Whichever way we turn, the labours of art combine with the luxuriance of vegetation to raise in the mind new reflections: marble, in all its varieties of shade and grain, is wrought by the hand of man into numerous bewitching shapes; while one of the most brilliant and cheerful cities in the universe seems to lie, with its wooded boulevards, gilded domes, palaces, gardens, and glittering waters, just beneath our feet. One sepulchre, alone, of a decidedly mournful character, attracted my notice—a large and solid mausoleum, buried amidst gloomy yews and low drooping willows; and this looked only like a patch on the face of loveliness. Père la Chaise presents a solitary instance of the abode of the dead ever interesting me _agreeably_.
I will not remark on the well-known tomb of Abelard and Eloisa: a hundred pens have anticipated me in most of the observations I should be inclined to make respecting that celebrated couple. The most obvious circumstance in their “sad story” always struck me as being—that he turned priest when he was good for nothing else, and she became “quite correct” when opportunities for the reverse began to slacken. They no doubt were properly qualified to make very respectable _saints_: but since they took care previously to have their fling, I cannot say much for their _morality_.
I am not sure that a burial-place similar to Père la Chaise would be admired in England: it is almost of too picturesque and sentimental a character. The humbler orders of the English people are too coarse to appreciate the peculiar feeling such a cemetery is calculated to excite; the higher orders too licentious; the trading classes too avaricious. The plum-holder of the city would very honestly and frankly “d—n all your nonsensical sentiment!” I heard one of these gentlemen, last year, declare that what poets and _such-like_ called _sentiment_, was neither more nor less than deadly poison to the _Protestant religion_!
Though there is perhaps as much real refinement in London as in Paris, the French certainly mingle more _mind_ with their _vices_. Those of the Englishman are merely sensual: those of the French seasoned with intellect.—The Englishman’s the result of _instinct_—the Frenchman’s of _excitement_: an Englishman is _always_, a Frenchman _never_, in _earnest_.