The Sun.
London, England, 1868-08-20 00:00:00

THE CATACOMBS OF PARIS.

The following appears in a contemporary :—lt
is not easy for the ordinary English sightseer in
Paris to satisfy his curiosity by a descent into the
famous catacombs—difficilis descensus. Formerly
one of the regular sights of Paris, they have now
been long closed to the general public, and but very

few Parisians of the younger generation have ea-

plored those dismal vaults. Four times a year the
metropolitan surveyors officially inspect the great
ossuary, to report on the condition of the pillars
and piers which have been built to prop the exca-
vated galleries, and a select few, whose applications
to the Prefect of the Seine have been backed by
influential recommendations, are allowed on these
occasions to accompany them. Notice that the ex-
pedition is about to proceed is often received many
months after the application has been sent to the
Hotel de Vine, and a prolonged residence in Paris
seems to be an indispensable condition for obtain-
ing a sight of the catacombs.
I was fortunate enough, says the correspondent of
a contemporary, a few days ago to accompany one of
these periodical visits of inspection. The appointed
place of meeting was in the courtyard, at the back
of the office for collecting the octroi at the former
Barrieye d'Enfer. M. Nadar, in-the ttilky Paris
guide which was printed for the use of visitors to
the Exhibition last year, describes midnight as the
hour usually appointed for these excursions, but this
is probably merely a literary artifice destined to
throw additional gloom over his narrative. We met
at noon in considerable numbers, chatting in every
language of Europe, and all provided with candles,
railway lamps, and matches. On the arrival of the
metropolitan surveyors the door of a low building,
which occupies one side of the courtyard, was un-
locked, and displayed a steep flight of narrow steps
leading underground. The inspectors mustered the
company, the candles were lit, and one by one we
descended. The hubbub of conversation was at
once hushed. We were about to visit the silent
abodes of the dead. Perhaps some of us involunta-
rily remembered ghastly tales of men who had lost
their way in this subterranean labyrinth and had
never returned to their friends and the bright sun-
shine above.

Ninety steps led us to the level ground, and we
walked during twenty minutes or half an hour
through a narrow, damp,' low passage cut in the
calcareous rock. By raising my hand I could easily
touch the vault above. Right and left we passed
by innumerable openings leading away into mys-
terious gloom and silence. They were each closed
with a wooden barrier, so that we could not, had
we been tempted, turn from the right path. Sur-
veyors opened and closed the march. We were in
the ancient quarries from which the stone Paris is
built of has been extracted from the Roman period
down to the reign of Louis XIV. The subter-
ra lean galleries extend under the suburbs of St.
Germain, St. Jaques, and St. Marcel. The neigh-
bourhood of the Luxemburg Palace and Gardens,
and of the Pantheon, are undermined by them.
But probably they have not the vast extent or depth
which popular legend ascribes to them. Towards the
end of last century great alarm was felt throughout
Paris by the sudden sinking of several houses near the
Barriere d'Enfer. Even at present purchasers are
shy of investing the building plots that have been
recently created by the ruthless destruction of part
of the Luxemburg Gardens, in consequence of the
doubtful reputation for stability of the ground.
Since the occurrence of the accidents above men-

tioned, subterranean Paris has been carefully sur-
veyed by order of the municipal authorities. Large
sums have been spent on props and pillars, on piers
and buttresses, and a curious map of the catacombs
has been published by M. de Fourcy, C.E. The
cellars of M. Dumenil's great brewery occupy gal-
leries of these old quarries, and persons who are
curious to form an idea of the catacombs of Paris
can do so easily by applying at No. 15, Rue du
Marche aux Chevaux, the counting house of the
brewery. The entrances to the quarries, of which
there were more than sixty, it is said, have been for
the most part closed.
We reached the gate of the necropolis. It is
painted black, flanked with columns, and bears the
inscription—

lIAB . ULTRA . MBTAS REQUIESCUNT . IIEATAM . SPED( .