[In continuation of our extracts from the very amusing _Private
Correspondence of a Woman of Fashion_ are the following incidents of
this memorable era.]
Return of Napoleon.--At half-past nine o'clock the secretary
announced to us that Napoleon had entered Paris quietly, without
pageantry or mark of splendid triumph, and was seated at supper in the
vacated palace of Louis XVIII!--
"On that same throne where Henri great and good,
In glory sat--now sits this man of blood;
Yet let not prejudice debase my line,
As warrior, as statesman, let him shine,--
Through all the world his mighty name resound,
For arts of peace and deeds of arms renown'd:
Mark with what steady hand he rules the State!
Yet wants the stamp of _Virtue_ to be _Great_!"
Thus did the French people permit his return without firing a gun in
defence of truth, and of their legitimate sovereign, whom they had
recalled to the throne of his ancestors _only ten months_ before!
Our excellent friend, the minister, joined us soon after; but he was
taciturn and thoughtful, and retired early. The next morning I
determined to see Napoleon; but when our carriage arrived at the Pont
Royal, thousands were collected there. Our servant advised us to descend
and make our way on foot. The crowd civilly made way--they were waiting
to see the review. An unusual silence prevailed, interrupted only by the
cries of the children, whom the parents were thumping with energy for
crying "Vive le Roi," instead of "Vive l'Empereur!"--which, some months
before, they had been thumped for daring to vociferate! We proceeded to
the Bibliothêque Royale: its outward appearance is that of an hospital
or prison, its interior heavy and dark,--it was almost deserted.--Van
Pratt still lingered there.--A Dutchman's phlegm tempered his emotions
on the proceedings without; perhaps the repeated changes of government
during his long life had diminished his interest in them. After showing
me, with great complacency, much of the valuable possessions of this
national collection of learning, splendid missals written on vellum,
MSS. &c. &c. upon which my mind cannot now dwell, he recommended us to
proceed to the review, to see which he had the good-nature to procure
me admittance to the small apartment of a friend in the Tuileries; and
from the window I saw and heard for the first time this scourge of the
Continent,--his martial, active figure mounted on his famed white horse.
He harangued with energetic tone (and in those bombastic expressions we
have always remarked in all his manifestoes, and which are so well
adapted to the French,) the troops of the divisions of Lepol and Dufour.
There was much embracing of Les Anciens Aigles of the Old Guard--much
mention of "_great days, and souvenirs dear to his heart_," of the
"scars of his brave soldiers;" which, to serve his views, he will
re-open without remorse, like the vampire of Greece. The populace were
tranquil, as I had remarked them on the bridge. Inspirited by my still
unsatisfied curiosity, I rejoined my escort, and proceeded to the
gardens, where not more than thirty persons were collected under the
windows. There was no enthusiastic cry, at least none deemed sufficient
to induce him to show himself. In despair at not being able to
contemplate his physiognomy at greater ease, I made my cavalier request
some persons in the throng to cry "Vive l'Empereur!" Some laughed, and
replied "Attendez un peu," while others advised us to desire some of the
children to do so. A few francs thrown to the latter, soon stimulated
their little voices into cries of the _loyalty of that day_, and
Napoleon presented himself at the window; but he did not stand there
in a firm attitude--he retired often, and re-appeared, standing rather
_sideways_, as if wanting confidence in the disposition of our little
assemblage. A few persons arrived from the country, and held up
petitions, which he sent an aid-de-camp to receive. His square face
and figure struck me with involuntary emotion. I was dazzled, as if
beholding a supernatural being!--and then dismayed, as gazing upon one
mortal like myself, but possessing such powers and capabilities of
outraging humanity, and over-stepping the bounds of honour, good faith,
and freedom's laws,--the laws of God and man! There is a sternness
spread over his expansive brow, a gloom on the lids of his darkened eye,
which renders futile his attempts to smile. Something of the Satanic
sported round his mouth, indicating the ambitious spirit of the soul
within!
_The Day after the Battle of Waterloo._--June 19.
British bayonets are victorious!--Napoleon's army a wreck,
panic-stricken, flies before Wellington and Blucher! I will not forget
your anxieties even in this moment of fatigue and agitation. The
combined forces are covered with immortal fame; they have vanquished the
_élite_ of Napoleon's empire, and those veteran generals most attached
to his person and dynasty. They are in full flight, and we in glorious
pursuit!--Ere this reaches you, the Allies will probably have entered
Paris a second time within the year. We learnt that Napoleon had left
the capital of France on the 12th: on the day of the 15th the frequent
arrival of couriers excited extreme anxiety; and towards evening General
Mufflin presented himself at the Duke's with dispatches from Blucher. We
were all aware that the enemy was in movement, and the ignorant could
not resolve the enigma of the Duke going tranquilly to the ball at the
Duke of Richmond's:--his coolness was above their comprehension; had he
remained at his own hotel, a panic would have probably ensued amongst
the inhabitants, which would have embarrassed the intended movement of
our division of the army.
I returned home late, and we were still talking over our uneasiness,
when our domestic distinctly heard the trumpet's shrill appeal to battle
within the city walls, and the drum beat to arms. Ere the sun had risen
in full splendour, I distinguished martial music approaching, and I soon
beheld from my windows the 5th reserve of our army passing: the Highland
brigade, in destructive warlike bearing, were the first in advance, led
by their noble thanes, the bagpipes playing their several pibrochs; they
were succeeded by the 28th, their bugles' note falling more blithely
upon the ear. Each regiment passed in succession with its band playing,
impatient for the affray and fearless of death, meeting the peaceful
peasant's carts bringing sustenance for the living. Those of my
acquaintance looked gaily up at the window--alas! how many of them were
before sunset numbered with the dead;--Scotland's thanes, ere they had
traversed the Bois de Soignies, and the Duc de Brunswick-Oels that
evening at Quatre Bras, stimulating onward his valiant hussars, and too
carelessly exposing his person.
On the 17th the Duke of Wellington displayed his whole force to the
enemy, and seemed to defy them to the combat--but in the evening retired
upon Waterloo, and there reposed with some of his officers in the
village, which lies embosomed in the Forêt de Soignies. Picton had
fallen; each herald brought us tidings of a hero less, where all were
heroes.
That night was dreadful for the soldier and his horse. No sooner had
darkness covered the earth, than a fearful tempest arose; it was awful
for man and beast--for the houseless peasant and his children, who had
been driven from their late peaceful habitations, and stood exposed to
the pitiless storm, viewing in wild dismay their fields devastated, the
spring produce of their gardens laid low in human gore! At early dawn,
on the Sabbath,--that hallowed day, enjoined to be held sacred for the
worship of God, and for rest to toil-worn animals--the British army
beheld the _chevaleresque_ legions of the enemy, in all its superior
numbers, ranged in order of battle on the rising ground. The sun at
mid-day flashed its brilliant radiance over their military casques and
arms. The cannonade then became general; the Duke of Wellington exposed
himself like a subaltern; his personal venture in the strife excited
anxiety; it was in vain that the officers of his staff urged him to be
less conspicuous, that the fate of the battle hung upon his life: it
was evident that he had determined to conquer or die: we knew it in
Bruxelles, and we knew also that the Prince of Orange would succeed to
the command in such a dread emergency; and although we did not doubt his
Royal Highness's personal valour, we questioned much his experience in
military tactics. In the streets every one demanded, "Will Blucher be
able to advance?" and we were fully aware if that veteran General could
not effect a junction with Wellington before eight o'clock that evening,
all would be lost. At nine o'clock the two heroes mutually felicitated
each other at the small _auberge_ of Genappe. But it was not till three
o'clock in the morning that the word "Victory!" was proclaimed by an
_affiche_ on the walls to the terrified population of Bruxelles!
The Prince of Orange had been wounded early in that evening, after
having in the morning disputed every inch of ground against the superior
force of the enemy, and continued to fight like a valourous chevalier
each succeeding day for his kingdom: he has fairly won it. May his
future subjects record the fact in ineffaceable characters on their
memory! The British army had faught thirteen successive hours; they
halted, and to the fresh troops of the Prussians the task of pursuing
the fugitive enemy was assigned: they gladly forgot all fatigue, in
vengeful feeling and relentless retaliation against their former
merciless and insulting invaders. The British moved forward this day,
and will enter France to-morrow. Eight hundred lion-mettled and noble
sons of Britain have fallen by the side of _thirty thousand_ of their
own brave soldiers! It has been a dear-earned victory to England; a
dread tragedy, in the small circumference of three miles! The veterans
of the Peninsular campaign assert that those scenes of carnage were less
cruel. This city, where pleasure so lately reigned, now presents only
the images of death. _Vraiment nous respirons la mort dans les rues!_
L'Hôtel-de-Ville, the hospitals, and some of the churches, are already
occupied by the wounded; wagons full remaining in the streets, and many
sitting on _the steps of the houses_, looking round in vain for
immediate succour!
Our escape has been mavellous, for Napoleon's plan was to penetrate to
Bruxelles, and to surprise the Duke and his staff at the ball, when
surrounded by the British _belles_; for he had his spies to report even
the hour of our pastimes, and he reckoned upon a rise of the Belgians in
his favour. For three days and nights we expected the enemy to enter;
treachery reigned around us, and false reports augmented our alarms, as
we knew the terrible numbers of the French forces. It was Bulow and his
corps that protected us from that calamity. On the Saturday we took
refuge within the city, from the scenes of horror before our villa.
Baggage-wagons of the different regiments advancing--the rough chariots
of agriculture, with the dead and the dying, disputing for the
road--officers on horseback wounded! I spoke to one: 'twas Colonel
C----, of the Scotch brigade; he replied with his wonted urbanity to my
inquiries--gave me his hand--"I am shot through the body--adieu for
ever!" He left me petrified with horror, and I saw him no more! One hour
afterwards I sent to his apartment--the gallant veteran had expired as
they lifted him from his horse!
I could not abandon the Baroness and her children in such an hour; but I
must ever gratefully recollect the kind offers of asylum made to me by
my Belgian acquaintance, and for months, they said, had the battle been
lost. It is truly pitiable to see the wounded arriving on foot; a musket
reversed, or the ramrod, serving for a staff of support to the mutilated
frame, the unhappy soldier trailing along his wearied limbs, and perhaps
leading a more severely-wounded comrade, whose discoloured visages
declare their extreme suffering;--their uniforms either hanging in
shreds, or totally despoiled of them by those marauders who ravage a
field of battle in merciless avidity of plunder and murder. These brave
fellows, these steady warriors, so redoubtable a few hours since, are
now sunk into the helplessness of infancy, the feebleness of woman, over
whom man arrogates a power that may not be disputed, but whose solacing
influence in the hour of tribulation and sickness they are willing to
claim.
The Belgian females are in full activity, acting with noble benevolence.
They are running from door to door begging linen, and entreating that it
may be scraped for lint; others beg matrasses.
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