We were alarmed one morning by a loud fl_Travels in France during the years 1814-15 Comprising a residence at Paris, during the stay of the allied armies, and at Aix, at the period of the landing of Bonaparte, in two volumes.

immediately under our windows. On looking out, we beheld a kind of

triumphal car, preceded by six avant couriers, clothed in scarlet and

gold, mounted on uncommon fine horses, and with trumpets in their hands.

In the car was placed a complete band of musicians, and it was, after a

little interval in the procession, followed by a superb open carriage,

the outside front of which was entirely covered with rich crimson velvet

and gold lace. The most singular feature about the carriage was its

shape, for there projected from it in front, a kind of large magazine,

(covered up also with a cloth of velvet,) which was in its dimensions

larger than the carriage itself. In this open carriage sat a plain

looking, dark, fat man, reclining in an attitude of the most perfect

ease, and genteelly dressed. The whole cortege halted, in the course of

Aix, almost immediately below our house. I joined the audience which had

collected around it. Of course all was on the tiptoe of expectation.

There was a joyful buzz of satisfaction through the crowd, and endless

were the conjectures formed by our own party at the window. At length,

after a flourish of trumpets, the gentleman rose, and uncovering the

large magazine, showed that it contained an almost endless assemblage of

bottles, from the greatest to the smallest dimensions. He then,

advancing gravely, addressed himself to the audience in these words:

[50]"Messieurs, dans l'univers il n'ya qu'un soleil; dans le royaume de

France il n'ya qu'un Roi; dans la medicine il n'ya que Charini." With

this he placed his hand on his heart, bowed, and drew himself up with a

look of the most glorious complacency. This exordium was received with

the most rapturous applause by the crowd, who, from having often seen

him in his progress through the kingdom, had known before that this was

_Charini himself_, the celebrated itinerant _worm doctor_. "Gentlemen,"

he then proceeded, "it has been the noble object of my life to

investigate the origin and causes of disease, and fortunate is it for

the world that it has been so. Attend, then, to my discoveries: Worms

are at the bottom of all disease,--they are the insidious, but prolific

authors of human misery; they are born in the cradle with the infant;

they descend into the grave with the aged. They begin, gentlemen, with

life, but they do not cease with death. Behold, gentlemen," he

continued, "the living and infallible proofs of my assertions,"

(pointing to the long rows of crystal bottles, filled with multitudes of

every kind of these vermin, of the most odious figures, which were

marshalled in horrible array on each side of him), "these, gentlemen,

are the worms which have been, by my art, extracted from my patients;

many of them are, as you see, invisible to the naked eye;" upon which he

held up a small phial of pure water. "Not a single disease is there, and

not a single part of the human body which has not its appropriate and

peculiar worm. There are those whose habitation is in the head;--there

are those which dwell only in the soles of the feet;--there are those

whose favourite haunts are in the seat of digestion;--there are those

(happy worms) which will consent to dwell only in the bosoms of the

fair. Even love," said he, assuming an air of most complacent softness,

and casting his eye tenderly over the female part of his audience, "even

love is not an exception; it is occasioned by the subtlest species of

worms; which insinuate themselves into the roots of the heart, and play

in peristaltic gambols round the seat of our affections. Painters,

gentlemen, have distinguished the God of Love by the doves with which he

is accompanied. He ought, more correctly, to have been depicted riding

upon that worm, to which he owes his triumphs. Behold," said he, holding

up a phial in which there was enclosed a worm of a light colour, "behold

the fatal love-worm, from which I have lately had the happiness to

deliver an interesting female of Marseilles!" The crowd were enchanted,

purchased his bottles in abundance; and I heard afterwards in Aix, that

by this ingenious juggling, he had contrived to amass a fortune

sufficient to purchase a large estate, and to maintain, as we had

witnessed, a cavalcade worthy of an ambassador.

It is difficult to conceive any thing more ridiculous than the

characteristic vanity and scientific expressions, which are employed by

the French workmen. The wig-makers, tailors, barbers, all consider their

several trades as in some measure allied to science, and themselves as

the only beings who understand it.--This they generally contrive to

communicate to you with an air of mysterious importance. "Monsieur,"

said a French barber to a friend of mine, an English sea captain who

came in to be shaved; "you are an Englishman--sorry am I to inform you,

but I do it with profound respect, that the science of shaving is

altogether misunderstood in England. In their ignorance of its

principles, they have neglected the great secret of our art. Sir," said

he, coming closer up to him, and putting his hand to his own chin with

an air of solemn communication, "I am credibly informed that in England

they actually cut off the _epiderme_. Now, mon Dieu," continued he,

turning up his eyes, and raising his soap-brush in an attitude of

invocation, "who is there in France that will be ignorant that, in the

destruction of this invaluable cuticle, the chin of the individual is

tortured, and the first principles of our art degraded!"

I have already hinted at the ignorance of the French, as a component

part of their national credulity. This ignorance, as far as our

opportunities of observation extended, in travelling across France,

appeared to be deep and general; not only amongst the lower orders, but,

on many subjects, pervading also the higher classes of the people. The

only subjects upon which Napoleon considered that any thing like

attempts at a national education should be made, were those connected

with military affairs; mathematics, and the principles of mechanical

philosophy.--Schools for these were generally founded in all the

principal towns in the kingdom; it was there the younger officers of the

army received their military education, and there were many public

seminaries for public education, in addition to the Ecole Polytechnique

in Paris, where the pupils were maintained and educated at the public

expence. Every other branch of education, as tending to change the

direction of the public mind, from military affairs into more pacific

employments, was sedulously discouraged, and the consequence is seen, in

that melancholy ignorance which is distinguishable in those generations

of the French people which have sprung up since the revolution, and

frequently even amongst the old nobility.[51] "Vous etes Ecossois?" said

a French nobleman to me; 'Oui, Monsieur.' "Oh, que cela est drole." 'Et

comment, Monsieur?' "C'est le pays de Napoleon. C'est un isle n'est ce

pas?" 'Oh que non, Monsieur.' "Ma foi, je croyois qu'on l'appelloit

_l'isle de Corse_." Whether, in the geographical confusion of this poor

Marquis's brain, he had mistaken me for a Corsican, or actually believed

that Napoleon was a Scotchman, is not very easy to determine.

"You are an Englishwoman?" said the wife of a counsellor to one of the

ladies of our party: "and I have been at London."--"And how did you like

the people?" "Oh, they are very charmant; _bot_ I like better that other

town near London,--Philadelphia."

It is well known, that formerly in France the order of the Jesuits had

acquired so pre-eminent an interest, as to insinuate themselves into

almost every civil branch of the political government; and that, more

especially, by the seminaries which they established generally

throughout the kingdom, they had created a system of national education,

in many respects highly beneficial to the community. As to the effects

produced by this system, under the Jesuits, on the literature of France,

very different opinions certainly may be entertained; and that

artificial, and in many respects unnatural, style of poetry which has

arisen, and still continues in France, may be perhaps attributed,

amongst other causes, to that excessive passion for classical learning

which was so religiously instilled, whereever the influence of these

seminaries of the Jesuits extended. The utter abolition of this order is

well known, and the consequence is, that where there existed formerly a

general passion for that species of literature, which they cultivated,

and which consisted in an intimate and critical knowledge of the

languages of antiquity, and a taste for classical learning, as the only

object of their imitation, there remains now nothing but a deep and

general ignorance upon every object unconnected with military affairs;

an ignorance which is the more fatal in its consequences, because it is

founded upon contempt. It is difficult to say which of these conditions

is the worst, the former or the latter. Among physicians and lawyers,

however, you meet with many individuals, who, having been educated

probably in foreign countries, or under the old _regime_, preserve still

a passion for that which is so generally despised.

In speaking of the education of the French people, it is impossible for

any one who has at all mingled in French society, not to be particularly

struck with what I before alluded to, the extreme ignorance and the

limited education of the women, even amongst the higher orders. In a

family of young ladies, you will but rarely meet with one who can

accurately write her own language; and in general, in their cards of

invitation, or in those letters of ceremony, which you will frequently

receive, they will send you specimens of orthography, which, in their

defiance of every established rule, are as amusing as Mrs Win. Jenkins'

observations on that grave and useful gentleman, _Mr Apias Corkus_.

Amongst the boys, any thing like a finished education was as little to

be expected; the _furor militaris_ had latterly, in the public schools,

proceeded to such a pitch, as to defy every attempt towards giving them

a general, or in any respect a finished education. They steadily

revolted against any thing which induced them to believe that their

parents intended them for a pacific profession. Go into a French

toy-shop, and you immediately discern the unambiguous symptoms of the

military mania. Every thing there which might encourage in the infant

any predilections for the pacific pursuits of an agricultural or

commercial country, is religiously banished, and their places supplied

by an infinite variety of military toys:--platoons of gens-d'armerie,

troops of artillery, tents, waggons, camp equipage, all are arranged in

imitative array upon the counter. The infant of the _grande_ nation

becomes familiar, in his nurse's arms, with all the detail of the

profession to which he is hereafter to belong; and when he opens his

eyes for the first time, it is to rest them upon that terrible machinery

of war, in the midst of which he is destined to close them for ever.

In every country, and in every age of the world, the great and leading

effects of tyranny, and of military despotism, will be discovered to

have been the same. Nothing could be a stronger corroboration of this

remark, than that singular and unexpected parallel which was

immediately observed by one of our party who had been long in India,

between the policy adopted by Napoleon, and that followed by the

Brahmins in the East. The Brahmins religiously prohibit travelling; and

the _sin_ of visiting foreign countries is particularized in their

religious instructions. The free publication of the sentiments of

travellers was never permitted under the late Emperor; and the severe

regulations of the police made it extremely difficult for any Frenchman

to travel. The object of both was the same, to prevent any mortifying

and dangerous comparisons between the situation of their own, and the

condition of foreign countries. The Brahmins made it a rule to check the

progress of education, and to discourage the study of their _shasters_.

As to these seminaries of education, unconnected with military subjects,

Napoleon, if he did not dare actually to abolish them, at least threw

over them the chilling influence of his imperial disapprobation; whilst,

by that general inattention and impunity extended to vicious conduct,

and the ridicule with which he regarded the clergy, he succeeded in

rendering the scriptures contemptible. If, again, the condition of the

French people was in many material respects analogous to the state of

the Hindoos, the education of the women among them (the effect of the

same causes operating in both countries), is completely Mussulman.

Singing, dancing, and playing on the guitar, with a lighter species of

ladies needle-work, forms the whole education of the French women; and

this similarity of political treatment has produced a striking parallel

even in the minuter parts of their national character.

It is disagreeable to dwell upon the darker parts of their characters;

even amongst those whose dispositions, it must be acknowledged, if

formed in a purer country, and encouraged to develope themselves in all

their native beauty, would have done honour to any nation. Such is the

laxity of moral principle, that a woman of unimpeached character is but

rarely to be found; and I can speak from my own observation and

experience, that examples of criminal conduct, being of frequent

occurrence and generally expected, have ceased to be the objects of

reprobation, and are no longer the subjects of enquiry. What is more

extraordinary, and shews a deeper sort of depravity, is the circumstance

that such instances are entirely confined to the married women. These

are, in their conversation and conduct, indulged, by a kind of general

consent, with every possible freedom, and, by the extraordinary state

of manners, are presented by their husbands with every possible facility

they could desire. A husband and wife in France have generally separate

apartments, or rather inhabit separate wings of their _hotel_. The

lady's bed-room is appropriated to herself alone. Its walls would be

esteemed polluted by any intrusion of the husband. It is there that, in

an elegant dishabille, she receives the visits of her friends. It is

secure against observation, or interruption of any kind whatever. It, in

short, is the sacred palladium of female indiscretion. Much of this

mischievous licence may, I think, be easily traced to the treatment of

the younger and unmarried women. They are confined under a

superintendance which is as rigorous, as the licence allowed to their

mothers is unbounded. All those affections which begin in their early

years to develope themselves--all those dispositions which are natural

to youth, the innocent love of pleasure, and the passion for the society

of those of their own age, are violently restrained by a system of

confinement. In their early years, they are either banished by their

parents to the seclusion of a convent, or are confined in their own

houses, under the care of a set of severe and withered old women, whom

they term _bonnes_. The consequence is, that the sullen influence of

these unkindly beings is reflected upon their pupils, and that when,

after their marriage, they are permitted to come forth from their

prison, and mingle in general society, all the sweetness and gentleness

of their original nature is gone for ever. But to return from this

digression upon the ladies, other strong points of resemblance might

easily be pointed out between the French and the native Indian

character. The same low cunning, the same restless spirit of intrigue,

the same gross flattery, the same astonishing command of countenance,

and invariable politeness before strangers, the same complete sacrifice

of every thing, character, principle, reputation, to the love of money;

all these strong and melancholy features are clearly distinguishable in

both. A servant who wishes for a place, a workman who is a candidate for

employment, a shopkeeper who is anxious for customers, all invariably,

as in India, pay money to some one who recommends them; and such is the

poverty of the higher orders, that they compromise the meanness of the

transaction, and receive these bribes with all the alacrity imaginable;

and this system, which begins in these lesser transactions, is, in the

disposal of offices under government, and the regulation of the

patronage of the crown, the prime mover in France. If an office is to be

disposed of, the constant phrase in France is, as in India, _il faut

grassier la pate_. I was acquainted with two judges in France, who made

not the least scruple to acknowledge that they owed their appointments

to bribes, delicately administered. The bribes consisted in presents of

_fruit_, presented in _a gold dish_. The similarity between the French

and the inhabitants of eastern countries, on their hyperbolical

compliments, had been observed by Montesquieu, in his Persian Letters,

before the revolution; and by the effects of that lengthened scene of

guilt and of confusion, as well as by the consequences of the military

despotism under Napoleon, it has been increased to so great a degree, as

to present a parallel more apt and striking than can be easily

conceived.

The excessive poverty of the higher orders, more particularly amongst

the old nobility, has not only subjected them to this meanness of taking

bribes, but has produced also amongst them a species of fawning

servility of manner towards their inferiors; and this has, in its turn,

in a great degree destroyed that high feeling of superior rank and

superior responsibility, and that standard of amiable and noble

manners, which are amongst the happiest consequences resulting from the

institution of a hereditary nobility. The consequence of this servility

amongst the _noblesse_, has inevitably produced a corresponding

arrogance and insolence in the lower orders. One may see a French

servant enter his master's room without taking off, or even touching his

hat, engage in the conversation whilst he is mending the fire, throw

himself upon a chair, and thus deliver the message he has been entrusted

with, arrange his neckcloth at the glass, and dance out of the room,

humming a tune. To an Englishman, this familiarity, from its excessive

impudence, creates at first more amusement than irritation; but it

becomes disgusting when we consider its consequences upon national

manners, and that its causes are to be traced to national crime. I have

seen a French gentleman take his grocer by the hand, and embracing him,

hope for his company at supper. This submissive meanness towards their

tradesmen, is of course much increased by their dread of the day of

reckoning; and is therefore ultimately the consequence of their poverty.

It happened that an English nobleman, who lately visited France, had

shewn much kindness to one of the _ancienne noblesse_ during his stay in

England. For upwards of a year, he had insisted on his living with him

at his country seat. Upon the eve of leaving England for France, he

wrote to his old acquaintance, desiring him to take suitable apartments

for him in Paris. The Frenchman returned a most polite answer,

expressing how much he felt himself hurt by the idea that his Lordship

should dream of taking apartments, whilst his hotel was at his service.

The English nobleman, accordingly, lived for two months at the hotel;

but to his astonishment, upon taking his departure, Monsieur presented

him with a regular bill, charging for every article, and including a

very high rent for the lodgings. This is hardly to be credited by those

unacquainted with the present condition of France; but I am induced to

believe the story to be in every particular correct, as the authority

was unquestionable. This excessive poverty amongst the higher classes,

their being often unable, from their narrow circumstances, to support a

house and separate establishment, their living in miserable lodgings

when they are low in purse, snatching a spare meal at some cheap

restaurateur's, and being unaccustomed to the comfort of regular meals

in their own house, is the cause that they are all devotedly and

generally attached to good eating, whenever they can get it, and that to

such an excess, that a stranger, in attending a ball supper in France,

or treating a French party to dinner, will be astonished at the

perseverance of their palates, and the wonderful expedition with which

both sexes contrive to travel through the various dishes on the table.

The behaviour of Sancho at Camacho's wedding, when he rolled his

delighted eyes over the assembled flesh-pots, is but a prototype of what

I have witnessed equally in French men and French women upon these

occasions.

At a ball supper, where it is often impossible in England to prevail

upon the ladies to taste a morsel, you may see these delicate females of

France, regale themselves with dressed dishes, swallow, with incredible

avidity, repeated bowls of strong soup, and after a short interval, sit

down to potations of hot punch, strong enough to admit of being set on

fire. Nothing can certainly be more destructive of all ideas of feminine

delicacy, than to see a beautiful woman with one of these midnight bowls

burning before her, and when her complexion is rendered livid by its

flames, looking through this medium like some unknown but voracious

inhabitant of another world.

An English family of our acquaintance, who had settled at Aix, and who

wished to see company, imagined, naturally, that it would be necessary

to go through all the tedious process of preliminary introductions,

which are necessary in England. A French friend was consulted upon the

subject, and his advice was as simple as it was effectual: [52]"Donnez

un souper, cela fera courir tout le monde." Sometime after this,

happening to be conversing with the same gentleman upon this

subject:[53] "Soyez bien sur, Monsieur, (said he), que si le diable

donne a _souper, tout le monde soupera dans l'enfers_."

Versatility, that ruling feature in the French character, ought not to

be forgotten. They have of late been so accustomed to change, that

change has become not only natural, but, one would imagine, in some

measure necessary to their happiness. They change their leaders and

their sovereigns, with as much apparent ease as they do their fashions.

On the slightest new impulse, they change their thoughts, their oaths,

their love, their hatred. In this particular, a French mob is the most

remarkable thing in the world; they cannot exist without some favourite

yell, some particular watch-word of the day, or rather of the hour. One

day it is, [54]"_A bas le tyran! A bas les soldats!_" the next it is

"_Vive l'Empereur! Vivent les Marchaux! Vive l'armée!_" or it is, "_Vive

Louis le desiré! Vive le fils de bon Henri!_" and in the next breath,

"_Vive le nation! Point de loix foedaux! Point des rois! Point de

noblesse!_" then, "_Point des droits reunis! Point de conscriptions!_"

and during the desolating æra of the revolution, their favourite cry

presented an exact picture of the character of the nation--of the same

nation, which, in these dark days of continual horror, could yet amuse,

itself by an exhibition of dancing-dogs, under the blood-dropping stage

of the guillotine; their cry was then, [55]"_Vive la Mort_!" Utterly

inattentive to these inconsistencies, the French people continue

willingly to cry out whatever rallying word may be given to them by

those agents who, working in secret, according to the ruling authorities

and the prevailing politics of the day, are employed to excite them. The

calamitous consequence of this mean and thoughtless principle is, that

they submit themselves to the regulation of all the spies and police

emissaries who, as the pensioned menials of government, are continually

insinuating themselves amongst them. Louis XVIII., unaccustomed to this

system, from his long residence in England, has employed fewer spies

than Napoleon, and the consequence has been, that the cry of Vive le Roi

has never been re-echoed with that same high-sounding, though hollow

enthusiasm, with which they vociferated Vive l'Empereur. An instance of

the pliability of a French mob occurred a short time before our coming

to Aix: When Napoleon, on his way to Elba, passed through Moulines, his

carriage having halted at one of the inns, was immediately surrounded by

a mob, amongst whom a cry of Vive l'Empereur was instantly raised. The

Emperor's servants began laughing, and some one amongst, the mob

imagining it to be in derision, exclaimed, with manifest disappointment,

"Eh bien, Messieurs, que voulez vous donc; mais allons mes amis! crions

tous Vive le Roi;" and having once received this new impulse, they not

only raised, with one consent, a shout of Vive le Roi, but next moment,

by their menaces, compelled Napoleon, who began to tremble for his

person, to join in the cry of loyalty. Such was the miserable situation

of that man, who, in the words of Augereau, [56]"apres avoir immolé des

millions des victimes, n'a su mourir en soldat;" and such the treatment

of a French mob to one whose name, the moment before, they had extolled

with all the symptoms of the most devoted enthusiasm.

J'ai vu l'impie, adorè sur le terre

Pareil au cedre, il cachoit dans le cieux

Son front audacieux.

Il sembloit a son grè gouverner la tonnere,

Fouler aux pieds ses enemis vaincus,

Je ne fis que passer, il a'etoit deja plus.

Amidst all their misfortunes, the French people, and more especially the

peasantry, have contrived to preserve their characteristic gaiety. They

are still, without, doubt, the most cheerful people in Europe, the least

liable to any thing like continued depression, and the most easily

amused by trifles. If we except the peasantry, whose situation is

comparatively comfortable, they are subject to continual deprivations.

They are wretchedly poor, and driven by this poverty to meannesses which

they would in other situations despise. Their labour is frequently

demanded where refusal is impossible, and obedience attended with no

remuneration. They themselves are hurried away, if young, to fill up the

miserable quotas of the conscription; torn from the happiest scenes of

their youth, and banished from every object of their affection. If old,

they are doomed to pass their solitary years uncomforted, and

unsupported. The hopes of their age may have fallen, but amidst all this

complicated misery, it is indeed most wonderful that they yet continue

to be cheerful. The accustomed gaiety of their spirits will not even

then desert them; and meeting with a stranger who enters into

conversation with them, or seated with a few friends at a caffé, they

will sip their liqueurs, smoke their segars, and talk with enthusiasm

of the triumphs and glory of the _grande nation_, although these

triumphs may have given the fatal blow to all that constituted their

happiness, and in this glory they may see the graves of their children.

This is not patriotism: It is a far lower principle. It is produced by

national pride, vanity, thoughtlessness, a contempt or ignorance of

domestic happiness, and all this allied to an unconquerable levity and

heartlessness of disposition. It is not therefore that severe but noble

principle, the silent offspring between thought and sorrow, which

soothes at least where it cannot cure, and alleviates the acuteness of

individual sufferings, by the consolation that our friends have fallen

in the courageous execution of their duty. It has in its composition

none of those higher feelings, but is more an instinct, and one too of a

shallow and degrading nature, than any thing like a steady and

regulating moral principle.

This, however, which makes them unconscious to any thing like

unhappiness, renders them, under imprisonment, banishment, and

deprivation, more able to endure the hardships and reverses of war than

any other troops.

It is perhaps an improper word in speaking of imprisonment and

banishment to a Frenchman, to say they endure it better; the truth is,

they do not feel it so acutely, and the reason is, that the military,

owing to their restless and wandering life, are comparatively less

attached than other troops to their native country. They suffer better,

because they feel less.

In courage the English soldiers certainly equal them, and in physical

strength they far surpass them; but the mind of a Frenchman is, for hard

service, far better constituted than that of an Englishman. Nothing, it

is well known, is so difficult as to rally an English force after any

thing approaching even to a defeat. This is by no means the case with

the French, and the history of the last campaign, preceding the

restoration of the Borbons, contains a detailed account of many

successive' defeats, after which the French army rallied and fought as

undauntedly as before; and during the last war there was not perhaps a

single battle contended with more determination than that of Toulouse.

In regard to the lower orders of the peasantry, it is amongst them alone

that we can yet distinctly discern the last traces of the ancient French

character. They are certainly, from the sale of the great landed estates

at the revolution, (which, divided into small farms, were bought by the

lower orders,) for the most part comparatively in a rich and independent

situation; and poverty is far more generally felt by the higher classes

of the nation, than by the regular peasantry of the country. Yet with

all this, they have become neither insolent nor haughty to their

superiors; and you will meet at this day with more real unsophisticated

politeness, and more active civility amongst the present French

peasantry, than is to be found among the nobility or the soldiery of the

nation.

It is to them alone that the hopes of the revival of the French nation

must ultimately turn. It is from this quarter that France, if she is

ever to possess them, must alone derive those pacific energies, which,

whilst they may render her as a nation less generally terrible, will yet

cause her to be more individually happy.

In every country, we must regard the peasantry as the sinews and stamina

of the state. They are, in every respect, to the nation what the heart

is to the individual; the centre from which health, energy and vigour

must be imparted to the remotest portions of the political body. If such

is the rank held by the peasantry _in all countries_, much more

important: is the station which they at present fill in _France_, and

far more momentous (owing to the circumstances in which that kingdom now

stands), are the duties which they owe to their country. It is there

alone that any sufficient antidote can be found for that political

misery, occasioned by such a course of unprincipled national triumphs,

as had been so long the boast of France, and which we have so lately

closed in all the splendour of legitimate victory. It is to them that

the court must look for the restoration of that moral principle, which,

under the administration of the late Emperor, it so thoroughly despised:

It is to them that the army must look for the restoration of those high

feelings of military honour, which we shall seek in vain in the present

soldiery of France: It is from them that the great landed proprietors

and the country gentlemen (if that honourable name is ever again to be

realised in France), must learn to sacrifice their schemes of individual

enjoyment, and to renounce the dissipations of the capital for the

severer duties which await them in the interior of the kingdom.

I have before mentioned that civility and politeness which is still so

characteristic of the peasantry of the kingdom. In addition to this,

from every thing I could observe, they appeared to be really

comfortable, and their invariable cheerfulness was accompanied by that

flow of easy unpremeditated mirth, which gave us the impression that

they were really happy. In the streets of Paris, and in the different

ranks of society in the capital, you see, I think, the same outward

symptoms of happiness; but, in many instances, their high sounding

expressions of joy appear more like the wish to be happy, than the sober

possession of happiness. The soldiery, in particular, seem, by their

loud and repeated sallies, to have embraced a desperate kind of plan, of

actually roaring themselves into forgetfulness; whereas the peasantry of

the kingdom, after having passed the day in the labour of their fields

or vineyards, dispersing in little troops through their village, the old

to converse over the stories of their youth, the young dancing to the

pipe and tabor, or singing in little groupes, arranged on the green

seats under their orchard trees, appear, without effort, to sink into

that enviable state of unforced enjoyment, which falls upon their minds

as easily and calmly as the sleep of Heaven upon their eyelids.

Amongst the French, dancing is that strong and prevailing passion which

is found in every rank in society, which is confined to no sex, nor

age, nor figure, but is universally disseminated throughout every

portion of the kingdom; from the cottage to the court, from the cradle

to the grave, the French invariably dance when they can seize an

opportunity. Nay, the older the individual, the more vigorous seems to

be the passion. Wrinkles may furrow the face, but lassitude never

attacks the limbs.

It is their singular perseverance in this favourite pursuit which

renders a French ball to a stranger more than commonly ludicrous. In

England, when the company begins to assemble, you are delighted with the

troops of young and blooming girls, who throng into the dancing room,

with faces beaming with the desire, and forms bounding with the

anticipation of pleasure. In France, you must conceive the room to be

superbly lighted up, and the walls covered with large mirrors, which, in

their indefinite multiplication, suffer nothing, however ludicrous, to

escape them. The folding doors slowly open, and there begins to hobble

in, (as quick as their advanced years will permit them,) unnumbered

forms of aged ladies and gentlemen, intermixed with some possessing

certainly the firmer step of middle life, but few or none who dare

pretend to the activity of youth. On one side comes the old _Marquis_,

dressed in the extremity of the fashion, every ruffle replete with

effect, and not a curl but what he would tremble to remove, stepping,

with the most finished complacency, at the side of some antiquated dame

of sixty, who minces and rustles at his side in the costume of sixteen.

Previous to the dancing, it is indeed ridiculous to observe the series

of silent tendernesses, the sly looks and fascinating glances with which

these old worthies entertain each other. Meanwhile the music strikes up,

and the floor is instantly covered with waltzers. It is well known, that

the waltz is a dance, above all others, requiring grace and youth, and

activity in those who perform it. Nothing, therefore, to a stranger, can

be more entertaining, than the sight of those motley and aged couples,

who, with a desperate resolution, stand up to bid defiance to the

warnings of nature; and who, after they have first swallowed a tumbler

of punch, (which is their constant practice,) begin to reel round with

the waltzers, putting you in mind of Miss Edgeworth's celebrated Irish

horse, _Knockegroghery_, who needed to have porter poured down his

throat, and to be warmed in his harness, before he could achieve any

thing like continued motion. In England, few ladies, unless those who

are extremely young, ever dream of dancing after their marriage. In

France, the young ladies before marriage are seldom admitted into

company; after marriage, therefore, their gaiety instantly commences,

and continues literally until the total failure of the physical powers

of nature puts an end to the ability, though not to the love of

pleasure. Any thing, therefore, it may be well believed, which comes

between the French ladies and this mania for dancing, produces no

ordinary effect. One of our party observed at a ball, a French lady of

quality in the deepest mourning. On coming up to her, she remarked to

the English lady, with a face of much melancholy, that her situation was

indeed deplorable. "Look at me," said she, "these are the weeds for my

mother, who has only been two months dead. Do you see these odious black

gloves; they will not permit me to join in your amusements; but oh! how

the heart dances, when the feet can't." "Come, come," said another

female waltzer of fifty, whose round little body we had traced at

intervals, rolling and pirouetting about the room; "come, we forget that

the fast of Ash Wednesday begins at twelve. We may sup well before

twelve, but not a morsel after it. We have but one short hour to eat,

but we may dance, you know, all night."

By our acquaintance with the best society in Aix, we have enjoyed no

unfavourable opportunity of forming an idea of the present condition of

society in the south of France. One of the first circumstances which we

all remarked, and which has probably occurred to most who have

associated in French society, was the wide range over which the titles

of nobility extended. We indeed heard, that at Aix, where we resided,

and at Toulouse, there were to be found more of the old nobility than in

any other parts of France. These towns were, on account of the cheapness

of living, the depôts of the emigrant gentlemen whose fortunes had been

reduced by the revolution, the receptacles of the ancient aristocracy of

France. Yet even making every allowance for this circumstance, when we

recollect the appearance and manners of many who were dignified by the

titles of Marquis, Counts and Barons, it was impossible not to feel

that, when compared with our own country, there was a kind of

profanation of the aristocracy; and I should not be much surprised, if

it was afterwards discovered, by some who would take the pains to

investigate the subject narrowly, that in these remote parts of the

kingdom, there subsisted a species of silent understood compact, by

which the parties agreed, that if the one was dignified by his friends

with the title of _Marquis_, he would in his turn make no scruple to

favour the other with the appellation of _Count_. Certainly, when

requested to explain the principles upon which titles of dignity

descended, the account given by these noblemen themselves was quite

unsatisfactory, and nearly unintelligible. The different orders also of

knighthood, appeared to us to be very widely extended. The Chevaliers de

St Louis were literally swarming. You could scarcely enter a shop, where

you did not instantly discover one or more of these gentry sitting on

the counter, conversing with the shopkeeper, or flirting with his

daughter or wife. In their dress and general appearance in the forenoon,

there appeared to be an unlimited latitude of shabbiness allowed both to

the ladies and gentlemen; while in the evening, on the contrary, whether

at home or abroad, we found them uniformly handsomely, and, making

allowance for the difference of national costume, often elegantly drest.

Nothing, indeed, could be more singular than the contrast between the

extraordinary apparel of the same ladies (and those ladies of quality,

marchionesses and countesses) whom we had visited at their own houses

in the forenoon, and their appearance, when we met them in the evening,

at the public concerts or private parties given at Aix. In the morning,

you will find them receiving visits in their bed-rooms in the most

complete dishabille; their night-cap not removed, a little bed-gown

thrown carelessly over them; their hair in papillots, and their handsome

ancles covered by coarse list slippers. In the evening, the _bonnet de

nuit_ is discarded, and a snow-white plume of feathers waves upon its

former foundation; the little bed-gown is thrown aside, and a superb

robe of satin rustles and glitters in its stead; the head, instead of

being bristled with papillots, is clothed with the most luxuriant curls;

and the unrivalled foot and ancle display at once, in the beauty of

their shape and the elegance of their decoration, the bounty of nature

and the unwearied assiduity of nature's assistant journeymen--the

shoemakers. The style of French parties is certainly very dissimilar to

those we are accustomed to in our own country. And this difference is

easily to be traced to the remarkable differences in the character of

the two nations. To the prevailing influence of the fancy, the power of

imagination and the love of amusement amongst the French, and to those

ideas of sober sense, that spirit of phlegmatic indifference, and the

engrossing influence of public employments, which are remarkable in the

English nation. During our residence in the south, we were invited by

the Countess de R---- to a ball, which, she told us, was given in honour

of her son's birth-day. We went accordingly, and were first received in

the card-rooms, which we found brilliantly lighted and decorated, and

full of company. We were then conducted into another handsome apartment

fitted up as a theatre. The curtain rose, and the young Count de R----

tripped lightly from behind the scenes, with the most complete

self-possession, and at the same time, with great elegance, begun a

little address to the audience, apologising for his inability to amuse

them as he could have wished, and concluded his address, by singing,

with a great deal of action, two French songs. He then skipped nimbly

off the stage and returned, leading in the principal actress at the

theatre here, M. de----. They performed together a little dramatic

interlude composed for the occasion; the company then adjourned into the

card-rooms, and the evening concluded by a ball. At another private

party we attended when the company were assembled; a folding door flew

open, and a party of ladies and gentlemen, fantastically drest as

shepherds and shepherdesses, flew into the room, and to our great

amusement, began acting with their pipes and crooks and garlands, and

all the paraphernalia of pastoral life, those employments of rural

labour, or scenes of rustic courtship, which, in their public

amusements, we have before remarked as peculiar favourites with the

French people.

If, as we have above remarked, for the hopes of the restoration of

truth, and honour, and principle, in France, we must turn to the lower

orders, it will not, I trust, be thought too trifling to observe, that

any thing like real excellence in music, another favourite national

propensity, is, as far as we could observe, to be found in the peasantry

alone. The music of the capital, the modern compositions performed at

the opera, the prevailing songs of the day, are all noisy, unmeaning,

unharmonious (I speak, of course, merely from personal feeling, and with

deference to those better able to form an opinion upon the subject;) but

it is impossible to hear the unharmonious crash which proceeds from the

orchestra of the opera, without immediately recollecting the celebrated

pun of Rosseau: "Pour l'Academie de musique, certainement il fait le

plus du bruit du monde." On the other hand, it is amongst the peasantry

alone that you now find the ancient music of France. Those airs which

are so deeply associated with all the glory and gallantry of the old

monarchy; those songs of olden times, which were chanted by the

wandering Troubadours, as they returned from foreign wars to their

native vallies, and whose simple melody recalls the days of chivalry in

which they arose: these, and all others of the same æra, which once

composed in truth the national music of this great people, are no longer

to be found amongst the higher classes of the community. But they still

exist among the peasantry. The vine-dresser, as he begins, with the

rising sun, his labours in the vineyards; or the poor muleteer, as he

drives his cattle to the water, will chant, as he goes along, those

ancient airs, which, in all their native simplicity, he has heard from

his fathers; and which, in other days, have echoed through the halls of

feudal pride, or have been sung in the bowers of listening beauty. Of

the prevalence of this refined taste in poetry among the lower orders of

the peasantry, the following fragment of an old ballad, still very

commonly sung to the ancient Troubadour air by the peasantry of

Provence, may be given as a familiar instance:

LE TROUBADOUR.

Un gentil Troubadour

Qui chant et fait la guerre,

Revennit chez son Pere

Revant a son amour.

Gages de sa valeur

Suspendus en echarpe,

Son epée et sa harpe

Croisaient sur son cœur.

Il rencontre en chemin

Pelerine jolie

Qui voyage et qui prie

Un rosaire a la main,

Colerette aux longs plies

Gouvre sa fine taille,

Et grande chapeau de paille

Cache son front divin.

"Ah! gentil Troubadour,

Si tu reviens fidele,

Chant un couplet pour celle

Qui benit ton retour."

"Pardonnez mon refus,

Pelerine jolie,

Sans avoir vu m'amie,

Je ne chanterai plus."

"Ne la revois tu pas--

Oh Troubadour fidele,

Regarde la--C'est elle,

Ouvre lui donc tes bras.

Priant pour notre amour

J'allois en pelerine

A la vierge divine

Demander son secours."

I believe no apology need be made for subjoining here, another very

favourite song in the French army: One of our party heard it sung by a

body of French soldiers, who were on their return to their homes, from

the campaign of Moscow.

LA CENTINELLE.

L'Astre de nuit dans son paisible eclat

Lanca ses feux sur les tentes de la France,

Non loin de camp un jeune et beau soldat

Ainsi chantoit appuyè sur sa lance.

"Allez, volez, zephyrs joyeux,

Portez mes vœux vers ma patrie,

Dites que je veille dans ces lieux,

Que je veille dans ces lieux,

C'est pour la gloire et pour m'amie.

L'Astre de jour r'animera le combat,

Demain il faut signaler ma valence;

Dans la victoire on trouve le trepas,

Mais si je meura an coté de ma lance,--

Volez encore, zephyrs joyeux,

Portez mes regrets vers ma patrie,

Dites que je meurs dans ces lieux,

Que je meurs dans ces lieux,

C'est pour la gloire et pour m'amie."

It is certainly productive of no common feelings, when, in travelling

into the interior of the country, you find these beautiful songs, so

much despised in the metropolis! of the nation, still lingering in their

native vallies, and shedding their retiring sweetness over those scenes

to which they owed their birth.

How much is it to be desired that some man of genius, some lover of the

real glory of his country, would collect, with religious hand, these

scattered flowers, which are so fast sinking into decay, and again raise

into general estimation the beautiful and forgotten music of his native

land.

In a discussion upon French manners, and the present condition of French

society, it is impossible but that one great and leading observation

must almost immediately present itself, and the truth of which, on

whatever side, or to whatever class of society you may turn, becomes

only the more apparent as you take the longer time to consider it; this

is, that the French _carry on every thing in public_. That every thing,

whether it is connected with business or with pleasure, whether it

concerns the more serious affair of political government, or the pursuit

of science, or the cultivation of art, or whether it is allied only to a

taste for society, to the gratification of individual enjoyment, to the

passing occupations of the day, or the pleasures of the evening--all, in

short, either of serious, or of lighter nature, is open and public. It

is carried on abroad, where every eye may see, and every ear may listen.

Every one who has visited France since the revolution must make this

remark. The first thing that strikes a stranger is, that a Frenchman has

_no home_: He lives in the middle of the public; he breakfasts at a

caffé; his wife and family generally do the same. During the day, he

perhaps debates in the Corps Legislatif, or sleeps over the essays in

the Academie des Sciences, or takes snuff under the Apollo, or talks of

the fashions of the Nouvelle Cour, at the side of the Venus de Medicis,

or varies the scene by feeding the bears in the Jardin des Plantes. He

then dines abroad at a restaurateur's. His wife either is there with

him, or perhaps she prefers a different house, and frequents it alone.

His sons and daughters are left to manage matters as they best can. The

sons, therefore, frequent their favourite caffés, whilst the daughters

remain confined under the care of their _bonnes_ or _duennas_. In the

evening he strolls about the Palais, joins some friend or another, with

whom he takes his caffé, and sips his liqueurs in the Salon de Paix or

Milles Colonnes; he then adjourns to the opera, where, for two hours, he

will twist himself into all the appropriate contortions of admiration,

and vent his joy, in the strangest curses of delight, the moment that

Bigottini makes her appearance upon the stage; and, having thus played

those many parts which compose his motley day, he will return at night

to his own lodging, perfectly happy with the manner he has employed it,

and ready, next morning, to recommence, with recruited alacrity, the

same round of heterogeneous enjoyment. Such is, in fact, an epitome of

the life of all Frenchmen, who are not either bourgeoise, employed

constantly in their shops during the day, or engaged in the civil or

military avocations--of those who are in the same situation in France,

as our gentlemen of independent fortune in England. Another peculiarity

is, that the Frenchmen of the present day are not only always abroad, in

the midst _of the public_, but that they invariably flock from the

interior of the kingdom into Paris, and there engage in those public

exhibitions, and bustle about in that endless routine of business or

pleasure, which is passing in the capital. The French nobility, and the

men of property who still remain in the kingdom, invariably spend their

lives in Paris. Their whole joy consists la exhibiting themselves in

public in the capital. Their magnificent chateaus, their parks, their

woods and fields, and their ancient gardens, decorated by the taste, and

often cultivated by the hands of their fathers, are allowed to fall into

unpitied ruin. If they retire for a few weeks to their country seat, it

is only to collect the rents from their neglected peasantry, to curse

themselves for being condemned to the _triste sejour_ of their paternal

estate; and, after having thus replenished their coffers, to dive again

from their native woods, with renewed strength, into all the publicity

and dissipation of the capital. This was not always the state of things

in France. Previous to, and during the reign of Henry IV. the manners,

the society, and the mode of life of the nobility and gentlemen of the

kingdom, were undoubtedly different The country was not then deserted

for the town; the industry of the peasantry was exerted under the

immediate eye of the proprietor; and his happiness formed, we may

believe, no inferior object in the mind of his master; If we look at

the domestic memoirs which describe the condition of France in these

ancient days, we shall find that even from the early age of Francis I.

till the commencement of the political administration of Richelieu, the

situation of this country presented a very different picture; and that

the lives of the country gentlemen were passed in a very opposite manner

from that unnatural state of the kingdom to which we have above alluded.

Even the condition of the interior of the kingdom, as it is now seen,

points to this happier state of things. Their chateaus, which are now

deserted,--their silent chambers, with tarnished gilding and decaying

tapestry, remind us of the days when the old nobleman was proud to spend

his income on the decoration and improvement of his property; the

library, on whose walls we see the family pictures, in those hunting and

shooting dresses which tell of the healthier exercises of a country

retirement; whilst on the shelves, there sleeps undisturbed the

forgotten literature of the Augustan age of France--all this evidently

shows, that there was once, at least, to be found in the interior of the

kingdom, another and a different state of things. In the essays of

Montaigne, the private life of a French gentleman is admirably

depicted. His days appear to have been divided between his family, his

library, and his estate. A French nobleman lived then happy in the seat

of his ancestors. His family grew up around him; and he probably visited

the town as rarely as the present nobility do the country,--the

education of his children,--the care of his peasantry,--the rural

labours of planting and gardening,--the sports of the country,--the

_grandes chasses_ which he held in his park, surrounded by troops of

servants who had been born on his estate, and who evinced their

affection by initiating the young heir into all the mysteries of the

chase, the enjoyment of the society of his friends and neighbours; all

these varied occupations filled up the happy measure of his useful and

enviable existence. The life of the country proprietor in these older

days of France, assimilated, in short, in a great degree to the present

manner of life amongst the same classes which is still observable in

England.

It is impossible to conceive any thing more striking than the difference

between this picture of a French chateau in these older days, and the

condition in which you find them at the present moment. We once visited

the chateau of one of the principal noblemen in Provence; and he

himself had the politeness to accompany us. The situation of the castle

was perfectly beautiful; but on coming nearer, every thing showed that

it was completely neglected. The different rooms, which were once

superb, were now bare and unfurnished. The walks through the park, the

seats and temples in the woods, and the superb gardens, were speedily

going to decay. The surface of his ponds, in the midst of which the

fountains still played, were covered with weeds, and the rank grass was

waving round the bases of the marble statues, which were placed at the

termination of the green alleys; every thing showed the riches, the

care, and the taste of a former generation, and the carelessness, and

neglect of the present. On remonstrating with the proprietor, he

defended himself by telling us how lonely he should feel at such a

distance from Paris: "_C'est toujours ici (said he), un triste sejour_."

A collation was served up, and after this, being in want of amusement,

he opened a closet in the corner of the room, and discovered to us, in

its recess, a vast variety of toys, which he began to exhibit to the

ladies, telling us, "that when forced to live in the country, he

diverted his solitary hours with these entertaining little affairs."

Nothing certainly can be more striking than this contrast between the

modern and ancient life of a French proprietor or nobleman; and it is a

question which must necessarily arise in the mind of every one, who has

observed this remarkable difference, what are the causes to which so

great a change is owing? Perhaps, if we look into it, this extraordinary

change will be found to have arisen chiefly out of the vigorous, but

dangerous policy of that age, when, under the administration of

Richelieu, the power of the sovereign rose upon the ruins of the

aristocracy--when the institution of standing armies first began to be

systematically followed--and when, by the perfection of their police,

and that vilest of all inventions, their espionage, the comfort, the

security, and the confidence of society was destroyed, by the secret

influence of these poisonous and pensioned menials of government. In the

successful accomplishment of these three great objects, was involved the

destruction of that older state of France, which was to be seen under

Henry III. and IV. The schemes by which Richelieu succeeded in drawing

the nobility from the interior of the country to Paris, the style of

splendid living, sumptuous expences, and magnificent entertainments

which he introduced, produced two unhappy effects; it removed them from

their country seats, and forced them at the same time to drain their

estates, in order to defray their increasing expences in the capital. It

made them dependent in a great measure upon the crown; and thus tied

them down to Paris. On the other hand, by what has been termed his

_admirable_ police, by his encouragement to all informers, by the

jealousy of any thing like private intercourse, he rendered the

retirement of their homes, the fire-side of their families, instead of

that sacred spot, around which was once seated all the charities of

life, the very center of all that was hollow, gloomy, and suspicious. It

was in this manner that the French seem actually to have been driven

from the society of their families, to seek a kind of desperate solitude

in public; and that which was at first a necessity, has, in the progress

of time, become an established habit. But I have to apologise for

introducing, in a chapter of this light nature, and that perhaps in too

strong language, these vague conjectures upon so serious a subject as

this change in the condition of French society.

One necessary effect of the taste for publicity, formerly mentioned, is,

that in France every thing is in some way or other attempted to be made

a _spectacle_; and this favourite word itself has gradually grown into

such universal usage, that it has acquired such power over the minds of

all classes of the people, as to be hardly ever out of their mouths.

Whatever they are describing, be it grave or gay, serious or ludicrous,

a comedy or a tragedy, a scene in the city or in the country; in short,

every thing, of whatever nature or character it may chance to be, which

is seen in public, is included under this all-comprehensive term; and

the very highest praise which can be given it, is, "Ah Monsieur, c'est

un _vrai_ spectacle. C'est un spectacle tout a _fait superbe_." It is

this taste for spectacles, this inordinate passion for every thing

producing _effect_, every thing which can add in this manner to what

they conceive ought to be the necessary arrangement in all public

exhibitions, which has, in many of these exhibitions, completely

destroyed all the deeper feelings which they would otherwise naturally

be calculated to produce. It is this taste which has created that

dreadful and disgusting anomaly in national antiquities, the Museé des

Monumens François, which has mangled and dilapidated the monuments of

the greatest men, and the memorials of the proudest days of France, to

produce in Paris a spectacle worthy of the _grande nation_. It is this

same taste, which, in that solemn commemoration of the death of their

king, the _service solennel_ for Louis XVI. contrived to introduce a

species of affected parade,--a detailed and theatrical sort of grief,--a

kind of meretricious mummery of sorrow, which banished all the feelings,

and almost completely destroyed the impression which such a scene in any

other country would inevitably have produced. Any thing, it may be

easily imagined, which gratifies this general taste for public

exhibitions, and any thing which is fitted to increase their effect, is

greeted by the French with the highest applause. One would have

imagined, that the first appearance of Lord Wellington in the French

opera, would, to most Frenchmen, have been a circumstance certainly not

to make an exhibition of: Very far from it--The presence of Lord

Wellington added greatly to the general effect of the spectacle. This

was all the French thought of; and he was received, if possible, with

more enthusiastic applause, and more reiterated greetings than the royal

family of France. Would a French conqueror have met with the same

reception in the opera at London?

When the reviews of the Russian troops were daily occurring in the Champ

de Mars, an anxiety to examine the state of their discipline, and the

general condition of their army, induced us punctually to attend them.

What was our astonishment, when we saw _several_ barouches full of

French ladies, seemingly taking the greatest delight in superintending

the manœuvres of the very men who had conquered the armies, and occupied

the capital of their country; and delighted with the attentions which

were paid them by the different Russian officers who had led them to

victory?

But there is yet another exhibition in Paris, which is at once the most

singular in its nature, and which shows, in the very strongest light,

this general deep-set passion in the French, for the creation of what

they imagine the necessary _effect_ which ought to be attended to in

every thing which is displayed in public, I mean that extraordinary

exhibition which they term the Catacombs. These catacombs are large

subterraneous excavations, which stretch themselves to a great extent

under Paris; and which were originally the quarries which furnished the

stones for building the greater part of that capital. You arrive at them

by descending, by torch light, a narrow winding stair, which strikes

perpendicularly into the bosom of the earth; and which, although its

height is not above 70 feet, leads you to a landing-place, so dark and

dismal, that it might be as well in the centre of the earth as so near

its surface. After walking for a considerable time through different

obscure subterranean streets, you arrive at the great stone gate of the

catacombs, above which you can read by the light of the torches, "_The

Habitation of the Dead._" On entering, you find yourself in a dark wide

hall, supported by broad stone pillars, with a low arched roof, the

further end of which is hid in complete obscurity; but the walls of

which, (as they are illuminated by the livid and feeble gleam of the

torches), are discovered to be completely formed of human bones. All

this, as far as I have yet described,--- the subterranean streets which

you traverse,--the dark gate of the great hall, over which you read the

simple but solemn inscription,--and the gloom and silence of the

chambers, whose walls you discover to be furnished in this terrible

manner, is fitted to produce a most deep and powerful effect. To find

yourself the only living being, surrounded on every side by the dead; to

be the only thing that possesses the consciousness of existence, while

millions of those who have once _been_ as you _are_--millions of all

ages, from the infant who has just looked in upon this world, in its

innocent road to heaven, to the aged, who has fallen in the fullness of

years;--and the young, the gay, and the beautiful of former centuries,

lie all cold and silent around you:--it is impossible that these deep

and united feelings should not powerfully affect the mind,--should not

lead it to rivet its thoughts upon that last scene, which all are to act

alone, and where, in the cold and unconscious company of the dead, we

are here destined to "end the strange, eventful history" of our nature:

But unfortunately, the guide, who now approaches you, insists upon your

examining the details, which he conceives it is his duty to point out;

and it is then that you discover, that this prevailing taste for

producing effect, this love of the arrangements necessary to complete

the _spectacle_, has invaded even this sacred receptacle. The ornaments

which he points out, and which are curiously framed of the whitest and

most polished bones; little altars which are built of the same materials

in the corners of the chambers, and crowned with what the artists have

imagined the handsomest skulls; and the frequent poetical quotations,

which, upon a nearer view, you discern upon the walls;--all this, in the

very worst style of French taste, evinces, that the same unhallowed

hands which had dared to violate the monuments of their heroes, have not

scrupled to intrude their presumptuous and miserable efforts, even into

the humbler sanctuary allotted to the dead.

I have above described the singular, and, to a stranger, most

entertaining scenes which take place at the French balls. If, however,

owing to this extraordinary state of manners, to the ludicrous ardour of

the old ladies, and the very moderate proportion of the young ones, a

French ball is more the scene of aged folly, than of youthful pleasure,

it must be allowed, that in another style of society, their lesser

parties, they far excel us. The conversation in these is easy, natural,

and often even fascinating. The terms of polite familiarity with which

you yourself are regarded, and with which you are encouraged to treat

all around you; the absence of every thing like stiffness, or formality;

the little interludes of music, in which, either in singing, or in

performing on some instrument, most of those you meet are able to take a

part; the round games which are often introduced, and where all forget

themselves to be happy, and to make others so,--this species of party is

certainly something far superior to those crowded assemblies, engrafted

now, as it would appear, with general consent, upon English society;

and which, with a ludicrous perversity, we have denominated by that

sacred word of Home, which has so long connected itself with scenes of

tranquil and unobtrusive enjoyment.

After having given such a picture of the general state of French

society, as we have presented in this chapter, it would be highly unjust

if we did not mention, that to the above descriptions of life and

manners, we found many exceptions. That we met with many very

intelligent men, of liberal education and gentlemanly conduct; and that

in the town where we resided, and indeed generally during our travels,

we experienced the greatest hospitality and kindness. The most amiable

features in the French character are shewn in their conduct to

strangers. But this is one of the few points in which we think they

deserve the imitation of our countrymen; and we have been the more full

in our observations upon their faults, because we trust that there may

ever remain a marked difference between the two nations.

The present we consider as the moment when all those who have had

opportunities of judging of the French character, ought in duty to make

public the information they have collected; for it is now that a more

perfect intercourse must produce its effects upon the two nations; and

taking it as an established maxim, that "vice to be hated, needs only to

be seen," we have thus hastily laid our observations before the public,

claiming their indulgence for the manifold faults to which our anxious

desire to avail ourselves of the favourable moment has unavoidably given

rise.

The climate of the south of France is, very generally, recommended for

those invalids who are suffering under pulmonary complaints. The author

of the foregoing work having resided at Aix, in Provence, during the

winter months, has thought it right to publish the following short

try the benefit of change of climate. His object is to show, that

although, in general, the climate is much milder than in England or

Scotland, yet there is much greater variety than is generally imagined.

Upon the whole, he conceives, that he derived considerable benefit from

his residence at Aix. But such were the difficulties in travelling, and

so great was the want of comfort in the houses in the south of France,

that he is of opinion, that in most cases a residence in Devonshire

would be found fully as beneficial.

* * *

From experience in his own case, he can venture to affirm, that where

the patient, labouring under a pulmonary complaint, visits the south of

France, he should perform the journey by sea, which appears to him as

beneficial as the land journey is hurtful.

* * *

In keeping the following Register, the thermometer was in the shade,

though in a warm situation. The time of observation was between 12 and 1

in France, and between 10 and 11 in Edinburgh.

=AIX.=

Dec. _Ther_

12. Air delightful, like a fine day in June--sun very powerful, 60-1/4

13. The air rather damp and heavy--the sun very powerful, 65-3/4

14. Excepting in the sun, it was cold to-day,

like to a spring day--the _Vent de Bise_ prevailed in the morning, 59

15. Frosty day--but between twelve and two the sun powerful,

and the climate delightful, 56-3/4

16. The air frosty, but the sun very powerful--temperature

delightful, though sharp and bracing--air very dry, 56-3/4

17. Air more mild--sun exceedingly hot--this was a charming day--the

air still sufficiently bracing, 59

18. No sun to-day--very mild air, but damp, 54-1/2

19. No sun to-day--air very damp, and a little rain--a mild day,

but very disagreeable, 56-3/4

20. Rain all night--thick mist in the morning, air damp--at twelve,

the day broke up, and it was pleasant, 54-1/2

21. Rain in the night--day damp, raw and cold, 52-1/4

22. Day cleared up about twelve--air rather damp and raw--a

great deal of rain in the night, 52-1/4

23. Clear day, but wind fresh and cold--pleasant in the sun, 53-1/2

24. Clear day--wind fresh and unpleasant--air damp, 53-1/2

25. Clear day--wind very cold, but pleasant in the sun, 52-1/4

26. Day very cloudy, with rain--rain all night--air damp

and very cold, 50

27. Day still cloudy, though clearing up--air rather raw, 52-1/2

28. Day clear, morning frosty, but at noon temperature delightful, 54-1/2

29. Day clear, frosty, at twelve most charming, 54-1/2

30. The same as yesterday, 54-1/2

31. Ditto, ditto, 54-1/2

1815. Jan. 1. Day frosty, very cold in the morning, ice of one-fourth

of an inch on the pools; at twelve most delightful in the sun, 52-1/4

2. Clear frosty day, very pleasant in the sun, 52-1/4

3. Dark, cloudy, raw and cold; no going out, 45-1/2

4. A clear frosty day, very cold, but pleasant in the sun, 47-3/4

5. Intensely cold and cloudy; no sun, 40

6. Intensely cold, a bitter wind, cloudy, and no sun, 41

7. Not quite so cold, but raw, windy and disagreeable;

snow at night, 47-3/4

8. Very cold, but pleasant in the sun; no wind, 44-3/4

9. The same as yesterday, 43-1/4

10. Air much milder; very pleasant in the sun, 50

11. Cold and windy; air rather raw; the _mistral_ blowing, 50

12. Cold and windy; _mistral_ blowing, 45-1/2

13. Wind fallen, but cold continues; air more dry, 44-1/4

14. Snow in the night, rain in the morning; cold and raw day, 45-1/2

15. Cold, but more dry; no sun, very unpleasant, and every

appearance of snow, 43-1/4

16. Snow in the night, dry cold day, but brilliant and

powerful sun, 41

17. Very high _mistral_, blowing intensely cold; air milder

than yesterday, 43-1/4

18. Still very cold, but pleasant in the sun; no wind, 43-1/4

19. Cold increased, hard frost; not wind, 34-1/4

20. Cold continues, but not so severe, 38-3/4

21. Clear frosty day, but cold diminished; delightful

in the sun, 43-1/4

22. Clear frosty day, but cold; sun very powerful 43-1/4

23. Clear frosty day, sun pleasant, 48-1/4

24. Cloudy and damp, but air milder; no sun, 43-1/4

25. Rain the greater part of the day, cloudy and damp; air milder, 43-1/4

26. Cloudy all day, but air milder, 47-3/4

27. Cloudy and damp; but the air very mild, 50

28. Ditto ditto ditto 50

29. Day clear and sunny, very pleasant 54-1/2

30. Rainy all day long; air colder, 50

31. Day clears up, but air moist; air mild, 54-1/2

Feb. 1. Day cloudy and damp; air mild, 52-1/4

2. Day very clear, delightful sun, 54

3. Day cloudy and damp, air very mild, 52-1/2

4. Day clear, very windy, but air very mild, 56-3/4

5. Day very clear, bright sun, no wind, but air colder, 52-1/4

6. Day very clear, bright sun, no wind, air mild 54-1/2

7. Ditto ditto ditto ditto 54-1/2

8. Ditto ditto ditto ditto 54-1/2

9. Day cloudy, a little rain, air colder, 52-1/4

10. Day very cloudy, a little rain, air mild,

but damp, heavy, and unpleasant, 54-1/2

11. Ditto ditto ditto ditto 54-1/2

12. Day clearer, but still heavy, and rather damp; air mild 54-1/2

13. Day damp, cloudy, great deal of rain wind, air cold, 50

14. Much the same, 50

15. Fine clear day, sun very hot, air mild, 56-3/4

16. Raw and damp, a little rain, 54-1/2

17. Delightful day, but good deal of wind; sun very powerful, 56-3/4

18. Delightful day, no wind, sun very powerful, 61-1/4

19. Ditto ditto, high wind, 61-1/4

20. Ditto ditto, less wind, 61-1/4

21. Ditto ditto ditto ditto 61-1/4

22. Ditto ditto ditto ditto, 61-1/4

23. Ditto ditto ditto ditto, 61-1/4

24. Ditto ditto ditto ditto, 61-1/4

25. Ditto ditto ditto ditto, 61-1/4

26. Ditto ditto ditto ditto, 64

27. Ditto ditto ditto ditto, 64

28. Ditto ditto ditto ditto, 64

Mar. 1. Ditto ditto ditto ditto, 61-1/2

2. Ditto ditto ditto ditto, 64-1/2

3. Delightful day, sun very powerful, 64

4. Ditto ditto ditto ditto, 64

5. Ditto ditto ditto ditto, 64

6. Ditto ditto ditto ditto, 64

7. Ditto ditto ditto ditto, 50

8. Day damp and raw, rain in the evening, 54-1/2

9. Fine day, but high wind, 60-1/4

10. Day damp and raw, 54-1/2

11. Day very cold, high wind, a little hail, 52-1/4

12. Cold and raw, high wind, and a little rain, 54-1/2

=EDINBURGH.=

Dec. _Ther_

12. Misty and damp--cleared up at mid-day,

the thermometer rose to 54, 44

13. Fine clear day, 45

14. Mild and damp, 40

15. Showery and disagreeable, 45

16. Wind and rain, 47

17. A great deal of rain and very stormy, 44

18. Incessant rain--very windy at night, 42

19. Heavy showers of rain and sleet, 39

20. A fine clear day, 32

21. A fine day, 31

22. A fine day, 37

23. A cold east wind, 32

24. A very cold N. E. wind, 35

25. Cold wind and showers of snow, 33

26. Cold wind and showers of snow, 33

27. Cold north wind--damp and dark, 34

28. Dark and damp, 34

29. A good deal of snow, 33

30. Stormy and tempestuous, 45

31. A fine day, 35

1815

Jan. 1. A fine day, 35

2. Cloudy and damp, 47

3. Cloudy, 44

4. Very rainy, 45

5. Mist and rain, 38

6. A fine day, 34

7. Damp, and a good deal of rain, 38

8. Clear frost--some snow, 30

9. Wind and rain, 42

10. Snow in the forenoon--a perfect tempest of wind and

rain at night, 33

11. A great deal of snow during the night, 32

12. A fine day, 34

13. A fine day--snow melting, 37

14. A fine day, 40

15. A fine day, 30

16. A good deal of rain, 37

17. A fine day, 35

18. Very gloomy, 32

19. Hard frost in the night--very gloomy, 32

20. A great deal of snow, 35

21. Snow, 34

22. Clear fine day, 31

23. Very hard frost in the night--fine day, 25

24. Very cold, 29

25. Good day, but very cold, 22

26. A great deal of snow, 32

27. Snow--a cold north wind, 34

28. Snow and hail, 32

29. Rain and snow--very wet, 36

30. Very wet and disagreeable, 36

31. A fine mild day, 35

Feb. 1. Very damp--heavy rain in the evening, 38

2. Rain, and very thick mist, 40

3. A fine day, 38

4. Damp and rainy, 38

5. A fine day, 40

6. Damp and rainy, 40

7. Very mild, but damp and cloudy, 45

8. A fine day; rain in the evening, 45

9. A very fine day; quite summer, 38

10. A fine day, 32

11. A pretty good day; rather damp and cloudy, 45

12. A fine forenoon, rain from two o'clock, 45

13. A fine day, 45

14. Cloudy and damp, 45

15. Cloudy and some rain, 44

16. Damp and showery, 43

17. A fine day, 41

18. Cloudy, and a cold N. E. wind, 41

19. Damp and rainy, very windy in the evening, 45

20. A cold north wind; showers of rain, 42

21. Showery, 45

22. A pretty good day, but windy, 50

23. Quite a summer day, 49

24. A good deal of rain in the morning, 47

25. Rain; very tempestuous at night, 45

26. A cold north wind, 38

27. A pretty good day, 38

28. A charming summer day, 48

Mar. 1 Rainy, 48

2. A very fine day, 38

3. A pretty good day, but windy, 45

4. A very fine day, 42

5. A fine day, 45

6. A very fine day, 43

7. A pretty good day, but a perfect tempest of wind

and rain in the night, 43

8. A very good day, 44

9. Showers of snow, 36

10. A very cold north wind, 32

11. A very cold day, 35

12. A very cold wind, and showers of snow, 40

FINIS.

MICHAEL ANDERSON,

PRINTER, EDINBURGH

FOOTNOTES:

[1] This statement, which we had from an officer who was with him at the

time, may be easily reconciled with the account of the battle given by

La Baume, which is in some measure inconsistent in its own parts.

[2] "See, Monsieur le Count,--said I, rising up, and laying some of King

William's shillings on the table,--by jingling and rubbing one against

another, for seventy years, in one body's pocket or another, they are

become so much alike, you can scarce distinguish one shilling from

another. The English, like ancient medals, keep more apart, and passing

but few people's hands, preserve the first sharpnesses which the fine

hand of nature has given them. They are not so pleasant to feel,--but,

in return, the legend is so visible, that at the first look you see

whose image and superscription they bear."

_Sentimental Journey_, Vol. II. p. 87.

[3] De l'Allemagne, tom. 2d. 303.

[4] "We have no more war."

[5] "Great silence."--"Ah! how terrible is this house! It is the house

of God, and the gate of Heaven."

[6] "Don't be alarmed, Sir; this is nothing."

[7] "War! war!"

[8] A small bit of wood.

[9] "Adieu! to meet at supper."

[10] "It is well enough for the moment, but this will not last long."

[11] "He shewed at his sports, that spirit of tyranny which he has since

manifested on the great stage of the world; and he who was doomed one

day to make Europe tremble, commenced by being the master and terror of

a troop of children."

[12] Such are the emphatic expressions made use of by a French

gentleman, who took the trouble to draw up for me a short memoir,

containing what he considered the most correct and well authenticated

circumstances in the political life of Napoleon.

[13] "Sire," said a General to him, while congratulating him on the

victory of Montmirail, "what a glorious day, if we did not see around us

so many towns and countries destroyed." "So much the better," said

Napoleon; "that supplies me with soldiers!"

[14] "Well, in an hour the ladies of Rheims will be in a fine fright."

[15] They seize him, they conduct him to the town-hall, before a

military commission, which proceeds to his trial, or rather to his

condemnation. An hour was scarce elapsed when an officer appears, orders

the doors to be opened, and demands if sentence is pronounced. They tell

him that the judges are about to put the question to the vote, "Let them

instantly shoot him," said the officer; "this is the Emperor's order."

The unfortunate Goualt is condemned.--The voice of mourning is heard

throughout the whole city. The proprietor of the house which Bonaparte

had chosen for his head-quarters solicits an audience; he obtains it.

"Sire, (said M. Duchatel), a day of triumph ought to be a day of mercy;

I come to entreat your Majesty to grant to the whole city of Troyes the

pardon of one of her fellow-citizens, who has been condemned to death."

"Begone! (said the tyrant, with a savage look), you forget that you are

in my presence." It was 11 o'clock at night when the unfortunate man

left the town-hall, escorted by gens-d'armes, and carrying, attached to

his back and breast, a writing in large characters, in these words,

"Traitor to his country," which was read by light of flambeaux. This

heart-rending assembly advanced towards the market-place, appointed for

the execution of criminals. There they wished to bind the eyes of the

accused;--he refused, and said, with a firm voice, that he knew how to

die for his King. He himself gave the signal to fire, and exclaiming,

"Long live the King! Long live Louis XVIII!" he drew his last breath.

[16] Revenge is their first law, lying the second, and to deny their God

is the third.

[17] "The distinguishing features of this man are, lying and the love of

life; I go to attack him, I shall beat him, and I shall see him at my

feet demanding his life."

[18] "Promote this officer; for if you do not, he knows the way to

promote himself."

[19] "To dissipate the royalists, and to batter the Parisians even at

their firesides."

[20] "At break of day the Austrians commenced the attack, at first

gently enough, afterwards more briskly, and at last with such fury, that

the French were broken on all sides. At this frightful moment, when the

dead and the dying strewed the earth, the first Consul, placed in the

middle of his guard, appeared immoveable, insensible, and as if struck

by thunder. In vain his Generals sent him their Aides de Camp, one after

another, to demand assistance. In vain did the Aides de Camp wait his

orders. He gave none. He scarcely exhibited signs of life. Many thought,

that, believing the battle lost, he wished himself to be killed. Others,

with more reason, persuaded themselves, that he had lost all power of

thought, and that he neither heard nor saw what was said or what passed

about him. General Berthier came to beg he would instantly withdraw;

instead of answering him, he lay down on the ground. In the meantime,

the French fled as fast as possible. The battle was lost, when suddenly

we heard it said, that General Dessaix was coming up with fresh troops.

Presently we saw him appear at their head. The runaways rallied behind

his columns. Their courage returned--fortune changed. The French

attacked in their turn, with the same fury with which, they had been

attacked; they burned to efface the shame of their defeat in the

morning."

[21] "I die regretting that I have not lived long enough for my

country."

[22] We may lay it down as a maxim, that in every state the desire of

glory exists with the liberty of the subjects, and diminishes with the

same; glory is never the companion of servitude.

[23] "The youth of the present day are brought up in very different

principles: the love of glory, above all, has taken deep root; it has

become the distinguishing attribute of the national character, exalted

by twenty years of continued success. But this very glory was become our

idol; it absorbed all the thoughts of the brave fellows whose wounds had

rendered them unfit for service--all the hopes of the youthful warriors

who for the first time bore arms; an unlooked-for blow has been struck,

and we now find in our hearts a blank similar to that which a lover

feels who has lost the object of his passion; every thing he sees, every

thing he hears, renews his grief. This sentiment renders our situation

vague and painful; every one seeks to hide from himself the void which

he feels exist in his heart. He is looked upon as humbled, after twenty

years of continued triumph, for having lost a single stake, which

unfortunately was the stake of honour, and which had become the rule of

our destinies."--CARONT'S MEMOIR.

[24] "The French are the only people in the universe could laugh even

while freezing."

[25] "Well, there's more materials--more flesh for the cannon!"

[26] "My faith, there's a fine consumption." The word _Consommation_, is

also a mess, a finishing. It is not easy to say whether it was used in

one or all of these senses by Napoleon.

[27] "It was icy cold. The dying were yet breathing; the crowd of dead

bodies, and the black gaps which the blood had made in the snow, were

horribly contrasted. The staff were sensibly affected. The Emperor alone

looked coolly on that scene of mourning and of blood. I pushed my horse

a few paces before his, for I was anxious to observe him at such a

moment. You would have said that he was devoid of every human feeling;

that all that surrounded him existed but for him. He spoke coolly on the

events of the evening before. In passing before a groupe of Russian

grenadiers who had been massacred, the horse of one of the aides-de-camp

started. The Emperor perceived it: "That horse (said he, coldly) is a

coward."

[28] "Workmen who had just left their workshops, peasants escaped from

the villages, with bonnets on their heads, and a staff in their hands,

in six months became intrepid soldiers, and in two years skilful

officers and generals, formidable to the oldest generals in Europe."

[29] "They cut down the crops of men three times a-year."

[30] "It is only under a government as wise and as great as yours, that

a simple soldier like me could have formed the project of carrying the

war into Egypt.--Yes, Directors, scarcely shall I be master of Egypt,

and of the solitudes of Palestine, than England will give you a first

rate ship of the line for a sack of corn."

[31] "If I present myself with troops (said Napoleon) it is only to

please my friends, for in truth, I have the greatest desire of appearing

there as of old; Louis XIV. appeared in the Parliament _in boots_, and a

whip in his hand."

[32] "I am one of those whom men kill, but whom they cannot dishonour;

in three months we shall have peace--either the enemy shall be chased

from our territory, or I shall be no more."

[33] "I have called you around me to do good; you have done ill. You

have among you persons devoted to England, who correspond with the

Prince Regent, by means of the Advocate Deseze. Eleven-twelfths of you

are good; the rest are factious. Return to your departments;--I shall

have my eye on you. I am one whom men may kill, but whom they cannot

dishonour. Who is he among you who could support the load of government.

It has crushed the Constituent Assembly, which dictated laws to a weak

king. The Fauxbourg St Antoine would have assisted me, but it would soon

have abandoned you. What are become of the Jacobins, the Girondins, the

Vergniaus, the Guadets, and so many others? They are dead. You have

sought to _bespatter_ me in the eyes of France. This is a heinous

crime;--besides, what is the throne? Four pieces of gilded wood covered

with velvet. I had pointed out to you a Secret Committee; it is there

that you should have established your griefs. It was in the family that

our _dirty linen should have been washed_. I have a title; you have

none. What are you in the Constitution? Nothing. You have no authority.

The Throne is the Constitution. Every thing is in the throne, and in me.

I repeat it to you, you have among you factious persons. Mr Lainè is a

wicked man; the rest are factious. I know them, and I shall pursue them.

I ask you, Was it while the enemy were among us that you ought to have

done such things? Nature has endowed me with great courage, it can

resist every thing. Much has it cost my pride, but I have sacrificed it.

But I am above your miserable declamations. I had need of

consolation,--and you have dishonoured me. But no; my victories crush

your complaints. I am one of those who triumph or who die. Return to

your departments.

[34] "One of his Ministers one day addressed him, presenting him a

report which he had desired. The subject was a conspiracy against his

person. I was present at that scene; I expected, I confess, to see him

enter in a fury, thunder forth against the traitors, threaten the

magistrates, and accuse them of negligence. Not at all; he ran over the

paper without the least sign of agitation. Judge of my surprise, or

rather what sweet emotion I felt, when he pronounced these _touching and

sublime_ words:--Count, the state has not suffered, the magistrates have

not been insulted. It was only my person they aimed at; I pity them for

not knowing that my every wish is for the good of France; but every man

may go astray. Tell the ungrateful men that I pardon them." Now, I defy

the most faithful royalist, who should have witnessed such an action,

not to exclaim--If Heaven was to give an usurper to France, let us thank

it for having given this one! But stop, unfortunate one: your eyes have

indeed seen, your ears have heard; believe nothing, but be present at

the levee of this hero, so magnanimous, so little desirous of revenging

himself. The doors are opened--Behold him! The crowd of courtiers

surround him--all fix their eyes on him--his face is changed--the

muscles are violently contracted--his whole appearance is that of a

ruffian; a death-like silence reigns in the assembly--the Prince has not

yet spoken, but he surveys the group: He perceives the same officer,

who, two days before, had presented him the report. "Count (said he),

are these vile conspirators executed? Are their accomplices in chains?

Have the executioners given a new example to the imitators of those who

aim at my life?"

[35] "You wish to see us drawn on hurdles to the scaffold."

[36] These nutshells.

[37] Swords of honour--guns of honour.

[38] Saucepan of honour.

[39] "Moreau was conversing with the Emperor Alexander, from whom he was

only distant half a horse's length. It is likely, that they perceived

from the place this brilliant staff, and fired on it at random. Moreau

alone was struck; a cannon-ball broke his right knee, and passing

through the horse's side, carried off the flesh of his left leg. The

generous Alexander shed tears. Colonel Rapatel rushed towards Moreau,

who uttered a long sigh, and then fainted. Returned to himself, he spoke

with the utmost coolness. He said to Monsieur Rapatel, "I am lost, my

friend, but it is so glorious to die for such a cause, and under the

eyes of so great a Prince!" A few minutes afterwards, he said to the

Emperor Alexander himself, "Nothing remains, Sire, save the trunk; but

the heart is there, and the head is your's." He must have suffered the

most excruciating pain; but he called for a segar, and quietly began

smoking. Mr Wylie, first surgeon to the Emperor, hastened to amputate

the limb, which was most severely used. During this cruel operation,

Moreau scarce shewed a change of countenance, and did not cease to smoke

his segar. The amputation performed, Mr Wylie examined the right leg,

and found it in such a state, that he could not refrain from expressing

his terror. "I understand you," said Moreau, "you must cut off this one

too.--Well, do it quickly.--However, I would rather have died." He

wanted to write to his wife; and he wrote to her, with a steady hand,

these words:--"MY DEAR FRIEND,--The battle was decided three days

ago.--I have had both legs carried off by a bullet--that rascal

Bonaparte is always lucky. They have performed the amputation as well as

possible. The army has made a retrograde movement, but it is not

occasioned by any reverse, but from a manœuvre, and in order to approach

General Blucher.--Excuse my scribbling.--I love you, and I embrace you

with all my heart. I have charged Rapatel to finish."--Immediately after

this, he said, "I am not without danger, I know it well; but if I die,

if a premature fate hurry me from a beloved wife and child--from my

country, which I have wished to serve in spite of itself; do not forget

to say to the French, who shall speak of me, that I die with the regret

of not having accomplished my projects--To free my country from the

frightful yoke that oppresses her;--to crush Bonaparte-every species of

war, every possible means, were laudable. With what joy would I have

consecrated the little talent I posses to the cause of humanity. My

heart belonged to France."

At seven o'clock, the sick man finding himself alone with Mr Svinine,

said to him, with a faint voice, "I must absolutely dictate a letter to

you."--Mr Svinine took up the pen, and sighing, traced the few following

lines, dictated by Moreau.

* * *

"SIRE,--I sink into the tomb with the same sentiments of respect,

admiration, and devotion with which your Majesty has always inspired me,

since I have had the happiness of approaching your person."

"In pronouncing these last words, the sick man stopped short and shut

his eyes. Mr Svinine waited, thinking that Moreau was deliberating on

the sequel of the letter--Vain hope--Moreau was no move."

[40] "Well, my good woman;--You expect the Emperor, don't you?" 'Yes,

Sir; I hope we shall have a sight of him.' "Well, my good woman, what do

you folks say of the Emperor?" 'That he is a great villain.' "Eh, my

good woman; and what do you yourself say?" 'Shall I tell you frankly,

Sir, what I think?--If I were the captain of the ship, I would only take

him on board to drown him.'

[41] "The Commissaries, on arriving at Calade, found him with his head

leaning on his two hands, and his face bathed in tears. He told them

that people decidedly aimed at his life; and that the mistress of the

inn, who had not known him, had told him that the Emperor was detested

as a rascal, and that they would only embark him to drown him. He would

eat or drink nothing, however pressed to it; and though he might have

been assured by the example of those who were at table with him, he made

them bring him some bread and water from his carriage, which he ate with

avidity. They waited for night to continue the journey; they were only

two leagues from Aix. The populace of that town would not have been so

easily constrained, as in the other towns, where he had already run such

risks. The Sub-Prefect, taking with him the Lieutenant and six of the

gens-d'armes, rode towards Calade. The night was dark, and the weather

very cold; which double circumstance protected Napoleon much better than

would have been effected by the strongest escort. The Sub-Prefect and

the guards met his suite a few instants after they had quitted Calade,

and followed him till he arrived at the gates of Aix, at two in the

morning. After having changed horses, Bonaparte continuing his route,

passed under the walls of the town, and the reiterated cries of "Long

live the King," which were shouted forth by the inhabitants assembled on

the ramparts. Arrived at the limits of the Department, at an inn called

the Great Pagere, he stopped there for breakfast. General Bertrand

proposed to the Sub-Prefect to ascend to the room of the Commissaries,

where all were at breakfast before his departure. Here were ten or

twelve persons. Napoleon was of the number; he had the dress of an

Austrian officer, and a helmet on his head. Seeing the Sub-Prefect in

his councillor's habit, he said to him, "You would not have known me in

this dress; it is these gentlemen who have made me take it, thinking it

necessary to ensure my safety. I could have had an escort of 3000 men,

which I refused, preferring to trust myself to French honour. I have not

had reason to complain of that confidence from Fontainbleau to Avignon;

but between that town and this, I have been insulted, and have been in

great danger. The Provençals degrade themselves. Since I have been in

France, I have not had a good regiment of Provençals under my orders.

They are good for nothing but to make a noise. The Gascons are boasters,

but at least they are brave."--At these words, one of the party, who no

doubt was a Gascon, pulled out his shirt ruffle, and said, "that's

pleasant." Bonaparte continuing to address himself to the Sub-Prefect,

said to him, "What is the Prefect about?"--'He left this at the first

news of the change which had happened at Paris.' "And his wife?" 'She

had left it before.' "She then took the start. Do the people pay the

revenue and the droits reunis?"--'Not a halfpenny.'--"Are there many

English at Marseilles?" Here the Sub-Prefect related all that had lately

passed in that port, and with what transports they had received the

English. Bonaparte, who did not take much pleasure in such a recital,

put an end to it, by saying to the Sub-Prefect, "Tell your Provençals

that the Emperor is very ill pleased with them."

"Arrived at Bouilledon, he shut himself up in an apartment, with his

sister (Pauline Borghese)--Sentinels were placed at the door.

Notwithstanding which, some ladies arriving at the gallery, which

communicated with that room, beheld there an officer in Austrian

uniform, who said to them, "Ladies, what do you wish to see?" 'We wish

to see Napoleon.' "But that's myself." The ladies, looking at him, said,

smiling, 'You are joking, Sir; you are not Napoleon.' "I assure you,

ladies, it is I.--What!--You thought Napoleon must have a more wicked

appearance. Don't they say that I am a wretch, a rascal?"--The ladies

did not care to undeceive him. Bonaparte, not wishing to press them hard

on this subject, turned the conversation.--But always occupied with his

first idea, he returned to it immediately.--"Acknowledge, at least,

ladies, that now, when fortune is against me, they say that I am a

wretch, a miscreant, and a marauder. But do you know the meaning of all

this? I wished to make France superior to England, and I have failed in

this project."

[42] "When we are on the paved streets of Paris, we perceive that the

people do not there make the laws;--no convenience for pedestrians--no

side pavement; the people seem to be a body separated from the other

orders of the state--the rich and the great who possess equipages, have

the right of crushing and mutilating them in the streets--a hundred

victims expire every year under the wheels of the carriages."

[43] "Before the revolution, the village contained four thousand

inhabitants. It furnished, as its share to the general service of the

church, and of the hospitals, as well as for the instruction of youth,

five ecclesiastics, two sisters of charity, and three schoolmasters.

These last are replaced by a riding-master, a drawing-master, and two

music-masters. Out of eight manufactories of woollen and cotton stuffs,

there remains but one. But in revenge, there are established two

coffee-houses, one tobacco-shop, one restaurateur's shop, and one

billiard-room, which flourish in a manner quite surprising. We reckoned

formerly forty ploughmen. Twenty-five of these have become couriers,

riders, and coachmen. Their place is filled up by women, who conduct the

plough, and who, to amuse themselves, carry occasionally to the market,

carts full of straw or of charcoal. The number of carpenters, masons,

and other artisans, is diminished by about a half. But the price of all

articles of workmanship having risen also one half; _it comes to the

same thing, and a compensation is established_. One class of

individuals, which the villages furnishes in great abundance, and in

much too great a proportion, are livery servants and domestics of

luxury. Whilst this lasts, the country will be depopulated of all those

useful ranks who cultivate the soil, and the towns will be peopled with

the idle and corrupt. Many women and young girls, who were only

sempstresses and under servants, have found advancement in the great

cities, and in the capital. They have become waiting maids,

embroiderers, and milliners. One might say that luxury had exhausted our

youth; all eyes are turned towards it, and it alone occupies every

thought. Never, at any former period, did the contingent in lawyers,

bailiffs, law students, physicians, and artists, exceed three or four;

it is now raised to sixty-two: and what we should never have conceived

in former days, there are now among us as many painters, poets,

comedians, opera dancers, and travelling musicians, as a city of eighty

thousand souls would have furnished thirty or forty years ago."

[44] The variety of the laws and customs is attended with this effect,

that the most intelligent advocate becomes as ignoramus when he finds

himself in Gascony or in Normandy. He loses at Vernon a case which he

had gained at Poissy. Select the most skilful for a consultation or for

pleading; well, he will be under the necessity of having his advocate

and his attorney, if we commit to his care a cause in most of the other

courts.

[45] "I can excuse, but do not envy those who can live as if they had

neither suffered nor seen others suffer; but they must pardon me, who am

unable to imitate them. These days of total and unheard-of degradation

in human nature are yet before my eyes, press heavily on my soul, and

fall incessantly from my pen, destined to retrace them even to my last

hour."

[46] The reader will easily perceive, that the end of this chapter was

written at the time of Napoleon's landing from Elba. Not a word of it

has been altered, for the author is convinced that it is an accurate

picture of France in its present state.

[47] "A Frenchman, (says Madame de Stael, with great truth,) can still

continue to speak, even when he has no ideas."

[48] "Their trifling, naturally intended for the toilet, seems to have

become accessary to the formation of the general character of the

nation: They trifle in council, they trifle at the head of an army, they

trifle with an ambassador."

[49] "Gentlemen, it is impossible to deceive persons enlightened as you

are; I am absolutely going to cut off the head of this child: But before

commencing, I must let you see that I am no quack. Well, in the

meantime, as an exordium, Who is there among you who has the toothache?"

"I," exclaimed instantly a sturdy peasant, &c.

[50] "Gentlemen, in the universe there is but one sun; in the kingdom of

France there is but one king; in the science of medicine there is

Charini alone."

[51] "You are a Scotchman?" 'Yes, Sir.' "Oh, how droll that is." 'And

how is it droll, Sir?' "It is the country of Napoleon. It is an island,

is it not?" 'Certainly not, Sir.' "On my faith, I thought they always

called it the Island of Corse."

[52] "Give a supper; that will make every body run."

[53] "Even if Old Nick should ring his supper-bell, The French would

lick their lips, and flock to H--II."

[54] "Down with the tyrant! Down with the soldiers! Long live the

Emperor! Long live the Marshals! Long live the army! Long live Louis,

the wished-for Monarch! Long live the descendant of Good Henry IV.! Long

live the nation! No feudal laws! No Kings! No nobility! No assessed

taxes! No conscription."

[55] "Long life to death!"

[56] "Who, after having sacrificed millions of victims, could not die

like a soldier."

ERRATA. [Transcriber's note: already corrected.]

Page 20. line 3. for _a_ read _est_.

21. 18. after _sont_ insert _de_.

97. 6. for _les_ read _des_.

156. last line, for _c'est_ read _ce m'est_.

272. line 20. for _des_ read _de_.

273. 17. for _des_ read _de_.

Travels in France during the years 1814-15 Comprising a residence at Paris, during the stay of the allied armies, and at Aix, at the period of the landing of Bonaparte, in two volumes. · 第 12 / 12 章

We were alarmed one morning by a loud flourish of trumpets, almost