Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 1

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[255] more neglected at this soiree than ladies are with us. They sat on the sofas, almost entirely by themselves; and at the latter part of the evening another room was opened, and they went in to get some confitures, I think, a whole troop, with scarcely a single gentleman. Among the gentlemen I met here was M. Pellat,¹ the professor who lectures on the ‘Pandects’ at the École de Droit, and with whom I had considerable conversation; and another gentleman, whose name I do not recollect, who has just published a work upon the establishments for Enfants Trouves in Europe. Several others I was introduced to, and conversed with, but cannot remember their names. De Gerando was so kind as to authorize me to use him in any way in which he could be of service. He expressed a great interest in Dr. Channing.

Feb. 20. Visited the Observatory, where is the meridian line of France, a building which seems made for immortality. There is hardly any thing in it but stone; neither wood nor iron; the floors are of stone, and also the stairs. After this, visited the Hospice des Enfants Trouves, an institution at which an American might well be astonished. This is the receptacle of the foundlings of Paris; and upwards of one hundred are left here each week, making more than six thousand during the year. The argument for such establishments is that they prevent infanticide by furnishing an asylum for infants. There is a little box with a green cushion, about large enough for an infant, which opens on the street; into this the child is put by the parent or other person intrusted with it, and at the same time the box is turned round; a bell being made to ring by the act of turning, and the little thing is received into its new asylum.² If the infant is well, it is very soon put out to nurse in the country. There were about one hundred and fifty in the Hospice. It was a strange sight to see so many children all of an age, ranged in rows, in their little cradles. There was a large number with sick eyes, and many with other complaints. The curtains of many were drawn aside that I might see them. In one cradle I observed that the countenance was pallid and the mouth open, and I said to my attendant, Elle est morte. The attendant doubted, and thought that she perceived a breath from the mouth. I touched the cheek; and it was very evident that the poor child was dead,—it was cold as marble. It was melancholy to see even an infant that had died without any attendant affectionately watching; and who breathed its last, with the curtains of its little cradle closed against all sight. Every thing appeared neat and well-managed in this institution. I next went to the church of the Val de Grace, which was built by Anne of Austria, the mother of Louis XIV. It is a beautiful architectural relic of those times.

In the evening visited Foelix, where I passed three hours in conversation. I met there M. Bravard,³ one of the professors of law,—a man forty years