Music in 1974 and was awarded
a Fellowship ten years later. Jennifer married Philip Worth
in 1963 and they lived together in Hertfordshire. Jennifer
died in May 2011, leaving her husband, two daughters, and
three grandchildren.

To access Penguin Readers Guides online, visit our

Web site at www.penguin.coin.
Call the Midwife
A Memoir of Birth, Joy, and Hard Times

JENNIFER WORTH

Clinical Editor
Terri Coates MSc, RN, RM, ADM, Dip Ed

PENGUIN BOOKS

Previously published as The Midwife

 PENGUIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,
Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R ORE, England
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Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell,
Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Austraba Group Pty Ltd)
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Panchsheel Park, New Delhi — 110 017, India
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New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Smrdee Avenue,
Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Afnca

Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices:

80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England

First published in Great Britain as Call the Midwife by Merton Books 2002
Published as The Midwife in Penguin Books 2009
This edition published in Penguin Books 2012

17 19 20 18 16

Copyright ©Jennifer Worth, 2002

All tights reserved

This is a work of nonfiction, and the events it recounts ate true. However, certain
names and identifying characteristics of some of the people who appear in its pages
have been changed. The views expressed in this book are the author’s.

THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE PAPERBACK EDITION AS FOLOWS:

Worth, Jennifer, 1935—
The midwife : a memoir of birth, joy, and
hard times / Jennifer Worth ; clinical editor, Terri Coates,
p. cm.
Rev. ed. of: Call the midwife / by Jennifer Worth. Twickenham : Merton, 2002.
Includes bibUographical references.
ISBN 978-0-14-311623-3 (pbk)
ISBN 978-0-14-312325-5 (this TV tie-in ed)
1. Worth, Jennifer, 1935— 2. Midwives—England—London—Biography..
1. Coates, Terri. 11. Worth, Jennifer, 1935— Call the midwife. III. Title.
[DNLM: 1. Worth, Jennifer, 1935- 2. Nurse Midwives—London—Personal Narratives.
3. Home Childbirth—history—London. 4. Poverty Areas—London. WZ 100 W932m 2009]
RG950.W675 2009
618.2—dc22 2008054663

Printed in the United States of America

E.xcept in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition
that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise
circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover
other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition
including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means
without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only
authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy
of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

ALWAYS t EARNING PEARS-; N

 This book is dedicated to Philip, my dear husband

The history of‘Mary’ is also dedicated to the memory of

Father Joseph Williamson and Daphne Jones
fcW^- ” -?i I'-^t^ <* <r^ •^'*1^ ' \v>'* •' ■ - ", !j !»

^'i'" '-v. • .’■ > '>;

 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

All nurses and midwives, many long since dead, with whom I
worked half a century ago
Terri Coates, who fired my memories
Canon Tony Williamson, President of The Wellclose Trust
Elizabeth Fairbairn for her encouragement
Pat Schooling, who had courage to go for original publication
Naomi Stevens, for all her help with the Cockney dialect
Suzannah Hart, Jenny Whitefield, Dolores Cook, Peggy Sayer,
Betty Howney, Bdta Perry
All who typed,'read and advised
Tower Hamlets Local History Library and Archives
The Curator, Island History Trust, E14
The Archivist, The Museum in Dockland, E14
The Librarian, Simmons Aerofilms
 r;; 3nH r f !\v4
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 CONTENTS

Introduction I

Call the Midwife 9

Nonnatus House 21

Morning Visits 29

Chummy 41

Molly 47
The Bicycle 58

Antenatal Clinic 62

Rickets 74
Eclampsia 81

Fred 90

A Christmas Baby 96

A Breech Delivery 104

Jimmy 116

Len & Concita Warren 127

Sister Monica Joan 144

Mary 151

Zakir 160

Cable Street 168

Cafe Life 180

Flight 190

Sister Evangelina 201

Mrs Jenkins 211

Rosie 221

The Workhouse 230

The Bottom Dropped Out of Pigs 237

Of Mixed Descent I 245

Of Mixed Descent II 256

Of Mixed Descent III 262

The Luncheon Party 270

Smog 281

The Flying Squad 291

A Premature Baby 296

Old, Old Age 306

In the Beginning 314
Appendix: On the Difficulties of

Writing the Cockney Dialect 320

Glossary of medical terms 334
 PREFACE

In January 1998, the Midwives Journal published an article by Terri

Coates entitled “Impressions of a Midwife in Literature”. After
careful research right across European and English-language
writing, Terri was forced to conclude that midwives are virtually
non-existent in literature.
Why, in heaven’s name? Fictional doctors grace the pages of
books in droves, scattering pearls of wisdom as they pass. Nurses,
good and bad, are by no means absent. But midwives? Whoever
heard of a midwife as a literary heroine? Yet midwifery is the very
stuff of drama.' Every child is conceived either in love or lust, is
born in pain, followed by joy or sometimes remorse. A midwife is
in the thick of it, she sees it all. Why then does she remain a
shadowy figure, hidden behind the delivery room door?
Terri Coates finished her article with a lament for the neglect
of such an important profession. I read her words, accepted the
challenge, and took up my pen.
 •• 4

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.’AJIWS
 INTRODUCTION

Nonnatus House was situated in the heart of the London Dock¬

lands. The practice covered Stepney, Limehouse, MillwaU, the Isle
of Dogs, Cubitt Town, Poplar, Bow, Mile End and Whitechapel.
The area was densely populated and most famihes had lived there
for generations, often not moving more than a street or two away
from their birthplace. Family life was lived at close quarters and
children were brought up by a widely extended family of aunts,
grandparents, cousins and older sibhngs, aU living within a few
houses, or at the most, streets of each other. Children would run
in and out of each other’s homes aU the time and when I lived and
worked there, I cannot remember a door ever being locked, except
at night.
Children were everywhere, and the streets were their play¬
grounds. In the 195OS there were no cars in the back streets, because
no one had a car, so it was perfectly safe to play there. There was
heavy industrial traffic on the main roads, particularly those leading
to and from the docks, but the little streets were traffic-free.
The bomb sites were the adventure playgrounds. They were
numerous, a terrible reminder of the war and the intense bombing
of the Docklands only ten years before. Great chunks had been cut
out of the terraces, each encompassing perhaps two or three streets.
The area would be roughly boarded off, partly hiding a wasteland
of rubble with bits of building half standing, half fallen. Perhaps a
notice stating DANGER - KEEP OUT would be nailed up
somewhere, but this was like a red rag to a bull to any lively lad
over the age of about six or seven, and every bomb site had secret
entries where the boarding was carefully removed, allowing a small
body to squeeze through. Officially no one was allowed in, but
everyone, including the police, seemed to turn a blind eye.
It was undoubtedly a rough area. Knifings were common. Street

I
 INTRODUCTION

fights were common. Pub fights and brawls were an everyday

event. In the small, overcrowded houses, domestic violence was
expected. But I never heard of gratuitous violence children or
towards the elderly; there was a certain respect for the weak.
This was the time of the Kray brothers, gang warfare, vendettas,
organised crime and intense rivalry. The police were everywhere,
and never walked the beat alone. Yet I never heard of an old lady
being knocked down and having her pension stolen, or of a child
being abducted and murdered.
The vast majority of the men hving in the area worked in the
docks.
Employment was high, but wages were low and the hours were
long. The men holding the skilled jobs had relatively high pay and
regular hours, and their jobs were fiercely guarded. Their skills
were usually kept in the family, passed from father to sons or
nephews. But for the casual labourers, hfe must have been hell.
There would be no work when there were no boats to unload,
and the men would hang around the gates all day, smoking and
quarreUing. But when there was a boat to unload, it would mean
fourteen, perhaps eighteen hours of relentless manual labour. They
would start at five in the morning and end around ten at night.
No wonder they fell into the pubs and drank themselves silly at
the end of it. Boys started in the docks at the age of fifteen, and
they were expected to work as hard as any man. All the men had
to be union members and the unions strove to ensure fair rates of
pay and fair hours, but they were bedevilled by the closed shop
system, which seemed to cause as much trouble and ill feehng
between workers as the benefits it accrued. However, without the
unions, there is no doubt that the exploitation of workers would
have been as bad in 1950 as it had been in 1850.
Early marriage was the norm. There was a high sense of sexual
morality, even prudery, amongst the respectable people of the East
End. Unmarried partners were virtually unknown, and no girl
would ever live with her boyfriend. If she attempted to, there
would be heU to pay from her family. What went on in the bomb
sites, or behind the dustbin sheds, was not spoken of. If a young

2
 INTRODUCTION

girl did become pregnant, the pressure on the young man to marry
her was so great that few resisted. Families were large, often very
large, and divorce was rare. Intense and violent family rows were
common, but husband and wife usually stuck together.
Few women went out to work. The young girls did, of course,
but as soon as a young woman settled down it would have been
frowned upon. Once the babies started coming, it was impossible:
an endless life of child-rearing, cleaning, washing, shopping and
cooking would be her lot. I often wondered how these women
managed, with a family of up to thirteen or fourteen children in a
small house, containing only two or three bedrooms. Some families
of that size lived in the tenements, which often consisted of only
two rooms and a tiny kitchen.
Contraception, if practised at all, was unreliable. It was left to
the women, who had endless discussions about safe periods, slip¬
pery elm, gin and ginger, hot water douches and so on, but few
attended any birth control clinic and, from what I heard, most
men, absolutely refused to wear a sheath.
Washing, drying and ironing took up the biggest part of a
woman’s working day. Washing machines were virtually unknown
and tumble driers had not been invented. The drying yards were
always festooned with clothes, and we midwives often had to pick
our way through a forest of flapping linen to get to our patients.
Once in the house or flat, there would be more washing to duck
and weave through, in the hall, the stairways, the kitchen, the
living room and the bedroom. Launderettes were not introduced
until the 1960s, so aU washing had to be done by hand at home.
By the 1950s, most houses had running cold water and a flushing
lavatory in the yard outside. Some even had a bathroom. The
tenements, however, did not, and the public wash-houses were still
very much in use. Grumbling boys were taken there once a week
to have a bath by determined mothers. The men, probably under
female orders, carried out the same weekly ablution. You would
see them going to the bath-house on a Saturday afternoon with a
small towel, a piece of soap, and a dour expression, which spoke
of a weekly tussle once again waged and lost.

3
 INTRODUCTION

Most houses had a wireless, but I did not see a single TV set
during my time in the East End, which may well have contributed
to the size of the families. The pubs, the men’s clubs, dances,
cinemas, the music halls and dog racing were the main forms of
relaxation. For the young people, surprisingly, the church was
often the centre of social life, and every church had a series of
youth clubs and activities going on every night of the week. All
Saints Church in the East India Dock Road, a huge Victorian
church, had many hundreds of youngsters in its youth club run by
the Rector and no less than seven energetic young curates. They
needed all their youth and energy to cope, night after night, with
activities for five or six hundred young people.
The thousands of seamen of aU nationalities that came into the
docks did not seem to impinge much upon the hves of the people
who lived there. “We keeps ourselves to ourselves,” the locals said,
which meant no contact. Daughters were carefully protected: there
were plenty of brothels to cater for the needs of the seamen. In my
work I had to visit two or three of them, and I found them very
creepy places to be in.
I saw prostitutes soliciting in the main roads, but none at aU in
the little streets, even on the Isle of Dogs, which was the first
landing place for the seamen. The experienced professional would
never waste her time in such an unpromising area, and if any
enthusiastic amateur had been rash enough to attempt it, she would
soon have been driven out, probably with violence, by the outraged
local residents, men as well as women. The brothels were well
known, and always busy. I daresay they were illegal, and raided
from time to time by the police, but that did not seem to affect
business. Their existence certainly kept the streets clean.
Life has changed irrevocably in the last fifty years. My memories
of the Docklands bear no resemblance to what is known today.
Family and social life has completely broken down, and three
things occurring together, within a decade, ended centuries of
tradition - the closure of the docks, slum clearance, and the Pill.
Slum clearance started in the late 1950s, while I was still working
in the area. No doubt the houses were a bit grotty, but they were

4
 INTRODUCTION

people’s homes and much loved. I remember many, many people,

old and young, men and women, holding a piece of paper from
the Council, informing them that their houses or flats were to be
demolished, and that they were to be rehoused. Most were sobbing.
They knew no other world, and a move of four miles seemed like
going to the ends of the earth. The moves shattered the extended
family, and children suffered as a result. The transition also literally
killed many old people who could not adapt. What is the point of
a spanking new flat with central heating and a bathroom, if you
never see your grandchildren, have no one to talk to, and your
local, which sold the best beer in London, is now four miles away?
The PiU was introduced in the early 1960s and modern woman
was born. Women were no longer going to be tied to the cycle of
endless babies; they were going to be themselves. With the PiU
came what we now caU the sexual revolution. Women could, for
the first time in history, be like men, and enjoy sex for its own
sake. In the late 1950s we had eighty to a hundred deliveries a
month on our books. In 1963 the number had dropped to four or
five a month. Now that is some social change!
The closure of the docks occurred graduaUy over about fifteen
years, but by about 1980 the merchant ships came and went no
more. The men clung to their jobs, the unions tried to defend
them, and there were numerous dockers’ strikes during the 1970s,
but the writing was on the waU. In fact the strikes, far from
protecting jobs, merely accelerated the closures. For the men of
the area, the docks were more than a job, even more than a way of
life - they were, in fact, life itself - and for these men, the world
feU apart. The ports, which for centuries had been the main arteries
of England, were no longer needed. And therefore the men were
no longer needed. This was the end of the Docklands as I knew
them.

In the Victorian era, social reform had swept through the country.
For the first time authors wrote about iniquities that had never
before been exposed, and the public conscience was stirred. Among
these reforms, the need for good nursing care in hospitals gained

5
 INTRODUCTION

the attention of many farsighted and educated wornen. Nursing

and midwifery were in a deplorable state. It was not considered a
respectable occupation for any educated woman, and so the illit¬
erate filled the gap. The caricature figures of Sairey Gamp and
Betsy Prig - ignorant, filthy, gin-swiUing women - created by
Charles Dickens, may seem hilarious as we read about them, but
would not have been funny if you had been obliged, through
poverty, to place your Hfe in their hands.
Florence Nightingale is our most famous nurse, and her dynamic
organisational skills changed the face of nursing for ever. But she
was not alone, and the history of nursing records many groups of
dedicated women who devoted their lives to raising the standards
of nursing. One such group was the Midwives of St Raymund
Nonnatus,* They were a religious order of Anglican nuns, devoted
to bringing safer childbirth to the poor. They opened houses in
the East End of London, and in many of the slum areas of the great
industrial cities of Great Britain.
In the nineteenth century (and earlier, of course) no poor
woman could afford to pay the fee required by a doctor for the
dehvery of her baby. So she was forced to rely on the services of
an untrained, self-taught midwife, or “handywoman” as they were
often called. Some may have been quite effective practitioners, but
others boasted a frightening mortality rate. In the mid-nineteenth
century, maternal mortality amongst the poorest classes stood
at around 35—40 per cent, and infant mortahty was around
60 per cent. Anything like eclampsia, haemorrhage, or mal-
presentation, would mean the inevitable death of the mother.
Sometimes these handywomen would abandon a patient to agony
and death if any abnormality developed during labour. There is no
doubt that their working practices were insanitary, to say the least.

* The Midwives of St Raymund Nonnatus is a pseudonym. I have taken the name

from St Raymund Nonnatus, the patron saint of midwives, obstetricians, pregnant
women, childbirth and newborn babies. He was delivered by Caesarean secrion (“non
natus” is the Latin for “not born”) in Catalonia, Spain, in 1204. His mother, not
surprisingly, died at his birth. He became a priest and died in 1240.

6
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
whose mouths these artificial waterfalls are vomited. In this state, at
least, a jet d’eau forms but a disagreeable ornament in a garden,
which ought to unite every beauty of nature, and to disdain every
other.
The next object to St. Cloud, which attracted our attention, was
the famous manufactory of Sèvre. The beautiful porcelain, which
bears the name of this town, continues to be made here, under the
immediate protection of the government. We visited the shop, or
magazin, and were shown the several rooms of which it consists. In
all of these were tables, covered with specimens of china made
here, but I cannot say that they answered my expectation. They
were neither as various, nor as splendid, as one should suppose they
would be, at the principal dépôt of so renowned a manufactory.
Probably, the situation in which France has been during the
revolution, did not afford a sufficient number of purchasers, to
induce the managers to keep by them any considerable quantity of
expensive articles. There were several busts of Bonaparte in
different sizes, all of which were strikingly resembling. There were
also great and small busts of Voltaire, Franklin, and Rousseau.
Going thence to Versailles, we drove to Rambrand’s, which is
esteemed the principal hotel; but finding, on our arrival, that the
best rooms were engaged, we changed our plan, and proceeded to
le Petit Trianon in the park, which, formerly the much loved retreat
of Marie Antoinette, has, in the strange metamorphosis things as
well as men have experienced in France, become a common inn.
Having ordered dinner to be prepared in a small room, once
celebrated as the luxurious boudoir of the ill fated queen, we
proceeded to view the curiosities of Versailles. The park has lost
some trees, and has been neglected. In other respects, it is not
much altered. The orangerie[63] still retains, unimpaired, all its
beauty. We walked through long avenues of orange trees, all of
which are in high health and rich foliage. The gardener assured us,
that some of those which were of very large dimensions, had been
planted in the reign of Francis I.
 We next visited the private library of the former kings of France,
situate in a separate house in the town. There is nothing very
particular in the building; but there were, above the several doors of
the library, extremely pretty paintings of the different capitals of
Europe. We were here shown a very beautiful collection of
illuminated paintings, representing the splendid fête and
tournaments given by the magnificent Lewis XIV.
Thence our guide wished to take us to the national manufactory of
fire arms, which is carried on with great activity in this town; but
having seen many acknowledgedly superior works of the same kind
in England, we declined visiting it, and proceeded at once to the
palace. This superb building has not suffered at all during the
revolution; though, from being neglected and uninhabited, it has
contracted a kind of gloom, which forcibly recals the misfortunes of
its last possessors, and the uncertainty of human grandeur. The
magnificent furniture, which the apartments once contained, has
been removed; but the walls are not without ornament, for the
palace having been made (probably with the view of preserving it
from popular violence) a musée central, or dépôt of the works of art,
now possesses several valuable pictures, and a few excellent
statues. Among the former, I remarked some good Claude Loraines,
and two beautiful portraits by Vincent. The subject of one was Henry
IV of France; and the other, that of the celebrated president, Molé.
The latter is painted in his parliamentary robes, heroically exposing
his breast to the violence of the mob, and doing his duty, unmoved
by the poniards raised against him. You seem to hear him exclaim,
as history records he did, “La distance est grande de la main d’un
assassin au cœur d’un honnête homme[64].”
We walked through the vast suite of rooms, which, once the seat
of gayety, splendour, luxury, and royal magnificence, are now the
abode of solitude, and the monument of fallen grandeur.
It is unnecessary to state the many reflections which this spot
created. We failed not to visit the apartment which the unfortunate
Lewis XVI occupied on the 6th of october, and in which Marie
Antoinette took refuge. We were also shown the balcony window
(now stopped up), where that virtuous and ill fated princess,
madame Elizabeth, with a magnanimity truly heroic, presented
herself, when the queen was called for, and being taken for her,
voluntarily subjected herself to all the brutal violence of an irritated
mob.
We likewise saw the opera house, built for the wedding of Lewis
XVI, when dauphin, and which, during the last reign, was sometimes
used as a theatre, and sometimes as a ball room. The apartment is
still perfect, but the scenes and decorations have been removed.
On leaving the palace, we visited several jets d’eau; but were
prevented from viewing the garden as particularly as we could have
wished, a violent shower of rain having overtaken us.
The waterworks and pleasure grounds appear to have been much
neglected.
We dined at the Little Trianon, and slept there. The room, which
fell to my share, was that which the unhappy Lewis formerly
occupied, and the key of the door had attached to it a label, on
which could still be discovered, though half effaced, the words,
“appartement du roi[65].”
In calling for our bill this morning, we found that this little inn (ci-
devant a royal residence) had two proprietors, one of whom lets the
apartments, and the other supplies the table in the character of
“traiteur.” With the charges of the latter we had no fault to find; but
the demand of the former was so ridiculously exorbitant, that have
kept the bill as a curiosity, of which I add the copy.

Petit Trianon logement[66].

Francs.
Trois appartemens de maître 36
Bougie 6
Bois 9
 Quatre lits de domestique 12
Total 63

By way of reconciling us to this extravagant charge, the mistress

of the house sent her daughter to us, a very pretty girl, with the bill.
Our gallantry, however, did not subdue our reason, and we
determined to resist the demand. Our hostess having indignantly
refused the half, which we offered as amply sufficient, Mr. ⸺ and I
proceeded to Versailles, in pursuit of a juge de paix. After being sent
to two or three justices, who told us, that it was not within their
jurisdiction, we at last, in a miserable lodging, and at an obscure
house, found the magistrate of the division. His dress and his
appearance were not superiour to his residence, and from these
united circumstances, we were far from expecting that justice which,
in the result, we experienced.
Having heard our case, he granted a citation, requiring the
attendance of the landlord; and, of course, suspended his decision
till the arrival of the other party. While our servant, who carried the
summons, went to execute it, we were present at a curious trial, the
subject of which was a small quantity, I believe a quart, of vinegar.
The defendant was a coarse masculine woman, at least sixty years
of age, who, when she had exhausted all her fund of eloquence,
burst into tears, and talked of the weak unprotected stare of an
unhappy widow. The plaintiff was a dirty ill looking fellow, with a
witness of no better appearance. They all talked together; and the
justice, instead of being able to moderate their violence, found it
difficult to gain a hearing himself. After a wrangle of an hour, and
after swearing and counterswearing to the same fact, they went
away, without the business being finally settled.
What entertained me much, was, that these disputants, in the
middle of their harangues, turned round to my friend and me, and
seemed anxious, each in his turn, to convince us, by their
eloquence, of the justice of their respective cases; though we were
not only strangers to the business, but also to the laws on which this
important question was to be decided.
When our good landlady arrived, her bill was produced; and the
justice having declared how exorbitant he thought it, she justified
herself on three grounds.
1st. That we had not made a previous agreement; and ergo, that
she had a right to demand whatever she pleased.
2dly. That she paid a great rent “à la nation[67];” and that,
therefore, “la nation” ought to permit her to make her guests pay a
great rent for their lodgings.
3dly. That “l’ambassadeur de l’empereur Russe[68],” having lodged
at her house only a week before, and not having objected to a
charge of two louis per bed, “les milords anglois” ought to think her
present demand extremely reasonable.
Notwithstanding this very able defence, the justice told her, that
the law would not allow her d’écorcher les étrangers[69]; and very
equitably decreed, that we should pay 36 instead of 63 francs.
Madame received, very indignantly, the sum allotted her, and went
away in a rage, declaring that, in future, no person should sleep at
le petit Trianon, who would not bind himself before hand to pay the
price which “son excellence l’ambassadeur de toutes les Russies”
thought so reasonable.
So concluded our trial, which I have detailed as characteristic of
what is to be expected at inns in France, if prior arrangements be
not made by travellers; and likewise as an honourable proof, that
justice, though not clad in ermine, is fairly administered. In going
away, I was not a little surprised to find, that there were no costs to
pay, and that even the summons had been issued gratuitously.
In England, where we possess so admirable a system of laws, how
much are its advantages diminished, by the expenses attendant on
every process! for, as a distinguished public man once well observed,
though the temple of justice be open to all, it is like the London
tavern, only the favourites of fortune dare approach its threshold.
In returning to our inn, we passed by the royal stables, which are
still kept up, and filled with horses. These are now appropriated to
the use of the officers of the army, who come here to be instructed
in the menage, and who employ, for this purpose, the quondam
riding school of the king. The horses appeared, at least to an english
eye, very indifferent. We also saw here some arabians, lately arrived
from Egypt. They are extremely plain, lanky, and awkward; but the
groom assured us, on being asked if they were swift, “Oui, monsieur,
comme les oiseaux.” (“Yes, sir, as swift as birds.”) It was in vain to
object to outward form, when we learnt that these animals had the
talent of flying. If, according to the old jockey phrase, “no good
horse can have a bad colour,” certainly no horse who flies can be
ugly.
Before we left Versailles, we visited the garden of le petit Trianon,
which is rented by our honest landlady, and which may be seen, by
paying a small sum for a ticket at the gate. It is kept in tolerable
order, and has still strong marks of that good taste, with which it
was originally made. It is really, and not nominally, an english
garden; and would, even in our happy island, be deemed as prettily
laid out, as the smallness of its extent would permit.
The little theatre, built by the queen, situate within the precincts
of these grounds, is still in existence, and has suffered no loss,
excepting that of the beautiful glasses with which the boxes were
once splendidly illuminated. The last object, to which we were led at
Versailles, was “le grand Trianon,” that favourite spot of Lewis XVI.
This elegant building is also unhurt; and the fine marble pillars,
which form the entrance, excited all our admiration. The poverty,
into which the inhabitants of the town have fallen, in consequence of
the revolution, is strikingly apparent. In every corner, we were
surrounded by half-starved and half-naked beggars, whose
importunities were not a little troublesome.
 In returning to Paris, we took the road of St. Germain. The old
castle still remains; but its outward appearance was so gloomy, that
we felt no inclination to visit the interiour. If the french monarch
intended to pay a compliment to the pretender, in giving him a
palace as nearly as possible resembling St. James’s, his choice was
admirable. The view from the terrace is pretty, but by no means
either as extensive, nor as rich, as I expected from its celebrity.
In continuing our road, we saw the celebrated waterworks of
Marly, which are preserved in all their perfection. We likewise passed
by the famous aqueduct, and by Malmaison, the private seat of the
first consul. The latter has nothing very particular to distinguish it. It
is simply a moderately sized house, situate near the river, but so low,
that it cannot command a very extensive prospect. I hear, the
grounds are well laid out, and that the furniture of the house unites
every thing which taste could order, or luxury afford. We reached
Paris about six o’clock; and my first employment, after dinner, has
been to write you this account, as I know that Versailles, and its
neighbourhood, are among the number of objects, about which
english curiosity is excited.
I am, &c.
 LETTER XXV.
Long Champ, account of that annual promenade, date of its origin, and of
the great preparations made this year for attending it.—The bustle,
and gayety which it produced at Paris.

Paris, april the 16th, 1802, (27 germinal).

my dear sir,

All Paris has been alive for the last three days. Can you guess the
reason? Perhaps you will imagine, that the inhabitants, roused from
the state of lethargy, into which they have for some time back been
plunged, are beginning to give sincere but tardy marks of joy, at the
reestablishment of internal order, and external peace. Not at all, my
good friend. A subject, much more interesting to the parisians, is the
cause of the show and gayety so generally exhibited. Know, then,
that “Long Champ” has begun! I must now, like other learned
commentators, explain my explanation.
“Long Champ” is the name of a village, situate on the other side of
the “Bois de Boulogne,” of which latter place I spoke to you in a
former letter. In this village stood an abbey, or church; and one of
the holy fathers, some hundred years ago, had a voice of such
extraordinary sweetness, that, when high mass was performed,
crowds of Parisians flocked to hear him. His popularity was not
confined to the lower class, and the noblesse shared the curiosity of
the public. The fashion of going to Long Champ so rapidly increased,
that, in a short time, it was no uncommon thing to see whole strings
of splendid carriages at the door of the convent. The road to this
village became the favourite ride, and vanity soon discovered, that it
afforded an excellent opportunity of displaying all the varieties of
dress, and all the pomp of equipage. In the course of a few years, it
became an established custom, at this particular period of the year,
to make, during three days, not an humble pilgrimage, but a
splendid procession, to Long Champ. The mass and the singer were
soon forgotten; but the promenade continued, and increased every
year in the magnificence of parade. To appear, on this occasion, with
becoming grandeur, the haughty, but often distressed noble, would,
for months beforehand, deprive himself of his ordinary comforts. To
rival “les dames de bonne compagnie[70]” in richness of dress, in
show of equipage, and blaze of diamonds, was the grand object of
the admired belles of the opera house; and the means of doing so,
was the exacted price of those smiles, which the well beneficed
prelate, or the wealthy financier, were sometimes permitted to
enjoy. The Bourgeois and their wives appeared in their humble
cabriolets, but the former wore their Sunday apparel; and the latter
were loaded with all the tinsel finery, which, during the course of the
year, they had been able to collect. The common people, or la
canaille (as they were then indignantly called), were equally fond of
this procession; and, at the risk of being run over, crowded and
completed the show, some dressed in tattered regimentals, some in
faded silk coats, and ragged embroidered waistcoats, and others
with bag-wig’s and wooden shoes.
Such was the custom during “l’ancien régime.” The amusements of
the french vanished with their old political institutions, and
“horrendum dictu,” Long Champ was long unobserved.
Robespierre, and after him the directors, forbade every thing
which bore the least resemblance to the customs of former times;
but when Bonaparte came into power, the system was instantly
changed, and the people, left to follow their own inclinations,
greedily returned to all their former diversions. “Long Champ” was of
the number; and, since the 18th of brumaire, it has been gradually
recovering its ancient magnificence. This year, from the
reestablishment of peace, and the confluence of foreigners, it was
expected to be finer than ever; and vast preparations have, during
some weeks past, been making. Milliners tortured their fancy to
invent new fashions; mantuamakers passed whole nights without
sleep, in executing the orders which they had received; coachmakers
exerted themselves with all the art of their trade, and all the vanity
of their country, in endeavouring to imitate the carriages of the
english; horses were sent for from every part of the world;
regiments of tailors were employed in making coats for the beaux,
habits for the ladies, and laced jackets for their grooms; strings of
boots were seen dangling on the backs of porters in every quarter of
the town; saddles were as much in requisition, as if a great military
project, by the means of cavalry, had been in agitation; and I have
been confidently assured, that no less than three thousand pair of
leather breeches were ordered on the occasion.
In consequence of these active preparations, and of “Long
Champ” having been, for some weeks back, infinitely more the
subject of conversation than either the peace, or the reestablishment
of religion, I expected, at least, a very brilliant sight. I must say, I
was disappointed. The only thing which pleased me very much, was
the bustle which it produced in the town, and the gayety with which
it animated the faces of the Parisians. For three days, every vehicle
in the shape of a carriage, and every animal which claimed the name
of horse, has been dragged into use, and become part of the
procession. About two o’clock, a military guard was posted at the
beginning of the Champs Elisées, to preserve order, (for nothing
here is done without soldiers); and from that hour, till some time
after sunset, the crowd gradually increased. At three, the line of
carriages reached from “la place de la Concorde” to the “Bois de
Boulogne;” and, of course, there were frequent stoppages, even at
the beginning of the promenade. The road not employed in this
manner, was filled with equestrians of all ranks, and the walk on
both sides was equally thronged with passengers on foot. There
were some few elegant english equipages, well appointed, and
others spoiled, by the shabby appearance of the servants, or the
extreme badness of the horses. The french coachmakers, in one or
two instances, successfully imitated the fashions of London; but,
generally speaking, the attempt only served to prove the vast
distance which exists, between the two countries, in the art of
constructing carriages.
 Mixed with “les voitures à l’anglaise, ou véritablement
anglaises[71]” were seen old fashioned berlins, family coaches, and
superannuated cabriolets of all descriptions. Phaetons, gigs,
curricles, and whiskies, completed the procession. Among the
horsemen were seen a few returned emigrants, who had so well
copied the dress of our young men of ton, that they might have
been mistaken for the beaux of Bond street; but the greater number
(malgré their leather breeches and boots, their blue frocks and high
crowned hats) betrayed the forgery, by the preposterous addition of
ear-rings, coloured capes, or pointed toes. The ladies appeared in
every variety of clothing. Some, who ventured to be their own
charioteers, assumed the neat and appropriate dress of an
“amazone,” or habit. Others, decorating, and concealing as little as
possible, the charms of their person, shone in all the brilliance of
their evening apparel. Worked gowns, laced caps, and showy
turbans, were sometimes exhibited from the windows of hackney
coaches; and a dirty buggy had, not unfrequently, the honour of
conveying three or four damsels, whose costume would not have
been unsuited to the first heroine of the stage. It is impossible to
describe, or convey, the faintest idea of the grotesque figures which
appeared on this occasion; and, notwithstanding the trouble and
expense to which so many individuals had exposed themselves, by
the purchase of new carriages, new liveries, new horses, new
dresses, and last, not least, new leather breeches, the whole
appeared to me but a shabby exhibition, dull amusement.
Moving, in slow procession, to the other side of the Bois de
Boulogne, during five or six hours, constituted the whole pleasure of
this vaunted fête. There were certainly some elegant carriages, and
some handsome horses; but the number was too inconsiderable to
make amends for the crowd of those of a contrary description.
Nothing could be more tiresome than sitting in one of these vehicles,
as they were compelled, every instant, to stop, on account of the
lengthened line, which increased every moment. Persons on
horseback were equally ill off, as it required the utmost care to avoid
being driven against the wheels of the carriages; and as for the
pedestrians, they were almost buried in a volley of dust.
Such is the celebrated promenade of Long Champ, which, though
an annual festival, appears to me a wretched and pitiful imitation of
Hyde park on an ordinary sunday. Yet the french are delighted with
their amusement; and in returning this evening, I heard on every
side, “Quel beau spectacle! quelles jolies voitures! quels magnifiques
chevaux! quelle belle parure! Vraiment c’est charmant[72]!”
It is not a little flattering to the vanity of an englishman, to see
how rapidly the french are adopting our fashions; and,
notwithstanding the awkward manner in which they are sometimes
copied, yet such is the general bias, that I entertain no doubt that,
in the space of ten years, (if the peace should last so long), it will
become almost impossible to distinguish, by his dress, a native of
France from one of England.
The ladies of Paris, and those of London, differ, indeed, very
widely in their toilet. Perhaps they might reciprocally improve by
observing each other; and while the former would do right to
respect and imitate the modesty, with which the latter are usually
clad, our fair countrywomen might also, without any injury to their
beauty, or any violation of that delicacy, which is their brightest
ornament, adopt some of that taste, elegance, and fancy, which are
often seen in the dress of a well bred frenchwoman.
Adieu, my dear sir. I am heartily tired of my subject, and fear you
will have been so some time. I therefore take my leave for the
present.
I am, &c.
 LETTER XXVI.
Te Deum sung at Notre Dame, in honour of the peace and the
reestablishment of religion.—Military insolence.—Account of the
ceremony.—Illuminations in the evening.—Indifference of the people.

Paris, april the 18th, 1802, Easter Sunday (28 germinal.)

my dear sir,

To day will probably be long remembered in the annals of France, on

account of the promulgation of the law for (“l’établissement des
cultes”) the reestablishment of religion; on account of the definitive
treaty of peace with England, the ratifications of which were
exchanged this morning at the Thuilleries; and of the “Te Deum”
sung at Notre Dame, in honour of these united events.
I wished very much to be present at a ceremony, which was
rendered so particularly interesting by the number of curious
concurring circumstances, too obvious to be detailed. Having no
ticket, I went to the church at six o’clock in the morning, hoping to
make my way, among the crowd, into those places, which were not
appropriated to the constituted authorities. The doors were not
open; and about a hundred persons, who were already arrived,
stood enclosed in a kind of barrier, which seemed to have been put
up for the purpose of preventing too great a press at the first
opening of the gates. I placed myself against this bar, and hoped to
gain admittance in the second division. I was soon followed and
surrounded by a considerable crowd; and, after we had all remained
about two hours in this uncomfortable state, a detachment of
soldiers arrived, and attempted instantly to clear a passage. We
were already so squeezed together, that it was impossible to make
room for the military, without either losing our places, or incurring
the danger of suffocation. When the soldiers perceived that,
notwithstanding the blows which they dealt around them without
ceremony, the people did not immediately make way, they lost all
patience; and, not content with fixing their bayonets, called out for a
detachment of horse. The brandishing of the one, and the fear of
the other, soon dispersed the mob; but not till some had been
wounded, and several severely bruised.
I could not help reflecting, with some degree of indignation, on
this singular scene. In England, under a monarchical form of
government, the military are not allowed to interfere, but in cases of
positive danger, or actual insurrection; and even then under the
orders of a civil magistrate. In France, where the system is called
“republican,” and every man supposed to constitute a part of the
sovereignty, the body of the people, coming quietly to see the first
solemn service of that religion, which is said to be restored in
compliance with their wishes, are driven with blows and military
violence from the doors of that church, in which peace, liberty,
equality, and good order, are about to be celebrated. Perhaps,
indeed, it may be urged, that this was only a necessary precaution
of the police, and that the object of the guard was to prevent that
riot and danger to which the public, not so protected, would have
been exposed. The answer is plain. If it was thought necessary to
maintain order by the assistance of the military power, the sentinels
ought to have been placed the preceding night, or at the dawn of
morning. It was adding insult to cruelty, to permit the people to
assemble, and after the loss of several hours, and the endurance of
great fatigue, to dismiss them in the manner I have described.
It is needless for me to say, that I soon relinquished all hope of
getting into the church, and thought myself happy in being able to
make my escape unhurt from the claws of these heroes.
In going away, I perceived at the window of an adjoining hospital,
nearly opposite the church, some ladies of my acquaintance, who
were so obliging as to offer me a place near them, from which I
might see the procession.
I had scarcely taken this situation, when a ticket for one of the
privileged places in the church was given me by a person, who was
unwilling to risk the difficulties, with which the approach to the doors
seemed attended. After being sent about to different gates, I at last
found admittance at one. When I reached the gallery, it was so
completely full, that I found myself compelled to take refuge in the
orchestra. From this situation I was again driven by the soldiers; and
in despair I returned to the gallery, where, standing on the back of a
tottering chair, and with at least twenty rows of spectators before
me, I caught, not without some danger, a very imperfect glimpse of
this splendid ceremony.
What I did not see myself, I shall relate on the authority of
persons, who were more fortunately situate, and on whose accuracy
I know I can depend.
The procession began with a numerous escort of different
regiments. Among these were particularly remarked “les guides,” a
corps of handsome young men, clad in hussar dresses, and mounted
on beautiful horses, who excited universal admiration. Next to them
came the “gens d’armes,” or “régiment d’élites,” lately raised. They
are men of a very respectable appearance, in blue uniforms, faced
with yellow, whence long epaulets are suspended. These, as well as
the buttons, are of silver, as is the lace of their hats. Their horses are
black. The consular guards, and several regiments of the line,
completed the military cavalcade. The ministers of state, and the
“corps diplomatique,” came next, and formed a long line of
carriages. Those of the latter were drawn each by four horses, and
ornamented with all the escutcheons of heraldic pomp. Those of the
former were without arms; but they had all six horses, and their
servants, dressed alike, wore splendid liveries, now put on for the
first time, of yellow, gold, and red. A small corps of Mamalukes in
their egyptian costume, some of whom led unmounted arabians, and
a few aides-de-camp, immediately preceded the carriage, in which
sat Bonaparte, accompanied by the other two consuls. His coach,
new on the occasion, was simply elegant, and drawn by eight very
fine horses richly caparisoned. His servants appeared in green coats
and red waistcoats, on all the seams of which were rows of broad
gold lace. The consuls were received at the door of the church by
the archbishop of Paris, who placed over their head a dais (or
canopy).
Bonaparte, with Cambacères on his right, and le Brun on his left
hand, was conducted in this manner to a throne erected near the
altar, under which their three chairs were placed. A similar throne
appeared opposite, in which sat the cardinal legate.
The bishops bowed first to the altar, secondly to the consul, and
lastly to the cardinal. This was remarked by the public; as, under the
monarchy, the representative of the pope was permitted to receive
this homage before the sovereign of the country.
The oath settled by the concordat having been taken by the
clergy, high mass was instantly said.
At the conclusion of this ceremony, M. de Boisgelin, formerly
archbishop of Aix, lately named archbishop of Tours, ascended the
pulpit, and delivered a discourse appropriate to the occasion. I
regretted much, that the distance at which I was placed was so
great, that it was impossible for me to hear the venerable preacher,
who excited no little curiosity, from the singularity of his situation.
He is the same man, who, at the “sacre” or coronation, of Lewis XVI,
preached before that unfortunate monarch. His sermon will, no
doubt, be published in the “moniteur,” where you will have an
opportunity of seeing it.
It was the custom formerly on these occasions, for the bishop, in
beginning his discourse, to address himself to the king. A similar
form was observed to day, and the expression of “sire” was
exchanged for that of “citoyen premier consul.” After the sermon,
“Te Deum” was chanted. All the band of the opera house was
employed, and Lais and madame Bolla supplied the vocal parts. The
effect was fine, yet, comparatively, very inferiour to our musical
meetings in Westminster abbey. I heard some connoisseurs object to
the air, as not sufficiently grave or dignified for the subject which it
was intended to celebrate. As I am totally ignorant of music, I can
form no judgment as to the justice of the criticism.
 The church was immensely full. The aisle was filled with the
military, the different uniforms of which had a splendid effect.
Behind the consuls sat the ambassadors, the ministers, and the
generals. In a box above, at the entrance of the chapel, was placed
madame Bonaparte, accompanied by her daughter and some other
ladies. On the other side was a similar box, appropriate to the use of
the ladies of the “corps diplomatique.”
The two galleries or choirs, which surround the church, were
divided into an orchestra for the music, seats for the different
constituted authorities, and places for such individuals as were
favoured with tickets. In the latter were of course seen all the
persons at Paris most distinguished for situation, talent, or beauty.
The coup d’œil altogether was very striking. The procession returned
with the same ceremony as that in which it arrived; and all the
streets of Paris were lined with spectators.
A discharge of sixty cannon was heard at the departure of the first
consul from the Thuilleries; and his arrival at the church, and his
return to the palace, were announced in the same manner.
In the evening, the palace was splendidly illuminated. Every
division of the arches forming the front towards the garden was
covered with lamps, and a lustre of lights was suspended from each.
The garden itself was prettily, but less brilliantly, decorated, than on
the fête in honour of the preliminaries.
All the public buildings and offices were also lighted; but the only
illumination at all remarkable, beside those which I have named, was
that of Mr. Jackson, his majesty’s envoy extraordinary. The gates of
“l’hôtel de Caramon,” where he lodges, were entirely covered with
lamps of different colours; the effect of which was much admired, as
at Paris that mode of decorating their rejoicings is unknown. On the
right hand were the letters R. F. (République Française); and on the
left, G. R. (Georgius Rex).
I forgot to mention that Bonaparte was much applauded by the
populace, in going to Notre Dame; and that madame received the
same compliment, though she went there without any parade, in a
plain handsome carriage, and seemed to decline, rather than to
court, the notice of the public.
During the illuminations there was no noise, and, indeed, no
expression of joy. Very few people were seen in the Thuilleries,
though the weather was fine, and the day sunday. The more I see of
the french, the more am I astonished and disgusted at the
indifference which they have contracted. Their dullness is the more
disagreeable, from it’s being unnatural; and I cannot help
exclaiming, every hour, with Voltaire,

Que je plains un françois, quand il est sans gaieté;

Loin de son élément le pauvre homme est jetté[73].

Adieu.
 LETTER XXVII.
Palais de Justice.—Account of the different tribunals or courts of law.
Paris, april the 30th, 1802, (10 floréal.)

my dear sir,

I went this morning to the “Palais de Justice,” in order to visit the

different tribunals. The “façade,” or front, of this building has a
commanding appearance. A handsome iron railing, with three gates,
forms its barrier; after passing through which, you ascend a lofty
flight of stone steps. The avenues to the principal hall are filled with
shops of various descriptions, and particularly those of booksellers.
The hall, or central room, which is of considerable extent, forms a
kind of antichamber to the different courts. I went into one of the
“tribunals de premier instance,” in each of which three judges
preside. They wear long bands, and black coats, from which is
suspended a cloke or gown of black silk. The advocates plead in a
sort of bar; but, excepting being dressed in black, have no
distinguishing badge, or professional decoration. The judges had a
grave appearance; and, though they did not seem to be men of
much importance, conducted themselves with decency and
propriety. I was present while some causes were argued; but they
were not of sufficient consequence to enable me to form any
estimate of the talents of the advocates, now called, in the general
change of name, “des défenseurs officiaux[74].” As to their outward
garb, it was not prepossessing; and, if it were not unjust to form any
conclusion from mere exteriors, I should say, that a french counsel
and an english one appear to be drawn from a very different class of
society. I next saw a court, which, under the title of “tribunal de la
police correctionelle,” is charged with the investigation and
punishment of petty offences. I here heard the trial of a man
charged with pawning, for his own use, some goods belonging to a
shop, in which he was employed as a workman. The witnesses were
regularly examined; after which the criminal was very patiently
heard in his defence. As he had nothing to urge but his poverty and
the charges of a large family, he was found guilty by the judges, (for
I observed no jury) and was sentenced, though an old offender, to
only six months imprisonment. This trial having satisfied my curiosity
about “la police correctionelle,” I next visited the chief or supreme
court of the republic, which is called “le tribunal de cassation.” Here
every thing bore a more dignified appearance. The room was lofty,
the seats elevated, and the judges (whose number was
considerable) seemed, by their dress, their manner, and their
language, to be well suited to the important functions of their office.
They wore black and red gowns, with cocked hats, the cords of
which were of gold lace. Nothing can be more respectable than the
exterior of this court; of the proceedings of which I could form no
idea, as the judges were employed in reading papers relating to
mere matters of form. I imagine, that this is the tribunal intended, in
some respects, to replace the parliament of Paris. The magistrates,
as far as I could form an opinion from this cursory visit, seem men
of education, learning, and polished manners.
Before I left the Palais de Justice, I looked in at the criminal court
of the “départment de la Seine.” A culprit was reading a long written
defence, which I had not the patience to hear concluded. The room
was handsome, and the proceedings orderly and correct. I saw here
nothing like a jury; yet I am told, that all capital offences are tried
by that mode of process. An Italian was a few days ago tried in this
court, and convicted of assassination. I regret much, that I was not
present at the trial. I did not hear of the circumstance till to day. He
yesterday underwent the punishment of the guillotine, being led to
the scaffold in a red shirt, this disgrace being added to the sentence
in cases of murder. I ought to mention, in honour of the present
criminal laws of France, that this is the first individual, who has been
condemned to death, during the six months which I have passed at
Paris.
 Underneath the “Palais de Justice” is situate that fatal prison,
called “la Conciergerie.” It was here that the sanguinary Robespierre
immured the daily victims of his wild and unrelenting tyranny; who
awaited, within its dismal walls, the signal of death, under the
insulting and degraded name of trial. It was here, that rank, beauty,
age, philosophy, virtue, and patriotism, took the places of vice; and,
in the caverns destined to receive the blackest perpetrators of
hideous crimes, were hurled, among multitudes of other innocent
and dignified characters, the learned Condorcet, the ingenious
Lavoisier, the respectable Madame Roland, the venerable
Malesherbes, and the lovely, courageous, and once haughty queen
of France. When I have been forced to make such painful reflections,
in viewing the different objects which present themselves at Paris, I
have always found some consolation in looking round me, and
seeing how completely that system of suspicion, bloodshed, and
injustice, has passed away. Those horrors, so disgraceful to France,
took place in a moment of national delirium (if I may be permitted
the expression); and the inhabitants of Paris, who committed, or
rather suffered, the scenes of judicial murder, which every day
contaminated the streets of the capital, now, restored to their
senses, are the first to deplore and execrate them. I am persuaded,
that crimes like these can never again find their way into the
polished metropolis of this great, brave, and ingenious people.
With this hope I shall conclude my letter—a hope, in which I am
certain that you will warmly and cordially unite.
I am, &c.
 LETTER XXVIII.
The gardens and walks of Paris.

Paris, may the 2d, 1802 (12 floréal).

my dear sir,

Whenever you come to Paris, come with the smiling month of may.
On my arrival here, at the end of october, I was disgusted with the
dirt of the streets, the mire of the Thuilleries, the ruts of the
Boulevards, and the general gloom of the town. Accustomed to take
a great deal of exercise, I could not persuade myself to be shut up,
the whole of every day, either in a hot room, or a close carriage. I
therefore continued to walk about: but, while my feet were cut to
pieces at every step, I was frequently in danger of being run over by
a rapid cabriolet, or squeezed to atoms under the ponderous wheels
of an overloaded cart. Nor was I consoled for this hazardous
undertaking by meeting with any conversable persons of my
acquaintance.
The parisians, who have carriages, never think of walking during
the severe days of winter; and those who do not possess that
convenience, spend the greater part of every day at home. To save
the expense of a fiacre[75], they will, indeed, sometimes use their
feet in going to a restaurateur’s, a spectacle, or a ball, or in paying
some of those innumerable visits, in which an inhabitant of this town
passes half his life; but, as to taking exercise for health, it never
enters into the calculations of a frenchman. Nothing, therefore,
could be so dismal as the streets in the months of november,
december, and january; and a severer punishment could not be
devised for the daily murder of time committed by our Bond street
loungers, than to condemn them to a three months pilgrimage, at
that period of the year, round the streets of Paris.
 The spring has, with fine weather, changed the face of every thing
here; and a person fond of exercise may now have all the
advantages which he can possibly desire.
The Thuilleries and Champs Elisées, which in winter are almost
impassable, now offer excellent gravel walks, and delightful shade
under the long avenues of lofty trees. Here crowds are collected at
almost every hour of the day; and, besides long lines of pedestrians,
rows of chairs are filled with ladies eating ice, and politicians reading
newspapers.
The Bois de Boulogne affords an admirable ride for persons in
carriages or on horseback, and a lengthened walk for those on foot.
Besides these, there are several delightful gardens open to the
public in different parts of the town. The Boulevards, which surround
Paris on every side, are now seen to great advantage.
The walks are in high order, the trees are in rich foliage; and the
number of mountebanks, printsellers, quack doctors, and shows of
all kinds, collected here, and the crowds of persons and carriages
which are constantly passing, make them present a very curious and
lively scene.
The “Hameau de Chantilly,” or Elisée de Bourbon, very near the
Champs Elisées, has a very pretty, though not an extensive garden,
into which, for a few sols, you gain admittance. It was hence I saw
madame Garnerin ascend, about a month ago, in a balloon,
unaccompanied by any one. The day was fine; and we were all
much delighted with the courage of the fair heroine, who was the
first female that had ventured alone on such an expedition.
She descended a few leagues from Paris, and supped, the same
evening, in public, at the Hameau, where she was received with
universal and merited applause.
I am particularly pleased with a garden, called “Mousseux, ou les
délices de Chartre,” situate in the Fauxbourg St. Honoré, and within
the gates of Paris. It formerly belonged to the duke of Orleans; but,
having been confiscated with the rest of his enormous fortune, is
now national property, and open every day for the use of the public.
The garden is arranged in the english taste, commands an extensive
view, and has all the advantages and appearance of grounds at a
considerable distance from a capital. Fine verdure, trees of every
kind in the must luxuriant blossom, variety of flowers, a clear sky,
and birds warbling a thousand wild notes, make you entirely forget
the town; and the whole seems a fairy scene produced by
enchantment.
The only things in bad taste, I mean the modern antiques and
drawbridges, are now falling into decay; and the artificial ruins are
daily becoming real ones.
The salon or house consists of a long gallery; but it has been so
much neglected during the revolution, that it is now in a very
tottering and dangerous state. “Mousseux” is still a most delightful
spot, and must have been exquisitely so, when kept in proper order.
I doubt much, if such a garden is to be found within the walls of any
other capital in Europe.
I ought to mention, that, though the town is completely hidden in
the shady walks of this charming retreat, one of the best views of
Paris is enjoyed from a hillock of easy ascent, situate in the centre of
these grounds. There is a traiteur at the door of the garden, where
dinners may be ordered; but his accommodations (as far as can be
judged from the outward appearance of his habitation) I should
suppose not very superiour. I have heard, however, of large and
fashionable parties, who have dined here. Nothing is paid for walking
in the garden.
At the further end of the Bois de Boulogne, about two miles from
Paris, there is another place of this kind, which, whenever you come
to Paris, I recommend your visiting. It is called “Bagatelle,” and
formerly belonged to the Comte D’Artois, who is said to have built
the house and arranged the grounds in the space of six weeks. The
building, which is now an inn or tavern, is light and elegant; and the
garden (allowing for some few exceptions) is laid out with
considerable taste. Near the house there is a very pretty and very
striking view of the bridge of Neuilly. The accommodations here are
good, and a person fond of the country cannot pass a fine evening
more agreeably, than by dining at Bagatelle, and strolling afterwards
about the grounds.
Before I conclude my account of the gardens of Paris, I ought to
mention two, which, are opened at this season of the year, at a late
hour, and usually frequented after the opera, or other spectacles; I
mean Frescati and Tivoli.
Frescati consists of a large house and small garden, situate on the
Boulevard. The gate stands in the corner of “la rue de la Loi.” The
apartments, elegantly painted with italian landscapes, are large and
numerous, and splendidly lighted every evening. The garden was
illuminated last night, for the first time this season, and is as pretty
as its limited extent can permit. It is the fashion to come here about
ten o’clock; and the amusement consists in walking about, chatting
with your friends, eating ices and cakes, or drinking tea, punch, or
lemonade, the sale of which articles constitute the whole profits of
the landlord, to whom nothing is paid for admittance. Frescati is, in
short, a kind of coffee house; and, notwithstanding the smell of
brandy, gin, and rum, generally prevalent, is frequented by ladies as
well as gentlemen. When I first came here, I supposed that these
ladies were of a certain description: but I was soon undeceived; and,
besides seeing at this place the most respectable families of Paris,
was assured by a ci-devant comtesse excessively rigid on matters of
etiquette, “que toute la bonne compagnie y alloit[76].” After this
authoritative decision, it would be presumptuous to doubt the
propriety of going to Frescati; and our most scrupulous
countrywomen may, without apprehension of being taken either for
“filles” or “parvenues,” enjoy this strange and singular amusement.
Tivoli is but just opened for the season. I have been there once. It
is a large and beautiful garden, situate in “la rue St. Lazare,” in the
“Chaussée d’Antin.” It was illuminated with much taste; the trees are
lofty; and the whole seemed to resemble what I imagine our
Vauxhall was, before it was covered in.
 There was a band of music, and dancing, on a platform erected
for the purpose. There was also a party of tumblers. The company
was not either very numerous or very genteel; but the night was not
hot, and fine weather is necessary to render this place agreeable; as
there is no house or shelter of any kind. In the months of July or
august Tivoli must be delightful.
I forgot to mention, that there were roundabouts, (as they are
vulgarly called in England) on which full grown people were very
gravely amusing themselves. I heard, the other day, of a duel, which
took place in consequence of a dispute for one of these places. You
will scarcely believe the report; yet I am every day convinced, that
there is nothing so ridiculous, that fancy can suppose, which does
not actually and frequently take place in this most extraordinary
town.
Having given you this short sketch of the amusements “al fresco,”
I shall conclude with repeating my recommendations to you,
whenever you come to Paris, to come in the spring. Winter is,
indeed, the time for private society; but I have found from
experience, that a foreigner has so little to expect on this head, that
it is much wiser to choose a season, when an infinite variety of
amusements, and all the charms of Nature, in their richest and
happiest colours, offer a sure and constant fund of pleasure.
I am, &c.
 LETTER XXIX.
The manufactory of “Gobelins,” the observatory, “les Enfans trouvés,”
“Champ de Mars,” les Invalides, and the temple of Mars, containing
the colours taken from different nations, and the tomb of Turenne.—
Le Musée des Monumens françois, or collection of monuments.—List
of the most esteemed of these.—Note to this letter contains the
account of a dinner at the first consul’s.

Paris, may the 5th, 1802 (15 floréal).

my dear sir,

As my stay at Paris draws towards a conclusion, I have occupied the

three or four last days in visiting those objects of curiosity, which as
yet I had neglected to see.
The manufactory of Gobelins deserves all its celebrity. The colours,
the design, and the execution of the tapestry made here, are equal
to the productions of the finest painting. I was shown some
specimens, which were uncommonly beautiful, particularly two
pieces, one of which represented the assassination of the admiral
Coligni, and the other the heroic conduct of the président Molé,
copied from the picture at Versailles, an account of which I have
already given.
There are ninety persons now employed, of whom I saw several at
work. It is astonishing with what facility they seem to perform the
most difficult tasks, but I am told that the art is not learnt without
much time and considerable attention. The apprenticeship requires
six years, and at least eighteen are necessary to make a proficient.
The workmen are not locked up within the walls of the manufactory,
as was the case during the monarchy, but they are kept under the
constant “surveillance[77] of the police.” Most of the pieces now in
hand have been ordered by the first consul, and are destined to
form the ornament of St. Cloud, and other public buildings.
 From the Gobelins, situate in the most distant part of the
Fauxbourg St. Germain, I drove along the new Boulevard to the
observatory. I found here only some common sized telescopes, on
which I observed with pride the respectable name of “Dollond,” of
London. I was informed that a magnificent instrument of this kind is
preparing on the plan of Herschel, which is to be twenty-two feet
long, with a speculum of platina. It is to be moved on a platform, for
the purpose of making observations, by means of a machine
invented for the purpose. I ascended the top of the building, and the
view thence, which commands all Paris, is grand and striking.
Near the observatory is the nursery of that humane establishment
called “les Enfans trouvés,” which is still kept up on the old
philanthropic plan. Orphan children, deprived by death of their
parents, or abandoned by them, are received here without question,
recommendation, or inquiry, and are nursed with tenderness, well
fed, properly educated, and lastly, qualified for some trade or
profession, in which they are afterwards placed at the expense of
the public. Their infancy is passed in the building shown to me; they
are, at a certain age, sent into the country, for the benefit of the air,
and then return to the principal hospital of the institution at Paris,
where their education is completed. Their number is seldom less
than a thousand.
I shall continue to speak of the different objects I have lately
seen, in the same order in which I visited them.
The Champ de Mars, where, on the 14th of july, 1790, I was
present, when the unfortunate Lewis XVI received and repeated the
oath of fidelity to that constitution which was so soon violated, has
still the remains of that vast amphitheatre, made by the activity and
zeal of the parisians in the course of fourteen days, and on which
were seated nearly a million of people. I recollected all the spots,
where the principal authorities were placed on that memorable day;
and it will be needless for me to repeat the innumerable reflections
which were created by a remembrance of the extraordinary and
many-coloured events which have since occurred. The École
Militaire, which is now a barrack for the consular horse guards,
forms the front and principal ornament of the Champ de Mars, which
is terminated on the other side by the river Seine. L’École Militaire
was built, in 1751, from a plan of Gabriel. It has a handsome façade,
and a lofty dome, with a dial, and the figures of Time and
Astronomy.
The building of “les Invalides” presents one of the most striking
objects of Paris. Besides the beauty of its construction, its handsome
entrance, its four courts, its celebrated clock, its lofty dome, and
elegant pillars, it contains, in the principal hall, or chapel, now called
“le Temple de Mars,” the colours, or ensigns, taken during the war,
by the republican armies, from the different powers opposed to
France. This beautiful room at least a hundred feet long, is lined on
all sides with the badges of triumph, many of which bear, from their
tattered appearance, the most convincing proofs of not having been
obtained without considerable difficulty. Among the innumerable
colours of all nations, I perceived, with pride, that there were only
two or three english; and these, from their size, had belonged to
some ship, perhaps to a merchantman, or to that man of war, which,
after sharing the glories of Aboukir, was taken by five french vessels
of the line, after a resistance no less honourable than her former
success. In the centre of this spacious apartment, to the right,
surrounded by the trophies of his successors and countrymen, is
placed the tomb of Turenne. This monument was removed to the
Temple of Mars by the present government, and placed here, with
considerable pomp, after having been saved from the fury of
jacobinical rage, and preserved, by the care of le Noir, in the “Musée
des Monuments françois.”
The circumstance which I have just mentioned, naturally leads me
to speak of the last named institution, which I visited yesterday for
the second time. On my arrival at Paris, I went to see le Musée des
Monuments françois; and not being as much struck with the
exhibition as I expected, from its great renown, I purposely
postponed speaking of it, till I had had an opportunity of examining
it again with all the attention it deserved. After several hours
employed in this second view, I continue of my former opinion, that
the spot[78], in which these monuments are collected, is infinitely
too small; that the garden, meant to be the tranquil site of
sepulchral honours, and the calm retreat of departed grandeur, is on
so limited a scale, is so surrounded with adjoining houses, and
altogether so ill arranged, that, instead of presenting the model of

“Those deep solitudes ...

Where heav’nly pensive Contemplation dwells,
And ever musing Melancholy reigns,”

it might easily be mistaken for the working yard of a statuary, or the

pleasure ground of a tasteless citizen, decked out with Cupids,
Mercuries, and Fauns.
It must, however, be acknowledged, that “le Noir,” by whose care
this establishment was formed, deserves great credit for the courage
with which he rescued the many precious monuments here
deposited, from the barbarous and undiscriminating fury of
revolutionary vandalism, for the perseverance and attention which
has marked his conduct in the arrangement, and for the plan
(whether successful or not, I shall not pretend to examine) of
presenting complete and exact representations of the art of building
in the different ages. Among the innumerable tombs, crowded
together in this collection, of which a catalogue, in large octavo, is
sold at the door, I observed many of great beauty, taste, and
symmetry. Kings, poets, belles, philosophers, and painters, torn from
the graves, in which, for centuries past, their remains had tranquilly
reposed, would have had no stone to record their past celebrity, if
this institution had not existed. The arts, too, are highly indebted to
the founder, for the specimens of sculpture, many of them chefs
d’œuvre, which are here seen in all their original perfection. Models,
too, of ancient and celtic buildings are added to those of french
architecture.
Le Noir’s favourite plan of having a chapel for each century,
ornamented with all the appropriate decorations, and containing the
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