The Sun.
London, England, 1841-07-02 00:00:00

THE MOLIERE COLUMN.
Pints, JUNE 30.—Not having, like the Round-Table
Knights, the search of the Sanegreal before me, or any
other special piece of business, I yesterday, after buck-
ling my sabottes, allowed " the spirit in my feet" to lead
me where it listed, and which, accordingly, conducted
me to a part of the " Ville de Paris," formed by the
corner of the Rue Traversiere St. Honore and the Rue
Richelieu. I was here surprised into the discovery, by
the; reverberations of axe and hammer, and the hum of
busy ouvriers, that these implements were hungrily en-
gaged in pulling down a private house. This circum-
stance was nothing very alarming, but having a certain
affection for old houses, and an antiquarian's veneration
for cracked boards and crazy door-posts, I usually pry
into the history of these perishable tenements, and some-
times meet with pickings of history. Addressing myself
to one of the workmen, I learned that they were engaged,
by Government order, in pulling down the said house,
that the ground might be cleared for the erection of a
monument to Moliere (1) ; and I was farther informed by
the suavid surveyor of the works, that this house was the
second so demolished by a second order of the Munici-
pal Council, who, on the preceding Friday, had voted
an additional sum of 132,000 f. to the former sum of
211,000 f., raised in the first instance by a Parisian sub-
scription and the grants of the State, and which had
been found insufficient to complete the undertaking.
" But we shall go on bravely now," continued he, " and
Moliere will be crowned with la gloire.' "
Moliere has been ever my favourite; and I am so pas-
sionately his admirer, that like the books of the stoics,
he always lies beside me on a silken cushion. My edition
is the unrivalled of Sainte-Beuve, so splendidly embel-
lished by Johannot. On hearing my colloquialises last
remark, my mind at once reverted to Tony s dark and
sombrous chiaro-scuro of Moliere's burial, and all its con-
current circumstances came upon me like a rush of fu-
neral horrors. Yott know the hubbub 'that arose at his
death. You know how when he lay a clay-cold corse,
and the white shadow of corruption brooded over him,
—when his tongue was silent and past all power of of-
fence,—the ecclesiastical tyranny of Harlai, the Archbi-
shop of Paris, a man of loose morals himself, denied him
"un peu de terre," a narrow burial-hole, consigning him
to a laical dunghill, as carrion for dogs and crows. You
remember too, that when knees even sunk to the
ground, and women with implorations and streaming
eyes prayfully besought for him the last poor
rites of Christian interment, that a stern and ruth-
less denial was still maintained, and only the almighti-
ness of a King's authority could gain this hard-entreated
point from this truly episcopal " Tartuffe," who was
himself a mockery of godliness, himself but a bragga-
docio in virtue. And then,when something of a cession
was finally made, right of sepulture was only allowed
on the ground that the ceremony should be celebrated
without a vestige of pomp—that it should be a sort of
serge and sackcloth burial, and that no canticle or psalm
should be breathed, to call the seraphim around his
grave. That funeral took place as Johannot has engraven
it. Two priests alone were appointed to bury him. The
body was borne to its last home with no song, no chaunt-
ing, no sound of blessing, and Moliere was cast into an
inglorious grave-hole, behind the chapel of St. Joseph,
in the Rue Montmartre, unanneled and almost uncoffined.
His friends attended, and saw the destitute and power-
less dead thus ;ignominiously treated. His wife beheld
this heinous and disgraceful transaction—her indigna-
tion, more burning and insufferable than the men's
around her, flamed within her ; and the voice of nature
and of virtuous shame at length broke out of her pent-.
up bosom, and she exclaimed, as the clods were shovelled
on his body, " What ! do they grudge a burial to a man
who deserves an altar ?"
True-hearted woman, and faithful beyond death !
Would that the strenuous and affectionate spirit that in-
formed: thy frail and fragile shape, could at this day be
resuscitated for a short instant, that thy soul might learn
in love and satisfaction that the high altar and shining
catalogue which thy farseeing spirit knew was his de-
sert, was by the united world of Paris, with France's
professors and councillors at its head, decreed as due to
thy immortal husband, if haply the news hath not al-
ready travelled to thee in the far land of the departed,
for.ming the burden of thy present song of praise, poured
by thee beside the waters of overflowing comfort !
Build up a column to Moliere!
Build it aloft in the heights of the air!
Hew andainquarry the marble white
To shape its shaft and pediment bright .
That high it may rise, and trophy-like stand
As a grace to his name, and a gift to his land.
Yet shall its marble magnificence be
But of small account, and little degree
Compared to the blaze and the golden spell
That his fame shall cause round his column to dwell,
Filling the air and the region round
With a glorious light and a clarion-sound,
That the pilgrim afar shall cover his face
And acknowledge the awe of that radiant place.
Moliere had but little praise in his life-time, atleast not
more than his true comedies brought him. In 1778, in-
deed, the French academy did him honour by erecting a
bust to him in their hall, with one of Saurin's verses for
its motto—"Rien ne manque a sa gloire ; it manquait a
la notre." This, perhaps, was the beginning. of his pos-
thumous fame, but the harp of the poet, and the energies
of the actor have, since then, given him a fresher glory.
Who remembers not the magnificent verses of Boileau
upon him (" Avant qu!un peu de terre," &c.; in his
Epistle to Racine), which rose to an eloquence, that had
all the deep accent of Bossuet, when Bossuet spoke
solemnly over the dead? Who can .forget that the na-
tional theatres of Franke have no text-pieces but must
give way to Moliere's, and that in the mighty characters
which his profound intelligence drew, Grandmesnil,
Mole, Fleur, and Dazincourt, have won their reputation,
and Madames Contat, Devienne, and Mlle. Mars, have ga-
thered lustre and fair radiance round their names?
So much, too, for the lapse of a few years: the very
clidlicters whom he transcribed into his own page, and
that once created spite against him, now come forward
to add to his honour. The Harpagons of France have
opened their gold-bags—while the " femmes savantes,"
and the pretty " precieuses," have written with patro-
nizing hands to help toward the erection of this column.
Yet, pauvre Moliere ! this is somewhat late for dis-
tinction. Thou bast long been deaf to praise, and dumb
to censure ; the animosities which rage in the shadow-
world above thee create thunders that are inocuous to
thee ; thy tender milk-dietings, and thy pained chest,
are in quiet now, and no part of thy physical organiza-
tion but has a quiet requiescat in the dust. Even
Armande Bejart—thy bonny and beautiful wife, who
with only seventeen blue summers of life in her eyes
thou did'st marry in a rickety old acre, keeps thee no
longer in the agonies of jealousy by her lively and co-
quettish carriage.
Tony Johannot gives a sweet, joyous portrait of this
tiresome Armande in his book. She has luxuriant
tressy hair—a transcendently fair bosom and fine bust,
with lips in a full cherry pout. While we are on edi-
tions, we may observe that Moliere, an universal favour-
ite, can be read by the modern Greek in his own ver-
nacular, as also by the Spaniard. The following fo-
reign editions are to be procured :—La Malade Ima-
ginaire, done into Spanish, under the title of " El
Medico a Palos," 4to, Madrid, 1815; Turtuffe, done into
Romaic, a Constantino Coccinaio, Bvo, Vienna, 1815 ;
and L'Avare, also in Romaic, imprinted at Vienna in
816,

ATTEMPT AT ASSASSINATION IN
FRANCE.
(From the Journal des Debats.)
An attempt at assassination has lately taken
place in France on the person of a sexagenarian
named Tetu, the circumstances of which smack
of the romantic. Tetu, some years ago, had
held an intimacy with a woman who has since
married, but who, nevertheless, retained as a
lover a fellow named Bechard, aged 23.
Bechard, drawn as a recruit, had entered ser-
vice in the 28th Regiment of the Line, and had
even advanced a rank, when he was suddenly
cashiered for violence and disorderly behaviour.
Some time after, he enlisted in the 2d Battalion
of Lancers, a Vincennes regiment, which for
three months was temporarily barracked in the
environs of Paris. So soon as garrisOned here,
he renewed his acquaintance with the woman
ll—, and the terror with which he filled her
husband by his menaces, were such as compelled
the latter finally to consent to an undisguised
and unconstrained adultery with her.
His battalion, however, now received orders to
put itself in marching array for Africa ; Bechard,
resolved not to quit Paris, deserted, disguising
himself, took asylum in ie house of a gentle-
man named Sarrazin (living in the Rue la
Roquette), who had formerly known him, and
whom, as the price of his hospitality, he was
rascal enough to rob of the sum of 300 francs,
with which he disappeared, and with it delivered
himself up to uncontrolled debauchery and plea-
sure. But the 300 francs were soon squandered,
and Bechard, finding himself without resourcos
or asylum, presented himself at the door of M.
Tetu's house, which is situated at the end of a
long and obscure alley. At mid-day, Tetu was
out; at two o'clock—at four—he had not re-
turned, and it was not till half-past eight,
ring
was called for the fourth time, that his ring
was answered.
Tetu came down stairs, leaving for a while his
supper on the table, and required of Bechard
the purport of his visit. "I come from Madame
H—," said Bechard, affecting a German accent;
" she must without delay speak with you, and
has despatched me to bring you to her this in-
stant. She waits for you near at hand, in St.
Pierre's-court." " I will comply with pleasure,"
answered 11. Tetu, " with Mad. H—'s invita-
tion. Just permit me to finish my supper, and I
am at your service." So saying, he again seated
himself at table, endeavouring to discover a rea-
son for so pressing an invitation from Mad. H—
at such an hour, with a message sent through a
perfect stranger; for though he had frequently
seen Bechard, he did not recognise him, having
always met him in uniform, whereas he was now
dressed like a citizen. •
" You will teach me, Sirs" said Bechard, after
a short silence, affecting his German jargon,
" you will teach me to'speak French as well as
yourself."
" I am not learned enough for that," replied
M. Tetu, " but there are plenty of professors."
During this dialogue, 117. Tetu had ate his
supper, and lie was engaged in putting on his
boots again, when Bechard, throwing himself
upon him with a razor, gashed his neck, mouth,
and face most murderously. A terrible wrestle
ensued. M. Tetu, aged as he was: and stabbed

with dangerous wounds, strove to overthrow his
assassin; hut, weakened by loss of blood, and
by the strong efforts he had made, he fell with-
out consciousness, with his watch and purse
upon the floor. This encounter passed off more
rapidly than related: the victim had not uttered
a cry—nevertheless the terrified assassin hurried
his flight, but, in so hastening, took only the
purse and watch, together with a little bundle
which he made of some table-cloths, handker-
chiefs, and shirts, and then precipitated himself
down the stairs, and fled along the Rue de
Tourcy.
All at once a strange incident betel his flight.
Scarce had he got to the middle of the street
before Bechard felt the bundle he had under his
arm loosen, and several of his handkerchiefs fall
to the ground. " Master, master," cried out a
poor woman after him, " you are losing your
linen,—here, here." The murderer, far from
dropping his speed, increased it; and the poor
woman, running to pick up the linen, found it
stained with blood. This she immediately car-
ried to the Commissary of Police.
M. Tetu had meanwhile recovered his senses,
and raised his cries. The police, doctors, and-
crowd, besieged his doors, and found him in a
deplorable state. Tetu detailed the circum-
stances, and described Bechard.
The police were immediately on the chase,
and some grave facts soon transpired, that an
individual, some hours after the crime was
committed, armed with two pistols and a
poniard, had been seized upon the informa-
tion of a common girl, as a deserter, whom exas-
peration had rendered mad. This individual,
blood-stained, and gashed as if from recent con-
flict, was taken into custody, when he confessed
himself the perpetrator of the crime.
On being questioned as to his guilty act, he
pleaded drunkenness, and the domination of a
jealous passion over him. He stands for trial at
the next assize.

LETTER FROM PARIS.
It is so long since I referred to the Republicans of
Paris and their movements, that you will probably have
begun to think that the party is extinct. Such a conclu-
sion would have been founded in error. I do not be-

lieve that since the funeral of General Lamarque, now
nine years and three weeks since, so formidable an array
of that class of citizens has been beheld, 'as on this day,
at the funeral of M. Gamier Pages, a lawyer of cele-
brity, but much better known as the leader of the Repub-
lican party in the Chamber of Deputies. So early as 10
o'clock this forenoon groups of people and numerous sar-
gens de ville, with the detachments of Municipal Guards,
cavalry and infantry, began to occupy that portion of
the Rue de Provence which lies between the Rue La-

fitte and the Faubourg Montmartre, and in which
the deceased had resided. The Boulevard des Italiens,
the Rue Lepelletier, and the Rue Grande Batteliere pre-
sented in a few minutes a similar appearance. The
church of Notre Dame de Lorette, situate at the end of
the Rue Lafitte, to which the remains of the defunct
were to be conveyed, was, as well as all the avenues
leading to it, crowded. By twelve o'clock the streets I
have named were choked up with people, through whom,
with much difficulty, patrols of Municipal Guards forced
'their way. Notwithstanding these circumstances, I re-
marked to a person sent to " observe" the crowd, that I
could not recognise among those so assembled either the
journeymen tailors or the "schools" (students). " They
are in position," said he, " and will fall in. They have
assembled in force at the Place de l'Ecole de Medecin, the
Place de l'Odeon, and the Place de la Bourse, and will
join the procession on its route.'`
Determined to see how matt(xs stood, I did not attempt
to enter the church, but proceeded along the Boulevards
(des Italiens, Montmartre,:Poissonniere,desßonnes Nou-
velles, and St. Denis) to the Boulevard St. Martin, above
the theatre of that name, where the nature of the ground
enabled me to see half a mile in each direction. The
distance between the church which the body of the
deceased was borne to the spOt just mentioned is consi-
derably more than a mile. The entire of that line was
nevertheless occupied, the cent.w of the boulevards, as
well as the spacious pathways, 'by men of all classes and
grades. There was not perceptible among them that
which is called excitement, but there was a gravity quite
at variance with the expression of mere curiosity.
At twenty minutes past one o'clock I could, from the
eminence on which I was placed, see the head of the
procession emerging from the fine trees which still line
the Boulevard Poissonniere. It soon assumed the ap-
pearance of a solid dark mass, occupying. apparently the
entire space from 'side to side, and such, In fact, was its
appearance during the ensuing twenty-five minutes.
When the procession reached the place in which I had
resolved to wait for it, I found that it was headed by a
dozen Sergens de Ville. A couple of dozen National
Guards followed. Then capa e the mourning coaches,
and then the hearse, the pall borne by General Excel-
mans (I was told, but he was not on the side next me),
Colonel Stirling (of the National Guards), M. Carnot,
and M. David (d'Angers), the sculptor. Immediately
after the hearse marched the people, I suppose I must
say, and here the matter became serious, several hun-
dred persons (of *hom 120 were deputies), and other
respectable-looking men, came first, but rather irregu-
larly. To these succeeded 20,000 others, marching in
something that looked very like order, from six to twelve
abreast; but of these 5,000 at least were in sections, con-.
sisting of seven men each, every one of whom wore the
dried flower called " immortelle" in his button-hole.
That which was not the least formidable feature in the
affair was, that the mass, if I may so call a long line of
men seven or eight abreast, was flanked throughout by
National Guards in uniform.
The 5,000 I have particularly mentioned were, it was
said, members of the secret societies. The number
(seven) of which each section. consisted, looks rather
like the !organization of the apparently silly Societe des
Saissons, each section being a " week." There was evi-
dence of drilling in their movements, and here and there'
you saw a section composed of men, all of whom were
of about the same appearance, probably leaders, for they
wore an air of authority. The other sections consisted of
every description of man to be found in Paris, pourtraying
the perfection of equality. In thE, same section you saw
a dandy with yelkow gloves, and a gamin with only a
blue bourger on (similar precisely to that worn by the
Lascar seamen you see in Lon don) and canvas trou-
sers, a soiled neckerchief of some sort, and a greasy cap
(casquette). Next to him was a. -portly looking person, a
publican, who drank his own beer perhaps ; then a man
with an outlandish beard—an, artist of course—then a
mechanic, then a fierce-looki rig person, un ancien mili-
taire no doubt, then a student, &c. Such a motley set
never has been seen but in France, and never seen in
Paris since the Revolution of 1830. With the exception
of the gamins and the strdents, to neither of which
class could anything in tho shape of a row come amiss
or take them by surprise--with these exceptions, I say,
the face of every man in. the procession was serious and
pre-occupied.
Not a single soldier was to be seen.
Now, I do not desire that you infer from these facts
that we are on the eve of a revolution, or of an attempt
at one ; but I think you will agree with me that the as-
pect of 10,000 men, mare} Ling in order, with 100,000
more accompanying or looking upon them (nineteen-
twentieths of whom sympathised with them), is, in
such a city as Paris, seeing what we have seen, a spec-
tacle calculated to make a deep impression on the ob-
server. It was not so mach the display of force that
struck the beholder, as the silence, the sedateness,
the perfett union and order that reigned among them,
and which (if I may venture upon the figure) proved
incontestibly to all who know anything of Paris, that the
'hit is not dead, but sleepeth.

THE LATE LORD DURHAM.
" Don't you know who I am ?" was a phrase made use
of by the late lamented Earl of Durham ; but it was in
the heyday of his youth, and before his heart had been
sickened with the cares Qf public life, or his brow had
been pressed by a glittering coronet ; probably ambit
tion had already taken up its position in .his ardent
breast ; but, if I remember aright, it was previous to his
having acquired for himself the notorious distinction of
being " the proudest man in England."
It was during the month of September, nearly thirty
yelrs ago, that a sportsman, with his gun and a due ac-
companiment of dogs, was descried by an old-fashioned
farmer in the midst of a field of unreaped wheat. This
was in the county of Durham, where most of the wheats
are raised upon cold and stiff clayey soils, so that as the
soil is naturally backward, when the seasons otoo prove
uncongenial, the farmers ought not to be blamed for not
getting their corn cut and out of the way before Sep-
tember comes in, in order that the sportsman should not
find himself inconvenienced when in the pursuit of
game. It so happened in the year that I refer to, that
I when partridge-shooting came in, the corn crops were
out—nay, scarcely any of it had been cut ; hence there
was abundance of covert for the birds in the fields of
grain ; and notwithstanding most of the gentlemen who
shot over the district of country more particularly al-
luded to had the good sense and the generous feeling
that prompt us to do as we would wish to be done unto,
there were exceptions, as there' are to all general rules,
and a striking instance of which I will proceed to relate.
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There could be no manner of use in presenting the
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scene, since he is still in the land of the living, and as
hale and hearty as but few men of fourscore fing, them-
selves ; and theTefore, without a shadow of disrespect, I
m
will designate hi as day—
in
Well, then, one daY
in September, as I said before—honest Scrubbins, hear-
ing several reports of a gun, withgrasping one hand the
other,' and both placed behind him, and just upon the
hole or opening that country tailors sometimes leave in
the hinder part of the breeches waistband, he - slowly
took his way across two or three fields, with no very de-
fined object in view, butjust to see what was going for-
ward ; for, simple soul ! he hadnot anticipated anything
wrong, though he had heard the report of fire arms ; as
he knew it must be some gentleman sportsman embrac-
ing the rights and privileges that his birthright and a
game-certificate gave him, and gentlemen, he had
always understood, were the very last to depart from
what he, Scrubbins, call the rule of right."
But only conceive his surprise, when, having as-
cended a low ridge that had
i hid from. his view the ad-
joining wheat-field, his eyes informed him, in spite of his
desire that it should have been otherwise, that there was
a sportsman and two or three dogs in the very midst of
his field of wheat, not simply passing through it by way
of a short cut, which would have been
it had
enough,
but actually ranging
to and fro as if thad been a field
of turnips or potatoes ; for the gunner, it appeared, had
broken the covey, so that the birds had dropped in va
rious parts of it, and lay so close that the dugs had to
push them up with their noses. There was no mistaking
It. Scrubbins would greatly have had any other .indi-