France in eighteen hundred and two

In old France there were more universities, colleges and public schools than in any other part of the world. All these were overthrown by the Jacobin Revolution, and the funds allotted to their support squandered on the adventurers who figured and still figure on the theatre of the French Republic.

To this hour there is no general plan of education in the country. There are only three central schools in Paris, and their organisation is essentially defective.

Abstract sciences and history fill up the whole course of education until the pupil is eighteen years of age.

Geography is not taught; there is no professor of foreign languages, and only one lecturer upon the ancient and classical tongues, who once a week reads aloud a discourse rather for his own amusement than for the advantage of his pupils.

In consequence of these arrangements the understanding of the scholar is never exercised. To teach the abstract sciences to boys merely by reading dissertations to them is much the same as to attempt the demonstration of a problem by Euclid without pen, ink or paper.

These central schools therefore are no manner of use, they only serve as a parade of useless erudition on the part of the professor, and nurse consummate ignorance and vanity in the students who attend them.

However, when the pupils have somehow or other gone through their classes, they are removed to the Polytechnic school, which is the Parisian University.

About 400 boys are here finishing at this Polytechnic school, laboratories, mechanical workshops and philosophical apparatus are provided for the use of the pupils.

If a young person is ambitious of acquiring the elements of science, he must work at home and pay his own masters, for the central schools cannot possibly render him any useful assistance. When he has educated himself he may possibly derive some advantage from attending the lectures of certain Professors. They are the following. In the Geographical School, the science of geography is well taught, but only twenty pupils are admitted to this establishment. The School of Roads and Bridges is also a very useful institution. It was founded by M. Prony[1] during the Monarchy, thirty-six Polytechnicians are received into this school. The School of Naval Architecture is also an institution of the old Monarchy. The School of Medicine contains 1000 students, twenty professors, a modeller in wax and a designer. There is a school of pharmacy, a mineral school and a veterinary school at Alfort near Charenton.

But the most important college still remaining is the “Collège de France,” Place de Cambrai, which has survived the storms of the Revolution and retains its ancient reputation. It has seventeen professors, who are all men of the greatest merit and celebrity in the Republic of letters.

Lalande, perhaps the ablest astronomer in Europe, is the professor of astronomy; la Croix, a profound geometrician, professor of mathematics; and my estimable and revered friend, de la Metherie, professor of natural history.

These different colleges are supported entirely at the expense of the State; the professors are paid out of the public revenues, and students of all ages and countries permitted to consult and attend their lectures free of any expense.

But these establishments are not in the least suitable for those who have not long overstepped the boundaries of elementary knowledge, and they are beyond the reach of juvenile or vulgar understandings.

The Ecole Militaire, erected in 1751, after the designs of Gabriel, did not suffer as a building during the Revolution, because it was used as a barrack for the troops of the Convention.

It is now converted into a barrack for the Consular Horse Guards commanded by Eugène Beauharnais.

We were permitted to walk round the piazzas that encircle the court, beneath which soldiers were sleeping in groups. So solemn a silence reigned through the building we might have fancied ourselves in a Benedictine monastery.

The Champs de Mars is by many people mistaken for a Campus Martius, but the origin of its designation is taken from the fact that this spot was in early ages used for the holding of those assemblies of the people which were precursors of the more modern Parliaments. As these meetings were usually held in the month of March, the places where they were held were termed the Fields of March. This great enclosure is now one of the dullest and least frequented spots in Paris. Formerly the Altar of Federation stood in its centre, but that, with every other ornament of the Revolution, is now levelled with the ground.

But when we reflect upon the many philosophical, conventional and dictatorial antics which have been exhibited and practised here within the last decade, it is worth the trouble of visiting this place.

All the blasphemous pantomimes which were performed in commemoration of the sanguinary freaks of the Republic were represented on the Champs de Mars.

The pencil of David has been often employed on the scenery, and the pen of Chenier ran with blood as he composed the pæans of Jacobinism.

It was here also that Robespierre, with a lighted torch, set fire to the altar to the Etre Suprème, while the people shouted “Vive Robespierre! Vive la Convention!” All this sounds like fiction, and yet it all took place on this very field.

The manufactory of Gobelins still exists, though its productions past and present are in no request and have grown out of fashion.

During the Monarchy it was a most thriving and prosperous industry, and a vast number of workmen were employed there. The different apartments contain many beautiful tapestries, taken from original paintings by great French artists, but they find no purchasers.

Nothing can be more exquisite than the colouring and exquisite workmanship of the articles produced here; a single piece requires two or three years’ labour. The workmen are not paid more than three shillings a day for their sedentary and difficult occupation. This is accounted for by the fact that the Government supports the manufactory, and that there is no sale whatever for the works.

Fashions are changing constantly, and perhaps the Gobelins may again have its day. Gilles Gobelins, a celebrated dyer, erected the manufactory during the reign of Francis I.

The Hôtel de Ville is worthy of a traveller’s attention on account of its antiquity and its having been the focus of many extraordinary events. It was built in the middle of the sixteenth century and contains a great number of apartments. After August 10, 1792, all the ancient inscriptions and ornaments were taken down and either removed or destroyed. When the King was brought to Paris from Versailles by the mob, prepared and hired for that purpose, he was exhibited at one of the windows to the populace; and Monsieur Bailly, the Mayor, informed him that it was a fine day, and presented him with the National cockade instead of a bouquet.

This is the place where Robespierre first took refuge when he had been outlawed, and in front of it is the lamp iron from which so many victims have been suspended. Here the red flag, with the inscription Citoyens, la patrie est en danger! was first unfurled, to serve as the signal for massacre, and here the guillotine is preserved for the inspection of the curious.

Twelve years ago the Garde Meuble was one of the principal curiosities which attracted the attention of foreigners. The apartments were filled with ancient armoury, national and foreign, rare tapestries, after the cartoons and designs of Dürer, Lucas of Leyden, Julius Romano, Raphael, le Brun and Coypel; precious vases, presents from ambassadors, jewels, pearls, diamonds, and a multitude of other rich and valuable articles. In the month of September 1792, a band of thieves broke into the halls and carried off a great quantity of these riches, among other things the Pitt diamond, the largest belonging to the Crown. However, there are still some precious antiques remaining, such as the sword of Henry IV., the spontoon of Paul V., and the polished armour worn by Francis I. at the Battle of Pavia, with which on the day of the capture of the Bastille a cobbler of the Faubourg St. Antoine, then on guard, completely caparisoned himself, to the utter astonishment of the spectators. The exterior of this vast edifice has not suffered by the blows of the Revolution. It is not yet decided to what purpose the Government intend to convert it.