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The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 77

Chapter VIII. — The Conclusion of Our Continental Holiday

Chapter VIII.

The Conclusion of Our Continental Holiday.

What is known as Versailles, about 20 miles from Paris, is hard to describe, The palace covers acres, and has been so built on and added to for the last 300 years that its symmetry is completely spoilt. Here Louis XIV. and Louis XV. lived and died. Here the mob, in 1791, after they had killed the Swiss Guard to a man, seized Louis XVI., with his Queen, and carried them to Paris, to die for the crimes of their ancestors. In 1815 it was pillaged by the Prussians; later it was occupied in succession by every French Royalist who filled the throne. The guide pointed out Louis XIV. 's state-room, where, in 1871, William I of Prussia was proclaimed Emperor of Germany. The gardens are about 100 acres in extent, and every tower of Europe is cultivated. The principal sights are a Swiss lake, formed at enormous cost, and the large number of fountains. One, known as the Great fountain, throws water to a height of 74 feet. Monuments and works of art adorn every niche and corner.

Within the city the Vendome Column such resembles the Trafalgar Monument in London. It was originally built to commemorate Napoleon's victories over the Russians and Austrians in 1805. It is 142 feet high and 13 feet in diameter. It is built of masonry, and covered with iron plating made from 1200 guns which were captured in the 1805 campaign; on the iron are worked scenes in the different battles. A statue of Napoleon surmounts the column.

Before 1871 the greatest sight in Paris was the State-owned manufactory of the Gobelin tapestry and carpets, but a fire destroyed part of the great works, and Now only 150 hands are employed. The tost of these fabrics is so great that few but royalty can buy them. We watched the work for some time. A man's task for a whole year is one yard of carpet. In the tapestry work, the pattern is behind the worker, with a mirror in front. About two inches is done each day. So much for manufacture; now for art.

The first building usually visited by tourists is the Louvre, founded in 1233. On the first floor are sculptures so lifelike that one almost expects the figures to speak. Those from Italy far and away excel those of other nations. Further on was some Sevres china, baked in 1800 degrees of heat, and worth much more than its weight in gold. Here are preserved the sword and crown of France, silent witnesses of the Royalty of the past, and which even now might have been—but we must not moralise. By the side of them is exhibited the Regent diamond, the market value of which is £600,000.

We were very much interested in a model of the palace of Darius at Shushan, mentioned by Daniel the prophet. In excavating amongst the ruins of Babylon, Frenchmen (who are to the front in all such work) have found that Daniel's account was minutely correct. Quantities of the material used in the model had been carried all the way from Babylon to Paris. A statue of Venus, the work of an artist 200 years B.C., causes even the most time-pressed tourist to pause in admiration.

The pictures are a marvel to the whole world, except to the Americans, who. of course, have better at home. France to-day has 200 great artists, all struggling for fame, and these find the greatest difficulty in getting one of their pictures accepted for exhibition in the Louvre. About the time Marengo was fought the best pictures in the galleries of Venice, Rome, Florence and the leading cities of Italy were seized by the French and placed in the Louvre. By the treaty of 1814 all these had to be returned; to a great extent this clause was evaded, and the pictures are on exhibition at the French capital today.

In the course of two hours we went through some of the principal rooms of this vast building, but our guide assured us that we would need to go every day for six months to see the Louvre properly.

Paris has many libraries; the greatest, "The National," is the largest in the world, containing 3,450,000 books and maps. French nautical maps and charts are said to be the most complete and accurate known. The French people erected a fine institute in memory of page 16 M. Pasteur, to whom the world owes so much for his microbiological researches.

Tourists are reminded of the St. Bartholomew Massacre—"a greater disaster to France than any war she has ever engaged in"—by the monument erected to the memory of Admiral Coligny, the famous Protestant officer killed in that ruthless slaughter.

The abattoirs of Paris cover 67 acres, besides the market yards, which have an area of 250 acres; here 4000 cattle and 10,000 sheep are killed weekly. A few shops sell nothing but horse flesh; this is only eaten by the poorer classes. Poverty there may be, but not the poverty known in the large English towns. Amongst all classes art and pleasure seem to be the only objects in living. If gaiety and beauty make a bright city, then Paris is the brightest in the world. But Time is the enemy that will show the French nation in its true light. Children are becoming so scarce amongst the well-to-do people that soon they will be shown in museums.

Our guide next took us to see the graves of some of France's great dead in the Lachaise Cemetery. Its area is 110 acres. It has 18,000 monuments. Wealth can be seen in the tombs of the Rothschilds; here they are very costly. Fine monuments mark the graves of President Thiers and Marshal McMahon, the two saviours of France in the disastrous years '70-'71. The monument to the "Dead Who Have No Burial" draws crowds, and makes people think and think. So does "The Disappointed Lovers' Tomb"; at any rate, it did Mark Twain.

Amidst these weird surroundings, and quite unexpectedly, we came across the grave of Sir Sidney Smith, the hero of Acre. This was the man Napoleon blamed for spoiling his Destiny. And in connection with that Destiny, before we bid adieu to this fascinating city, we will view his place of burial, which is, not merely to Englishmen and Frenchmen, but to all Europe alike, the building that calls up tragic memories indeed—The Hotel des Invalides. (The word "hotel," as everyone knows, has in French a much wider meaning than in our language.) Originally intended for a hospital, part of this great building is now a church, surmounted by a beautiful gilded dome 340 feet high. But it is not the gilded dome that attracts countless tourists of all nationalities in ceaseless pilgrimage to this sanctuary, but the ashes of Napoleon. His tomb is magnificent. Beneath the dome is a circular crypt 35 feet in diameter, and 20 feet deep. The walls are of polished marble, and fine is the effect when the sun, shining through the stained glass windows, throws his gleams on the precious stone. In the bottom of the crypt is the sarcophagus itself. Nothing but marble still; only here it is variegated. It is in this place that all the mortal remains of the once dreaded—dreaded and loved—Conqueror and Captive can be found. "I desire that my ashes may rest on the hanks of the Seine, in the midst of the French people I have so well loved." This clause in his will was carried out when in '40 his embalmed body was removed to Paris. His elder and younger brothers are also buried quite near. It is in another part of the church the tomb of his first wife is to be found—the unfortunate Josephine. His Destiny! Yes. as we again looked at his palace, it was not easy to realise that less than 100 years ago within its walls the mightiest intellect that ever gave itself to the study of war was framing the most tremendous combination of the armies of Europe to wreck England as a free nation. Had this succeeded, what would have been our present state as a people? Had Acre gone down, had Nelson lost command of the sea. had Russia succumbed to Napoleon's armies in the winter of 1812, would Britain be Great Britain now? And whose flag (if any) would wave in New Zealand? The mighty Emperor has gone. The families who for a thousand years have been the nobility of France are gone. Religion is a mere shadow.

In their place has arisen a godless France, a childless France, a great nation drifting downwards, blind to its fate. So gay, one would suppose a bright drama was being enacted, instead of a tragedy on a tremendous scale.

The Brett Printing and Publishing Co., Ltd.. Shortland Street, Auckland.