The New Hampshire Gazette

Miscellany.

THE PALAIS ROYAL.

The Palais Royal, of Paris, which contains much that affords amusement, but more that excites disgust, was commenced by Cardinal Richelieu, when in the full-blown plenitude of his power, and when his arrogance ruled over the mildest and most timid monarch that ever sat on the throne of Hugues Capet. It was then styled the Palais Cardinal, and was the resort of all the learned and noble men of Europe, who flocked thither to pay homage to its crafty master, 'the old cat of Narbonne.' There, amidst the revelry of fetes and the excitements of pleasure, many a plan was projected that had for its basis the aggrandizement of its author, and the degradation of his sovereign; and many an act signed that condemned to an ignominious death the personal friends of Louis XIII, who had not sufficient power of mind to stand up against the superior intellect of his minister, and assume to himself the right of life and death over his own subjects. Long did the "king's king" (another of Richelieu's surnames) enjoy, like Wolsey, the royal graces showered on him daily, and unlike Wolsey, continued in the almost uninterrupted enjoyment of them till death. The latter died a prisoner, disgraced and deserted; the former sank into the arms of the destroyer with Louis attendant at his side, administering the remedies ordered by the faculty, and, as the good monarch charitably supposed, soothing the last moments of his servant by repeated assurances of unalterable esteem; it is said that the ambitious prelate smiled as he witnessed the sway which even in utter helplessness he held over his forgiving and injured master.

At one period when Richelieu's star was low in the ascendant, and his enemies had succeeded in awaking the sovereign to some sense of his situation, the Cardinal found himself compelled to retire from office, and with absolute insolence prayed the king to accept, as a pure gift, the Palais which he had erected at his sole expense; Louis, in his amazement, consented; and, when it was subsequently inhabited by his consort, Anne of Austria, and Louis XIV., then in his minority, it lost its distinguishing appellation of Palais Cardinal, and was honored with that of Palais Royal. It descended to the brother of Le Grand Monarque, and at length became the property of Philip, the infamous Duke of Orleans, by whom it was considerably embellished and enlarged; it is now occupied by the present highly popular Duke of Orleans. The public are well acquainted with the scenes which rendered this building notorious during the reign of terror, the excesses which M. Egalite sanctioned, and the savage barbarity which characterised the crowds whom his treachery misled. I may as well notice here, that in all works purporting to give histories or description of the French revolution, we are surfeited with accounts of the sanguinary enormities of the sansculottes and the crimes of the populace, while we remain uninformed of the deep depravity and iniquity of the aristocracy that had for ages "been poisoning the soil with their vices, and at last reaped the harvest that might be expected from their toils." The bloody deeds of a day are blazoned forth for public execration, while the veil of oblivion is thrown over the privileged classes and their unutterable vices (shrouded from exposure only by their enormity,) which at length brought down a deluge of blood on the land cursed and polluted by such iniquities. Well may it be supposed that the parc-au-cerf of that right legitimate Louis XV. was sufficient to raise up a whole nation of regicides, and to make every father and husband an assassin whose soul was not sufficiently base to qualify him for a pander. There are but few events of greater importance among the memorabilia of the Palais Royal, than the murder of poor Michel Lepeletier, one among the few who voted conscientiously for the death of Louis XVI.; on the evening of the last day of the king's trial, Lepeletier was dining at la cafe Fevrier, when he was accosted by a man of the name of Paris, who asked him if his name was Lepeletier—on being answered in the affirmative, "then," said Paris, "you were concerned in the king's trial; for what did you vote?"—"for death!" replied Lepeletier; "I believed him guilty, and recorded my vote against him." Paris instantly drew forth a concealed dagger, and stabbed him to the heart exclaiming, "Villain! receive thy reward!" Lepeletier was only in the thirty-second year of his age, when he thus fell a victim to his zeal in the cause of liberty.

In these days, when every one has seen Paris, it would be work of supererogation to describe this its most celebrated ornament with its jet d'eau in the form of a fleur-de-lis, its one hundred and eighty arcades, its jewellers, tailors, shoemakers, money changers, booksellers, milliners, grisettes, and cyprians; here may be found all that the eye can seek after, or the heart wish for; silks from Smyrna, and spices from Amboyna; cigars from the Havana, and dates from Lasha; diamonds from Golconda; rubies from Brazil; turquoises from Siberia and Teheraun, and the genuine eau de Cologne from the manufactory of Jean Jacques Farina. Yezdikhaust is not more famous for its bread, Sheeraz for its wine, nor Yezd for the bright eyes of Nature's best gift, than is the Palais Royal for all the luxuries that gold can purchase; Rocknabad cannot boast a stream so clear as the fontaine, nor Mosellay a bower so sweet as the pavilion; Istainbol affords no better sherbert, nor Lebanon offers more agreeable ices.