the hotel, and drew up in a line before its gate. This happened as I
reached their own side of the square, which I had just crossed.
Presently, a party of fifteen or twenty _gens-d’armes à cheval_, came
up, and wheeled into line. The students raised another shout, as it
might be, in defiance. The infantry shouldered arms, and filing off
singly, headed by an officer, they marched, in what we call Indian file,
towards the crowd. All this was done in the most quiet manner possible,
but promptly, and with an air of great decision and determination. On
reaching the crowd, they penetrated it, in the same order, quite up to
the railing. Nothing was said, nor was any thing done, for it would have
been going farther than the students were prepared to proceed, had they
attempted to seize and disarm the soldiers. This appeared to be
understood, and instead of wasting the moments, and exasperating his
enemies by a parley, the officer, as has just been said, went directly
through them, until he reached the railing. Once there, he began to
encircle it, followed in the same order by his men. The first turn
loosened the crowd, necessarily, and then I observed that the muskets,
which hitherto had been kept at a “carry,” were inclined a little
outwards. Two turns, enabled the men to throw their pieces to a charge,
and, by this time, they had opened their order so far, as to occupy the
four sides of the area. Facing outwards, they advanced very slowly, but
giving time for the crowd to recede. This manœuvre rendered the throng
less and less dense, when, watching their time, the mounted
_gens-d’armes_ rode into it, in a body, and, making a circuit, on a
trot, without the line of infantry, they got the mass so loosened and
scattered, that, unarmed as the students were, had they been disposed to
resist, they would now have been completely at the mercy of the troops.
Every step that was gained, of course, weakened the crowd, and, in ten
minutes, the square was empty; some being driven out of it in one
direction, and some in another, without a blow being struck, or, even an
angry word used. The force of the old saying, “that the king’s name is a
tower of strength,” or, the law being on the side of the troops,
probably was of some avail; but a mob of fiery young Frenchmen is not
too apt to look at the law, with reverence.
I stood near the hotels, but still in the square, when a _gens-d’arme_,
sweeping his sabre as one would use a stick in driving sheep, came near
me. He told me to go away. I smiled, and said I was a stranger, who was
looking at the scene purely from curiosity. “I see you are, sir,” he
answered, “but you had better fall back into the _Rue de la Paix_.” We
exchanged friendly nods, and I did as he told me, without further
hesitation. In truth, there remained no more to be seen.
Certainly, nothing could have been done in better temper, more
effectually, nor more steadily than this dispersion of the students.
There is no want of spirit in these young men, you must know, but the
reverse is rather the case. The troops were under fifty in number, and
the mob was between six hundred and a thousand; resolute, active, sturdy
young fellows, who had plenty of fight in them, but who wanted the unity
of purpose that a single leader can give to soldiers. I thought this
little campaign of the column of the Place Vendôme, quite as good in its
way, as the _petite guerre_ of the plains of Issy.
I do not know whether you have fallen into the same error as myself, in
relation to the comparative merits of the cavalry of this part of the
world, though I think it is one common to most Americans. From the
excellence of their horses, as well as from that general deference for
the character and prowess of the nation, which exists at home, I had
been led to believe that the superior qualities of the British cavalry
were admitted in Europe. This is any thing but true; military men, so
far as I can learn, giving the palm to the Austrian artillery, the
British infantry, and the French cavalry. The Russians are said to be
generally good for the purposes of defence, and in the same degree
deficient for those of attack. Some shrewd observers, however, think the
Prussian army, once more, the best in Europe.
The French cavalry is usually mounted on small, clumsy, but sturdy
beasts, that do not show a particle of blood. Their movement is awkward,
and their powers, for a short effort, certainly are very much inferior
to those of either England or America. Their superiority must consist in
their powers of endurance, for the blooded animal soon falls off, on
scanty fare and bad grooming. I have heard the moral qualities of the
men, given as a reason why the French cavalry should be superior to that
of England. The system of conscription secures to an army the best
materials, while that of enlistment necessarily includes the worst. In
this fact is to be found the real moral superiority of the French and
Prussian armies. Here, service, even in the ranks, is deemed honorable;
whereas with us, or in England, it would be certain degradation to a man
of the smallest pretension to enlist as a soldier, except in moments
that made stronger appeals than usual to patriotism. In short, it is
_primâ facie_ evidence of a degraded condition, for a man to carry a
musket in a regular battalion. Not so here. I have frequently seen
common soldiers copying in the gallery of the Louvre, or otherwise
engaged in examining works of science, or of taste; not ignorantly and
with vulgar wonder, but like men who had been regularly instructed. I
have been told that a work on artillery practice lately appeared in
France which excited so much surprise by its cleverness, that an inquiry
was set on foot for its author. He was found seated in a _cabriolet_, in
the streets; his vocation being that of a driver. What renders his
knowledge more surprising, is the fact, that the man was never a soldier
at all, but, having a great deal of leisure, while waiting for his
fares, he had turned his attention to this subject, and had obtained all
he knew by means of books. Nothing is more common than to see the
drivers of _cabriolets_ and _fiacres_ reading in their seats, and I have
even seen market women, under their umbrellas, _à la Robinson_, with
books in their hands. You are not, however, to be misled by these facts,
which merely show the influence of the peculiar literature of the
country, so attractive and amusing, for a very great majority of the
French can neither read nor write. It is only in the north that such
things are seen at all, except among the soldiers, and a large
proportion of even the French army are entirely without schooling.
To return to the cavalry, I have heard the superiority of the French
ascribed also to their dexterity in the use of the sabre, or, as it is
termed here, _l’arme blanche_. After all, this is rather a poetical
conclusion; for charges of cavalry rarely result in regular, hand to
hand, conflicts. Like the bayonet, the sabre is seldom used, except on
an unresisting enemy. Still the consciousness of such a manual
superiority might induce a squadron, less expert, to wheel away, or to
break, without waiting for orders.
I have made the acquaintance, here, of an old, English General, who has
passed all his life in the dragoons, and who commanded brigades of
cavalry in Spain and at Waterloo. As he is a sensible old man, of great
frankness and simplicity of character, perfect good-breeding and good
nature, and, moreover, so far as I can discover, absolutely without
prejudice against America, he has quite won my heart, and I have availed
myself of his kindness to see a good deal of him. We walk together,
frequently, and chat of all things in heaven and earth, just as they
come uppermost. The other day I asked him to explain the details of a
charge of his own particular arm to me, of which I confessed a proper
ignorance. “This is soon done,” said the old gentleman, taking my arm
with a sort of sly humour, as if he were about to relate something
facetious—“against foot, a charge is a menace; if they break, we profit
by it; if they stand, we get out of the scrape as well as we can. When
foot are in disorder, cavalry does the most, and it is always active in
securing a victory, usually taking most of the prisoners. But as against
cavalry, there is much misconception. When two regiments assault each
other, it is in compact line—.” “How,” I interrupted him, “do not you
open, so as to leave room to swing a sabre?” “Not at all. The theory is
knee to knee; but this is easier said than done, in actual service. I
will suppose an unsuccessful charge. We start, knee to knee, on a trot.
This loosens the ranks, and, as we increase the speed, they become still
looser. We are under the fire of artillery, or, perhaps, of infantry,
all the time, and the enemy won’t run. At this moment, a clever officer
will command a retreat to be sounded. If he should not, some officer is
opportunely killed, or some leading man loses command of his horse,
which is wounded and wheels, the squadron follows, and we get away as
well as we can. The enemy follows, and if he catches us, we are cut up.
Other charges do occur, but this is the common history of cavalry
against cavalry, and, in unsuccessful attacks of cavalry, against
infantry, too. A knowledge of the use of the sword is necessary, for did
your enemy believe you ignorant of it, he would not fly; but the weapon
itself is rarely used on such occasions. Very few men are slain, in
their ranks, by the bayonet, or the sabre.”
I was once told, though not directly by an officer, that the English
dragoon neglected his horse in the field, selling the provender for
liquor, and that, as a consequence, the corps became inefficient;
whereas the French dragoon, being usually a sober man, was less exposed
to this temptation. This may, or may not, be true; but drunkenness is
now quite common in the French army, though I think much less so in the
cavalry, than in the foot. The former are generally selected with some
care, and the common regiments of the line, as a matter of course,
receive the refuse of the conscription.
This conscription is, after all, extremely oppressive and unjust, though
it has the appearance of an equal tax. Napoleon had made it so
unpopular, by the inordinate nature of his demands for men, that Louis
XVIIIth caused an article to be inserted in the charter, by which it was
to be altogether abolished. But a _law_ being necessary to carry out
this constitutional provision, the clause remains a perfect dead letter,
it being no uncommon thing for the law to be stronger than the
constitution, even in America, and quite a common thing here. I will
give you an instance of the injustice of the system. An old servant of
mine has been drafted for the cavalry. I paid this man seven hundred
francs a year, gave him coffee, butter, and wine, with his food, and he
fell heir to a good portion of my old clothes. The other day he came to
see me, and I inquired into his present situation. His arms and clothes
were found him. He got neither coffee, wine, nor butter, and his other
food, as a matter of course, was much inferior to that he had been
accustomed to receive with me. His pay, after deducting the necessary
demands on it, in the shape of regular contributions, amounts to about
two sous a day, instead of the two francs he got in my service.
Now, necessity, in such matters, is clearly the primary law. If a
country cannot exist without a large standing army, and the men are not
to be had by voluntary enlistments, a draft is probably the wisest and
best regulation for its security. But, taking this principle as the
basis of the national defence, a just and a paternal government would
occupy itself in equalizing the effects of the burden, as far as
circumstances would in any manner admit. The most obvious and efficient
means would be by raising the rate of pay to the level, at least, of a
scale that should admit of substitutes being obtained at reasonable
rates. This is done with us, where a soldier receives a full ration, all
his clothes, and sixty dollars a year.[9] It is true, that this would
make an army very costly, and, to bear the charge, it might be necessary
to curtail some of the useless magnificence and prodigality of the other
branches of the government, and herein is just the point of difference
between the expenditures of America and those of France. It must be
remembered, too, that a really free government, by enlisting the popular
feeling in its behalf through its justice, escapes all the charges that
are incident to the necessity of maintaining power by force, wanting
soldiers for its enemies without, and not for its enemies within. We
have no need of a large standing army on account of our geographical
position, it is true, but had we the government of France, we should not
find that our geographical position exempted us from the charge.
Footnote 9:
He now receives seventy-two.
You have heard a great deal of the celebrated soldiers who surrounded
Napoleon, and whose names have become almost as familiar to us as his
own. I do not find that the French consider the marshals men of singular
talents. Most of them reached their high stations, on account of their
cleverness in some particular branch of their duties, and by their
strong devotion, in the earlier parts of their career, to their master.
_Maréchal Soult_ has a reputation for skill in managing the civil
details of service. As a soldier, he is also distinguished for
manœuvring in the face of his enemy, and under fire. Some such
excitement appears necessary to arouse his dormant talents. _Suchet_ is
said to have had capacity, but, I think, to _Massena_, and to the
present king of Sweden, the French usually yield the palm, in this
respect. _Davoust_ was a man of terrible military energy, and suited to
certain circumstances, but scarcely a man of talents. It was to him
Napoleon said, “Remember, you have but a single friend in France—myself;
take care you do not lose him.” _Lannes_ seems to have stood better than
most of them as a soldier, and _Macdonald_ as a man. But, on the whole,
I think it quite apparent there was scarcely one among them all,
calculated to have carried out a very high fortune for himself, without
the aid of the directing genius of his master. Many of them had ambition
enough for any thing, but it was an ambition stimulated by example,
rather than by a consciousness of superiority.
In nothing have I been more disappointed than in the appearance of these
men. There is more or less of character about the exterior and
physiognomy of them all, it is true, but scarcely one has what we are
accustomed to think the carriage of a soldier. It may be known to you
that _Moreau_ had very little of this, and really one is apt to fancy he
can see the civic origin in nearly all of them. While the common French
soldiers have a good deal of military coquetry, the higher officers
appear to be nearly destitute of it. _Maréchal Molitor_ is a fine man;
_Maréchal Marmont_ neat, compact, and soldierly looking; _Maréchal
Mortier_ a grenadier, without grace; _Maréchal Oudinot_ much the same,
and so on, to the end of the chapter. _Lamarque_ is a little swarthy
man, with good features and a keen eye, but he is military in neither
carriage nor mien.
Crossing the Pont Royal, shortly after my arrival, in company with a
friend, the latter pointed out to me a stranger, on the opposite
side-walk, and desired me to guess who and what he might be. The subject
of my examination was a compact solidly built man, with a plodding
rustic air, and who walked a little lame. After looking at him a minute,
I guessed he was some substantial grazier, who had come to Paris on
business connected with the supplies of the town. My friend laughed, and
told me it was Marshal Soult. To my inexperienced eye, he had not a bit
of the exterior of a soldier, and was as unlike the engravings we see of
the French heroes as possible. But here, art is art, and, like the man
who was accused of betraying another into a profitless speculation by
drawing streams on his map, when the land was without any, and who
defended himself by declaring no one ever saw a _map_ without streams,
the French artists appear to think every one should be represented in
his ideal character, let him be as _bourgeois_ as he may, in truth. I
have seen Marshal Soult in company, and his face has much character. The
head is good, and the eye searching, the whole physiognomy possessing
those latent fires that one would be apt to think would require the
noise and excitement of a battle to awaken. La Fayette looks more like
an old soldier than any of them. Gérard, however, is both a handsome
man, and of a military mien.
Now and then we see a _vieux moustache_ in the guards, but, on the
whole, I have been much surprised at finding how completely the army of
this country is composed of young soldiers. The campaigns of Russia, of
1813, 1814, and of 1815, left few besides conscripts beneath the eagles
of Napoleon. My old servant _Charles_ tells me that the guard-house is
obliged to listen to tales of the campaign of Spain, and of the glories
of the Trocadero!
The army of France is understood to be very generally disaffected. The
restoration has introduced into it, in the capacity of general officers,
many who followed the fortunes of the Bourbons into exile, and some, I
believe, who actually fought against this country, in the ranks of her
enemies. This may be, in some measure, necessary, but it is singularly
unfortunate.
I have been told, on good authority, that, since the restoration of
1815, several occasions have occurred, when the court thought itself
menaced with a revolution. On all these occasions, the army, as a matter
of course, has been looked to, with hope, or with distrust.
Investigation is said to have always discovered so bad a spirit, that
little reliance is placed on its support.
The traditions of the service are all against the Bourbons. It is true,
that very few of the men who fought at Marengo and Austerlitz still
remain, but then the recollection of their deeds forms the great delight
of most Frenchmen. There is but one power that can counteract this
feeling, and it is the power of money. By throwing itself into the arms
of the industrious classes, the court might possibly obtain an ally,
sufficiently strong to quell the martial spirit of the nation; but, so
far from pursuing such a policy, it has all the commercial and
manufacturing interests marshalled against it, because it wishes to
return to the _bon vieux temps_ of the old system.
After all, I much question if any government in France, will have the
army cordially with it, that does not find it better employment than
mock-fights on the plain of Issy, and night attacks on the mimic
Trocadero.
LETTER IX.
TO MRS. SINGLETON W. BEALL, GREEN BAY.
We have lately witnessed a ceremony that may have some interest for one
who, like yourself, dwells in the retirement of a remote frontier post.
It is etiquette for the Kings of France to dine in public twice in the
year, viz: the first of January, and the day that is set apart for the
_fête_ of the king. Having some idle curiosity to be present on one of
these occasions, I wrote the usual note to the lord in waiting, or, as
he is called here, “_le premier gentil’homme de la chambre du roi, de
service_,” and we got the customary answer, enclosing us tickets of
admission. There are two sorts of permissions granted on these
occasions; by one you are allowed to remain in the room during the
dinner, and by the other you are obliged to walk slowly through the
_salle_, in at one side, and out at the other, without, however, being
suffered to pause even for a moment. Ours were of the former
description.
The King of France having the laudable custom of being punctual, and as
every one dines in Paris at six, that best of all hours for a town life,
we were obliged to order our own dinner an hour earlier than common, for
looking at others eating on an empty stomach, is, of all amusements, the
least satisfactory. Having taken this wise precaution, we drove to the
_château_, at half after five, it not being seemly to enter the room
after the king, and, as we discovered, for females impossible.
Magnificence and comfort seldom have much in common. We were struck with
this truth on entering the palace of the King of France. The room into
which we were first admitted, was filled with tall lounging foot
soldiers, richly attired, but who lolled about the place, with their
caps on, and with a barrack-like air, that seemed to us singularly in
contrast with the prompt and respectful civility with which one is
received in the ante-chamber of a private hotel. It is true that we had
nothing to do with the soldiers and lackies who thronged the place; but
if their presence was intended to impress visiters with the importance
of their master, I think a more private entrance would have been most
likely to produce that effect, for I confess, that it appeared to me as
a mark of poverty, that, troops being necessary to the state and
security of the monarch, he was obliged to keep them in the vestibule,
by which his guests entered. But this is royal state. Formerly, the
executioner was present, and in the semi-barbarous courts of the east,
such is the fact even now. The soldiers were a party of the hundred
Swiss, men chosen for their great stature, and remarkable for the
perfection of their musket. Two of them were posted as sentinels at the
foot of the great stair-case, by which we ascended, and we passed
several more on the landings.
We were soon in the _salle des gardes_, or the room which the _gardes du
corps_, on service, occupied. Two of these quasi soldiers, were also
acting as sentinels here, while others lounged about the room. Their
apartment communicated with the _salle de Diane_, the hall or gallery
prepared for the entertainment. I had no other means but the eye, of
judging of the dimensions of this room, but its length considerably
exceeds a hundred feet and its breadth is probably forty, or more. It is
of the proper height, and the ceiling is painted in imitation of those
of the celebrated Farnese palace at Rome.
We found this noble room divided, by a low railing, into three
compartments. The centre, an area of some thirty feet by forty,
contained the table, and was otherwise prepared for the reception of the
court. On one side of it, were raised benches for the ladies, who were
allowed to be seated; and, on the other, a vacant space for the
gentlemen, who stood. All these, you will understand, were considered
merely as spectators, not being supposed to be in the presence of the
king. The mere spectators were dressed as usual, or in common evening
dress, and not all the women even in that; while those within the
railings, being deemed to be in the royal presence, were in high court
dresses. Thus, I stood for an hour, within five-and-twenty feet of the
king, and part of the time much nearer, while, by a fiction of
etiquette, I was not understood to be there at all. I was a good while
within ten feet of the _Duchesse de Berri_, while, by convention, I was
no where. There was abundance of room in our area, and every facility of
moving about, many coming and going, as they saw fit. Behind us, but at
a little distance, were other rows of raised seats, filled with the best
instrumental musicians of Paris. Along the wall, facing the table, was a
narrow, raised platform, wide enough to allow of two or three to walk
abreast, separated from the rest of the room by a railing, and extending
from a door at one end of the gallery, to a door at the other. This was
the place designed for the passage of the public during the dinner, no
one, however, being admitted, even here, without a ticket.