After a short proclamation here, we were shown into another
stone chamber with _"Voila le tombeau de Voltaire!"_ This was of
wood also, very nicely speckled and painted to resemble some kind of
marble. Each corner of the tomb had a tragic mask on it, with that
captivating expression of countenance which belongs to the tragic
masks generally. There was in the room a marble statue of Voltaire,
with that wiry, sharp, keen, yet somewhat spiteful expression which
his busts commonly have.
But our guide has finished his prelection here, and is striding off in
the plenitude of his wisdom. Now we are shown a long set of stone
apartments, provided for future great men. Considering the general
scarcity of the article in most countries, these sleeping
accommodations are remarkably ample. Nobody need be discouraged in his
attempts at greatness in Paris, for fear at last there won't be room
to bury him. After this we were marched to a place where our guide
made a long speech about a stone in the floor--very instructive,
doubtless, if I had known what it was: my Parisian friend said he
spoke with such a German accent she could not understand; so we humbly
took the stone _on trust,_ though it looked to the eye of sense
quite like any other.
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