We had heard so much of the Jardin des Plantes that we became impatient to see it. Our friend De la Metherie procured us an admission on a day the place is closed to the public, to give us a better and more convenient opportunity of examining its contents.
We made up a small party, the two ladies and Monsieur de la Metherie went in one carriage, and M. ——, the late President of the Cis Alpine Republic, and myself in another. I have already mentioned, and it cannot be too often repeated, that the French greatly surpass our country in the arts of decoration. Of this truth we found a striking proof in the classification of the subjects of Natural History and the superb embellishments of the gallery.
When we first entered this gallery we saw merely large green curtains extending from one end to the other of the hall. But in less than two minutes we were most agreeably surprised by a display of beauty, richness and grandeur of which no pen can do sufficient justice.
The attendants withdrew the curtains, a blaze of creative glory dazzled our sight, and in this moment of admiration I could not refrain from whispering to the philosopher from whom I had before received several lessons on the different degrees of French Atheism: “There is a God!” He smiled and returned for answer that I was evidently in an ecstasy.
Before I relate the various dispositions of the museum, I will give an account of the impressions which the whole excited in our minds. All the variegated productions of Nature were before our eyes; and the perilous researches of the most adventurous circumnavigators and natural historians submitted to our examination. Whatever is great and wonderful in the operations of Providence, whatever has been discovered in regions so far explored by man, we had an opportunity of seeing.
The quadrupeds form a distinct compartment and the whole collection of other animals, together with fossils, shells, minerals and stones, is disposed in glass cases, extending from the top of the gallery to the floor. There is also a compartment allotted to esculent roots and specimens of trees. On the right hand stands the albatross, which has been so beautifully described in Captain Cook’s voyages; next the maimed bird which has no wings and lives entirely on the water. It has an immense cylindrical body, behind which are fixed what may be called two oars instead of feet. The body is covered by a species of hard down, having the appearance of close-shaved hair, shooting out in small shining tubes and forming a coat of mail impervious to the water.[3] Then follow the crane, the swan, the heron, the ibis, the ostrich, the pelican, &c.
It is not my intention to give an account of every animal we saw, much less to mention all their names; for, in the first place, it would be attempting a subject on which I am ashamed to confess my ignorance, and, in the second, would occupy a volume. I only wish to notice singularities. Amongst these was the largest and most beautiful bird I ever beheld. The body, completely white, the wings tinged with a gold colour.[4] I am still unacquainted with its name, as no one could inform us to what species it belonged; but I mention it on account of the following anecdote, which conveys a forcible impression in a few words.
“Where did this bird come from?” said one of our party.
“We borrowed it from the Stadtholder,” replied the attendant; adding, “and if he had not lent it, we should have taken it.”
In the same way they obtained possession of the head of a petrified crocodile, which was originally found in a quarry in the neighbourhood of Maestricht. It belonged to one of the priests who resided in that town; and as his house was known to be situated near the ramparts, and the French Natural Philosophers had long coveted this head, orders were issued at the time of the siege that the house containing the crocodile’s head should not be bombarded. Professor Thouin[1] was at that time with the French Army, and wrote to his colleagues: “Le siége de Maestricht se pousse avec vigueur; dans deux jours je compte faire partir pour Paris la tête du crocodile.”
The French Army entered Maestricht, and the poor priest was stripped of his treasure for the benefit of the Great Nation.
The collection of caterpillars, butterflies and insects surpasses anything of the kind I ever saw. The library is composed of a choice and rare collection of books in every language upon subjects of natural history. M. Tuscan, the librarian, obligingly displayed to us some admirable paintings of plants. Mrs. Cosway, who was of our party, and is an exquisite artist herself, pronounced them very beautiful, and executed in a masterly style. The number of books in the library is about 8000, which is a noble library upon one science, the very nature of which requires costly publications on account of the infinite number as well as the richness of the drawings and the plates.
After having amused ourselves with all the different compartments, we proceeded to the garden and paid a visit to the living beasts in the menagerie. These are dispersed in various districts of the enclosure, and with as much regard as possible to their original mode of life.
An enormous elephant enjoys a courtyard to himself, and his keeper is an Englishman named Thompson. The animal is very docile, and has been taught to play at what we call Bob Cherry with pieces of bread. Nothing can be more ridiculous, except the idea of a lion catching flies.
Camels and dromedaries are allowed to posture under the trees, and the stags and deer distributed in the field beside the river. All the tame animals are placed within a large grass enclosure. The savage beasts and birds kept in cages so small that the poor creatures can hardly turn themselves, in consequence of which, together with the wretched food, many have perished, and none of the survivors are in good condition. There are three bears, several wolves, leopards and tigers, one hyaena, a fox, a cockatoo, an hedgehog, a vulture, a cassowary, and a number of other fierce birds stolen from the menagerie of the Stadtholder of Holland. There are also a number of monkeys.
Upon the whole this collection is very insignificant and compares very badly with Pidcocks Exhibition, over Exeter Change. The lions and one of the elephants are dead. Most of these animals were transported to Paris from the Royal Menagerie at Versailles, but in order to increase the effect of the scene, it was decreed by Governmental order that those wild animals which were exhibited about the country at fairs, should be put into a state of requisition in order to add to the savage population of the garden. Cossal (the Parisian Pidcock), who had made a valuable collection of rare animals which he sent about the country to public shows, was robbed of all of them and to indemnify him in some manner for his ruin, made Warden of the National Menagerie at a small salary.
He was not the only sufferer in conformity with the political principle of the Revolution, that individual property must ever be ready as a sacrifice to the Nation, every man who led about a dancing bear in the street or a monkey, playing his tricks on the back of a dromedary, was obliged to lay aside his flageolet and tambourine and conduct his Bruin, his camel or his ape, to replenish the national stock. The two elephants were borrowed from the Stadtholder, they came originally from Ceylon, whence they were sent to Holland, where they had remained fourteen years. The mode of transporting them was the subject of very grave discussion among the philosophers of Paris. It was first proposed to march them from Holland to Paris and to throw temporary wooden bridges over the canals, to facilitate their passage but on account of their aversion to water this sapient scheme was abandoned. A caravan was now constructed mounted on wheels, in order to drag the ponderous brutes along and in order to accustom them to their movable dwelling, they were never to be fed except in their travelling carriages. On the day of their departure, the elephants were driven into their conveyance and the keeper bolted the door. The moment the procession started, the male elephant gave the door a gentle tap with his head, which instantly shivered the panel to pieces, and the continent of organised matter marched out with the greatest ease. By separating the male and the female they at length succeeded in conveying these vast creatures to Paris. Thompson, the keeper, assured me that when the elephants met again in the garden, after their long journey, the air resounded with their cries and their eyes were bedewed with tears. The French had never seen an elephant in their country since the middle of the seventeenth century, when, in 1668, the King of Portugal presented one (which only survived thirteen years) to Louis XIV.
Upon inquiry I learnt that the greater part of the curiosities collected in this place were the fruits of victorious pillage, and I was told that this measure was justified by the right of conquest. “Par suite de la conquête de la Hollande, ils sont tombés au pouvoir des Français—nous les avons emportés comme trophées de nos victoires. Ainsi Alexandre le Grand fit passer dans la Grèce les éléphans du Roi de Perse.”
The amphitheatre is a public building, within this garden, where lectures are given by professors, nominated and paid by the Government.
I attended the chemical lecture of Fourcroy; he delivers himself with purity, eloquence and cleverness. He exercises (what would be deemed extraordinary in any country but this) the two functions of a public lecturer on science and a Counsellor of State, in which latter capacity he often discusses political measures before the Legislative Body. All the benches of the amphitheatre are in a semicircular form, rising one above the other, and capable of containing 2000 persons. The lecturer is stationed at the bottom, with a large table and apparatus before him.
There is no doubt students in chemistry derive advantages from those lectures, but much of their good effect is impaired by the amphitheatre being considered a fashionable lounge for the idle and a favourite place of “rencontre” between the fair Parisian and her lover. The women constitute a distinguished part of the auditory, and in number and noise are not inferior to the males.
There are thirteen professors in this institution, whereof seven are members of the French “Académie,” or Institut, and one an Associate. Fourcroy, Professor of Chemistry; Desfontaines, Botany; Lamark, Zoology; Thonin, Gardening; and Vanspaendorick, of Ichnography, have each a pleasant dwelling, free of expense, in the garden. In the centre of the garden and near a pool of water, is a small hamlet, where philosophical students and the curious may entertain themselves on girls and burgundy, of a wretched quality and at a trifling expense. I am at a loss to explain how the sage superintendent of his museum should have licensed the existence of his hovel, devoted to disreputable practices, in the sequestered bowers of Acadème. Unless it be meant as a practical illustration of the moral tendency of Darwin’s Loves of the Plants—a work greatly admired here. The Botanical Garden, itself, fell very far short of my expectations; it is neither well laid out nor pleasing to the eye.
The garden is about 2000 feet long and 700 wide, divided into three alleys, terminating in the public walks.
Henry IV. was the first who established a Botanical Garden in France. He authorised John Robin to rear in a private garden some plants several navigators had brought from America. It was his intention to have had this garden in Paris, but he was persuaded that these exotics would flourish better in the southern part of France; in consequence, Montpellier was preferred, and a physician appointed in 1598 to superintend the enterprise. But Gui la Brosse[1] persuaded Louis XIII. some twenty years later of the inconvenience of this arrangement, and an edict was issued for the establishment of the present “Jardin des Plantes.” By la Brosse’s exertions two thousand plants were placed in it, in the space of ten years.
The Government then numbered three professors to make known their properties and virtues and an exhibitor to display them.
The Garden was, in course of time, greatly enlarged and beautified, but its most rapid progress was during the reign of the late unfortunate Louis XVI.
On the left of the Museum is a plantation of trees and shrubs, called “The Labyrinth.” The greatest part of the trees are ever-green, and there is a noble cedar of Lebanon. It was brought from England and planted by the famous Bertrand de Sussien[1] in the year 1734; beneath its shades stands a pedestal, formerly supporting the bust of Linnæus,[1] which was destroyed by the revolutionists under the notion it represented an aristocrat. From the top of the Labyrinth there is a very extensive view of Paris from a tower, which M. de la Metherie[1] and myself ascended, the ladies and S—— having returned home. Here, while we were looking at the city, M. de la Metherie pointed to a large building, not far distant, and desired me to look at the third window upon the second floor—he further remarked, “I was imprisoned there.” Confounded for the moment by this observation (for I had never understood the ruffians had meddled with him), I could not help laughing, and he joined heartily in my merriment. But two persons standing near, who, though wearing lay attire, were evidently priests, turned round and addressed us with much agitation. “This is not a laughing matter; what honest man has not been imprisoned in this land of scélérats?” This observation restored our gravity, and I said to one of them: “I hope, sir, you have not been a sufferer?” To which he abruptly replied: “I was imprisoned five times and sentenced to the guillotine. My life, however, was spared, and, by way of compensation for my sufferings, they took all my property from me!” De la Metherie introduced me, saying, “Monsieur est Anglais.” Upon this they took off hats, and the speaker remarked: “Vous avez raison, monsieur, de vous vous moquer de la France!”
We requested him to oblige us with his history. He said he lived formerly in Bordeaux and possessed considerable property in that neighbourhood. He had been arrested and confined in the prison of that city, together with a multitude of persons of both sexes. The only accusation against him was, that being a priest, he must necessarily be an aristocrat. He explained that he had not exercised sacerdotal functions since the Decree of the National Convention, and that his whole and sole pursuit was the science of Botany—“Botany!” exclaimed the Judge and President of the Court—“c’est une science royale!—it abounds with aristocratic terms, was the favourite diversion of Kings and Princes, and is of no use to a Republic—your attachment to this study clearly proves your hankering after the old régime, and convicts you!” He was hurried off to prison and close confinement at once. However, he escaped destruction, and recovered his liberty by paying a large sum of money as a bribe for his release. He returned with joy to the house of a friend, and was just sitting down to dinner when an officer of the Municipality entered the apartment, stating he had come to arrest him. He acquainted the officer with the fact that he had only two hours before been released by an arrêt of the Municipality. “I know that perfectly well,” was the reply; “you were dismissed upon the charge laid against you, but since then another serious charge has been established against you, by Citizen Tallien,[1] and I am ordered to arrest you on suspicion of being suspected!!!” There was no resisting the dreadful name of Tallien, and the unhappy priest was reconducted to his former cage. As the name of Tallien was mentioned, I interrupted the conversation to ask whether the atrocities said to have been committed at Bordeaux by Tallien and Lequino were not greatly exaggerated. He answered “Unhappily those enormities could hardly be exaggerated, for there was scarcely a family in that city and district which did not mourn the murder of a relative or friend.” The butcheries of Tallien were perpetrated chiefly in the streets and on the scaffold. He often took large sums of money from the persons, upon condition of releasing them, and the next day they were sure to be guillotined. This removal from the prison to the scaffold Tallien, in his merry moods, used to call a Republican release in full of all demands. Lequino[1] was never suspected of having realised money in this manner, he confined his little peculations to the public revenues. But his brutal and ferocious nature exercised itself within as well as without the walls of the prisons, by frequently shooting at the prisoners with pistols and killing them without any discrimination. He dined almost daily with the public executioners.
But to continue—after a long confinement, the priest was brought to a trial with a number of other persons, and charged with conspiring against the Republic. He and they were all found guilty and condemned to public execution. But at that moment a courier arrived with news of the fall and death of Robespierre, and orders to suspend all carnage until further directions from the Committee of Public Safety.
“What evidence was adduced against you?” I asked.
“None, save that I was a ci-devant minister of religion.”
“You have suffered,” said I, “because you were a priest; and here,” pointing to de la Metherie, “is one who has suffered because he was a philosopher.”
In the progress of the fiery Revolution, the different Governments of France must have been inspired by the spirit of a merry devil, for if such charges were sufficient to deprive a man of his liberty nine-tenths of the French people ought to have been locked up. But although de la Metherie was in no way interested in politics, he was suspected of being a suspicious man. When the ruling power wished to criminate or murder a man, every circumstance of his life from infancy was raked up and passed under review, and therefore no accused individual could hope to escape if his destruction was decided upon.
The accusation against this philosopher was that of coolness, indifference and incivism, because, amidst the noise of arms and domestic slaughter, he continued to cultivate in the sequestered shade of private life, the philosophy of nature.
By a miracle he escaped—the fall of the tyrant Robespierre calmed the fury of the Terror, and de la Metherie was more fortunate than Lavoisier[1]—after a few months’ rigorous confinement he was released from his prison. He was permitted to return to his house, the seals were taken off his library, his beautiful collections of plants and minerals, and his manuscripts. The Journal de Physique, which he had edited for above twenty years, again shone forth in all its wonted splendour.
Monsieur de la Metherie assured me that during the time of the Revolutionary Tribunals, it was in serious contemplation to reduce the population of France to 14,000,000. Dubois Crouée[1] was a very distinguished and enthusiastic partisan of this humane and philosophical policy.
One of the most horrible and affecting anecdotes I ever heard related to a young married lady of rank and beauty, whose husband was immured in the same prison cell with de la Metherie. After having solicited one Bureau, petitioned another, and bribed a third in vain to obtain her husband’s liberty, she applied in person to the representative of the people, by whose influence her husband had been arrested. The hypocritical assassin returned her supplications with scorn. At length after many entreaties he informed her that there was one way in which she might obtain her husband’s liberty. Anxious to save his life, the distracted female sacrificed her honour to the brutal lust of this deputy of the National Convention. On the next day, when she went to the prison to bring to her husband the joyful news of his impending delivery, she found him bound and seated in the cart, which a moment later carried him to the place of execution. Frantic with rage and despair, and shuddering with horror at the unavailing sacrifice she had made of her chastity, the hapless young woman rushed into the presence of her betrayer and severely rebuked him for his perfidy; in return for which he caused her to be arrested, and she was guillotined upon the following day.