User:Dhtwiki/sandbox/Tuileries Palace

Interior

The private apartment used by Napoleon III, on the garden side of the ground floor of the southern wing of the palace, consisted of "overheated gilt boxes furnished in the style of the First Empire", being kept at "an excessively high temperature" by the emperor. Empress Eugénie had her apartment above, connected to the emperor's by a winding staircase, with a mezzanine occupied by the treasurer of the privy purse in between, and comprising eight of the eleven rooms on the the bel etage of the southern wing's garden side. This arrangement at the Tuileries was unlike Versailles, where the apartments of monarch and consort were both on the same floor and the king's was the grander of the two.

The state rooms - on the Carrousel, or east, side - of the south wing were used variously depending on the occasion. If it were an informal dinner, the household would gather in the Private Drawing Room, or Salon d'Apollon, which was separated from the Salle de Maréchaux, in the central pavilion, by the First Consul's Room, or Salon Blanc. The party would proceed through the throne room to dinner in the Salon Louis XIV. However, gala dinners were held in the larger Galerie de Diane, the southernmost of the state apartments. If it were a state ball then refreshments would be set up in the Galerie and the procession of the royal party would be from there to the Salle de Maréchaux, occupying the space of two entire floors of the central Pavillon de L'Horloge, which was the ballroom.

The little-used northern wing of the palace, which contained the chapel, Galerie de la Paix, and the Salle de Spectacle, or theater, would be called into service only for the most important fêtes, such as the party given for sovereigns attending the Universal Exposition on June 10, 1867. The Salle de Spectacle was also used as a hospital during the Franco-Prussian War.

The southernmost pavilion, the Pavillon de Flore, served as the backstairs to the palace. Service corridors led to it. One could get from there to the sprawling basement, lit with innumerable gas lamps, where a railway had been set up to bring food from the kitchens under the Rue de Rivoli.

Augustin Filon described the usage of the southern wing of the Tuileries toward the end of the Second Empire:

The private apartments of the Empress consisted of eight rooms out of the eleven on the first floor of the wing of the palace situated between the Pavillon de l'Horloge and the Pavillon de Flore....referring to those rooms of which the windows looked out upon the garden...

The private apartments of the Empress consisted of eight rooms out of the eleven on the first floor of the wing of the palace situated between the Pavillon de l'Horloge and the Pavillon de Flore....referring to those rooms of which the windows looked out upon the garden...

— Augustin Filon, Recollections of the Empress Eugénie, Chapter 4

At night a single lamp illumined this huge deserted hall, peopled with terrible memories. These I would often muse over as I stopped at the spot once occupied by the chair of the president, where Boissy d'Anglas had saluted the bleeding head of Feraud, and where Thuriot had listened impassively to the outburst of Robespierre at bay: "President of assassins, once more I ask your ear !" I saw in imagination the "Mountain," the "Plain," the "Marsh," and the crowded tribunes; I fancied I could hear the shrieking clamour of the "tricoteuses" and the drums of the "sections" hastening to the attack or to the rescue of the Assembly; and I would call up one or other of the acts of the mighty drama of which this sinister hall has been the scene.

— Augustin Filon, Recollections of the Empress Eugénie, pp. 126-7

[pp 107-08, re basement, kitchens] I suggested that instead of this drug she might test the virtue of a cup of broth. The Empress consented, and I left the room to give the necessary order to Mile. Blanche, the maid who attended to these kind of requirements ; but as I could not find her in the little passage behind Her Majesty's room, I determined, little as I knew of those regions, to fetch the cup of broth myself.

I skirted the Galerie de Diane, and descended to the basement by the staircase of the Pavilion de Flore. I found myself in an underground passage extending the whole length of the Tuileries and lit by innumerable lamps. But where were the kitchens?. I had not the remotest idea, so I thought my best plan would be to follow the lines of the little railway which conveyed the dishes from the kitchens to the Imperial table. Galleries opened to the right and left of me, which under other conditions I should have been tempted to explore. Suddenly I bethought me of " the little Red Man " who appeared, so it was said, to the masters of this palace or the members of their household whenever some disaster was impending! Surely it was, in- deed, a fitting time to show himself. But " the little Red Man " remained invisible, and during my long walk I saw no sign of a ghost or of any living soul. The kitchens were situated, I discovered eventually, under the Rue de 107

Rivoli, and in one I found a scullion asleep in a chair. I awoke him in the same manner that I had awakened Emile Ollivier, but he took it far less kindly. However, as soon as I had obtained what I sought I retraced my steps; but when I reached the Empress's bedroom, after a twenty- minutes' walk, the broth was stone cold and the Empress was sleeping peacefully.

[pp 126-7, re Salle de Spectacle] Not content with visiting the hospitals, she had one established on the Terrace of the Tuileries, and another inside the palace in the memorable hall where the Convention used to sit. This hall lay between the staircase of the Pavilion de Marsan and the vestibule of the chapel, and in 1867 a grand banquet had been given there to some foreign Sove- reigns, of which the magnificence, chronicled by all the papers of the time, has been preserved by a very interesting and accurate painting now at Farnborough. But all the decorations previously arranged for the fete had now dis- appeared, and the walls had again resumed their chilling bareness when I saw them for the first time. In 1868 and 1869 I had my private apartment in the Pavillon de Marsan. and many times a day I crossed this hall on a narrow bridge, along the window side towards the Place du Carrousel. At night a single lamp illumined this huge deserted hall, peopled with terrible memories. These I would often muse over as I stopped at the spot once occu- pied by the chair of the president, where Boissy d'Anglas had saluted the bleeding head of Feraud, and where Thuriot had listened impassively to the outburst of Robes- pierre at bay : " President of assassins, once more I ask your ear ! " I saw in imagination the " Mountain," the "Plain," the "Marsh," and the crowded tribunes; I

fancied I could hear the shrieking clamour of the " tri- coteuses " and the drums of the " sections " hastening to the attack or to the rescue of the Assembly; and I would call up one or other of the acts of the mighty drama of which this sinister hall has been the scene. But the last time I was there its appearance had once more changed. Thirty beds, many of which were already occupied, re- placed the phantoms of the past, and the Empress- flitted from one to the other, surrounded by the good Sisters of Charity in white aprons, who were the occupants of this hall.