_July 1st._--Tiresome work this--very! Here we are in Chenevière
with little to do but smoke and sleep, or saunter about the hundred
yards of street, which is all the place can boast of; and that can
hardly be called a street, being formed of stone enclosures or the
backs of barns, &c., the dwellings being in the yards. A rivulet
once enlivened one end of this street, but now, alas! when most
needed, it is not there--the dry bed with a slimy pool or two, still
unevaporated, are all that remain to tell the tale of its quondam
existence. How melancholy! I scribble _pour passer le temps_. Some
good, however, results from this tiresome halt. Marching at or before
daybreak, and not halting until dusk, our shoeing was in a bad state,
which Farrier Price and his myrmidons are now busy remedying. The
forge is established on the bank of the _ci-devant_ rivulet in the
rear of our orchard, and under two or three spreading elms. As it is
on the edge also of the corn, we have been on the eve of consummating
the ruin of the poor fugitive _habitans_, for it has been once or
twice on fire. Another piece of service the halt has rendered, is
the allowing Hincks with the guns and carriages left at Waterloo
to overtake us. He brings also a remount of tolerably good horses,
though rather fatigued, since he has made tremendous marches to
overtake us. These arrive most opportunely; for with all care we have
a number of galled backs and shoulders, though in this respect we are
not half so bad as the cavalry, amongst whole squadrons of whom there
is scarcely a sound horse.
Another reinforcement has just joined us. That beautiful but
unfortunate regiment the Cumberland Hussars has been broken up for
its retrograde movement on the 18th ultimo, and distributed amongst
the different corps, to be employed as forage escorts, &c., for the
commissaries. Being all gentlemen in Hanover, it is easy to imagine
they are rather irate at this degradation. A corporal and four
privates have joined us. They are all amazingly sulky and snappish
with every one, forgetting that neither I nor Mr Coates, nor any of
our people, have anything to do with their disgrace. They come,
however, very opportunely, since for the last day or two Mr Coates
has been resisted by the peasantry, and only this morning several
shots were fired at him and his convoy of forage from a wood near
which he was obliged to pass. In general, during the above period, he
has been obliged to help himself from the barns and granaries, having
found every place deserted.
Lord Edward ordered a sale to-day of the effects of the slain. This
occasioned a little stir in the village, and passed away an hour or
two. I have purchased a good large cloak, erst the property of poor
Colonel Fuller of the 1st Dragoon Guards. Things sold well in general.
From the front we heard (I don’t know how) that the French army are
in position at Montmartre, where they intend to fight us again. If
they are beaten--of which we entertain no doubt--the fate of Paris
is certain; every one fully expects it will be plundered and burned,
and thus my prediction verified, the campaign ending with a _grand
embrassement_, as I have already written down! There is some firing
just begun in front. The Prussians commencing, no doubt!
_July 2d._--Having no candles last night, could not write up as
usual, but was forced to sit in the dark smoking our cigars and
listening to the incessant firing in front. This morning is
beautiful again, but terribly hot. The latter part of yesterday
evening we passed on the tiptoe of expectation, for the firing became
constantly heavier and more distinct; that a battle was fighting
could not be mistaken. Lieutenant Bell, our adjutant, came to tell
me my troop was for the reserve. He also told us that many messages
had passed between the Duke and the French authorities. Anxiously
we gazed across the top of the waving corn, hoping every moment to
see the messenger bringing orders for our advance. Twilight began
to shorten our ken, and still the cannonade continued without
intermission. At last an orderly dragoon did come, but he brought
an order for the rocket-troop only to advance, whilst we were to be
saddled and ready to move at a moment’s notice. The rockets soon
moved, and our bivouac became more gloomy than ever. Fatigued more
from excitement than anything else, I lay down at a late hour to
sleep; but though I slept I did not rest--feverish dreams of Paris in
flames; of plundering, mutinous soldiers, and all sorts of horrors;
so that I could hardly believe my eyes and ears when I awoke this
morning at three o’clock and looked round me. The orchard presented
a scene of the most perfect tranquillity; the firing had ceased;
my people, ensconced in the straw, their blankets drawn over them,
lay quietly sleeping under their guns; no sound broke the silence of
this most delicious summer morning save the jingling of our horses’
collar-chains, and the sweet songs of birds, with which the trees
were filled. I could scarcely credit the agitation of yesterday
evening--it all seemed part of my dream. By degrees our village was
all alive; and as the morning advanced, so has our excitement, for
the cannonade in front has recommenced. Evening approaches again; the
firing has lasted all day without intermission; and yet here we are,
doing nothing, or worse, for both our horses and ourselves are drying
up with thirst. We cannot stay here much longer, for our only well is
almost exhausted.
_July 3d._--Fine and hot morning. Yesterday morning I awoke and found
myself under the trees of a thick orchard; this morning I am lying
amongst artichokes, and the Lord knows what, upon a soil somewhat
like that one sees about Hammersmith, and, instead of the warbling
of birds, the air is filled with the hum of a multitude and the
monotonous beating of a watermill close at hand, which has never
ceased its “thump, thump, thump, thump” all the livelong night,
the quartermaster of some regiment having been placed in it with a
detachment to grind corn for us all. Yesterday evening, near sunset,
an order arrived for all the artillery at Chenevière to move to
the front, but that the cavalry should remain, which puzzled us a
little. Accordingly we marched forthwith in company with Major Bull’s
troop; but I saw nothing of the others, for we were all left to
march independently. The order was scrawled out on a scrap of dirty
paper and hardly legible, so that neither Bull nor I could make it
out perfectly, and were consequently in some doubt as to the exact
point to march upon, although in none about going forward in the
direction of the cannonade. Instead of returning to the chaussée by
the way we came,[6] as I believe the other troops did (they were not
so quickly ready as we were), Bull and I took a road which appeared
to lead straight to the front. The country we marched through, though
perfectly flat, was still interesting:--one vast expanse of golden
wheat, divided as it were into beautiful fields by the crossing
of numerous roads, all bordered by two, or even four rows of most
magnificent elms. A few vineyards, with here and there a village,
diversified very agreeably this scenery. For a time we seemed to
approach the field of battle--the firing became more distinct; and at
times we saw, or thought we saw, the slate-coloured smoke rising over
the tufted tops of the elms. By-and-by it drew off more to the right,
and insensibly became less intense, though still kept up with great
vigour. Notwithstanding some little anxiety as to the correctness
of our route, and an impatience to arrive on the field of action,
still I could not be insensible to the beauty of the noble avenues,
umbrageous and cool, along which we marched. They are at all times
superb, but become exquisite when seen as we saw them, illumined
by the blaze of a cloudless sunset. At a place called Vauderlan we
rejoined the chaussée, and had marched little beyond when I observed
Bull’s troop, which was ahead, suddenly come to a halt at a point
where another chaussée came in from the left. What was my surprise,
on riding forward, when Bull told me we had run in upon the French
outposts: and sure enough, not far in front of us, a long line of
vedettes extended across the fields to a village--Blanc Menil, with
its white houses and white garden-walls--about a mile on our left;
and to our right were lost behind the little woods with which that
part of the country was covered. In rear of the vedettes, on the
chaussée, was an intrenchment, with an abatis in front of it; beyond
was another village;[7] and to the right the lofty spires of St
Denis, towering above the woods, showed us that we were nearer that
place than we had expected.
What was to be done in this dilemma? Two troops of horse-artillery,
totally unsupported, within musket-shot of the enemy’s lines!
During our march we had not fallen in with a single corps, and
every house was deserted, so that we had no opportunity of gaining
information. I had relied on Bull’s experience, which, however, in
this instance, was at fault. We both agreed as to the necessity of
a retreat; as also that we ought to betray no hurry and confusion
in so doing. The French pickets and those within the intrenchment
were evidently watching us very attentively, but made no move, nor
did we for a short time. Whilst thus hesitating, a few of the staff
corps made their appearance in the fields on our right, and from
them we were rejoiced to learn our neighbourhood to the main body,
which occupied all the country in that direction; the staff corps
being on the extreme left in the village of Dugny, which, though
close at hand, was hid from us among the trees. This accounted at
once for the inactivity of the enemy; so, reversing, we followed a
miserable cross-road through some low swampy ground to Dugny, where
the officers of the staff corps succeeded in deciphering our ticket,
and gave us directions for finding Garges, the place mentioned. The
infantry must have advanced whilst we halted at Chenevière, for these
people appeared settled in their quarters. The route pointed out
led us for about half a mile between meadows surrounded with high
trees and intermingled with little thickets; then, after crossing
a small muddy rivulet, we debouched upon more open ground, and a
most interesting scene burst upon us. On our left, and very near,
the Abbey of St Denis with its elegant spires reared its venerable
form above the intervening thick masses of foliage, formed by the
converging of several chaussées with their noble bordering of elms,
to a point near the town. Beyond, in the distance, appeared the
heights of Montmartre, with its telegraph and numerous windmills
and chalky cliffs; a narrow gap, through which was seen the dome
of St Genevieve, separated them from the heights of Belleville,
where a succession of the same sort of white cliffs encouraged the
idea of a gap having here been broken through the range of heights,
leaving Montmartre an isolated mass. Through this gap we obtained the
first view of Paris, and the heights were everywhere gay with white
buildings, gardens, shrubberies, &c.
To our right the ground ascended by a gentle slope to the village
of Garges, whose numerous villas and summer-houses (_kiosks_),
intermingled with shrubberies, yet illuminated by the warm mellow
light of the western sky, crowned the summit; whilst the intervening
space presented one vast bivouac alive with men and animals, and
all busy with preparations for passing the night. This ground a day
or two ago was covered with the most luxuriant crops of flowers,
fruits, vegetables, and some corn--now all trampled under foot;
in like manner the chaussée descending from the village had been
bordered with fine trees--now lying prostrate in the form of an
abatis a little to our left. In our front the dense foliage and
rounded summits of the trees in the Park of Stains cut strongly
against the yellow sky of the west. It was certainly an animating,
interesting scene. Here at length was assembled the advanced-guard
of our victorious army, in full view of the devoted, fickle, guilty
city--of that city which, in the days of her prosperity, arrogated
to herself the empire of the world; that city which for years--nay,
for our whole life--had been the great centre of our most intense
interest; that city which both historical and romantic reading had
rendered perfectly classical, and over which the long exclusion of
Englishmen from the Continent had drawn a veil of mystery, rendering
her doubly interesting. There she lay, as it were, prostrate at our
feet, awaiting in breathless anxiety the fiat of her conqueror.
The firing had now become very indistinct, and ceased to occupy
our attention, for here we found the troops quietly establishing
themselves, and no appearance whatever of any fighting. There, to
be sure, was the intrenchment and abatis similar to that we had
seen near Bourget; and there were the French vedettes extending
across the plain and those of our Rifles opposite them; but all
remained peaceable and quiet. The troops in bivouac presented in the
twilight many a picturesque group as we marched along, none more
so than a corps of Brunswick lancers, with their sombre uniforms
and drooping black plumes--the horses, all saddled, picketed in a
line, and in rear of them the lances stuck upright in the ground.
The dark mustachioed visages of these men completed the colouring
of the picture. Amongst these I met some old acquaintances, who
were lounging at the roadside to see us pass. They were all elated
and eager for the morrow, which they confidently expected would see
Paris delivered up to the punishment she deserved. Leaving them, we
turned to the right up the treeless chaussée and soon reached Garges,
which we found principally occupied by our artillery; but here the
scene we passed through greatly cooled the excitement caused by our
march through the bivouacs. The village, or town I should call it,
is composed of one long and broad street of good houses--generally,
I fancy, the country residences of the Parisian cockneys. These have
all been gutted and disfigured in the same manner as at Loures: torn
carpets and paper-hangings, broken furniture and glass, and even
pianofortes, encumbered the streets in all directions. Inhabitants
there were none--not a cat remained in the place; and our soldiers
and their horses were the only living animals to be seen. The sight
of this devastation cast an inexpressible gloom over me; and I shall
never forget the sickening sensation I experienced whilst traversing
the street of Garges in search of some unoccupied garden in which
we might establish ourselves for the night. All the best houses
and gardens were already occupied; so, after marching through the
whole place, on arriving at the end of it we were obliged to content
ourselves with a great unsheltered market-garden, close to a muddy
sluggish rivulet; and here we are, Hitchins and I, sitting amongst
potatoes and artichokes. This fine rich soil does not make the most
agreeable parlour-floor. In short, contrasting our position with that
of our other troops, we think we have a right to grumble. Every one
that I looked in upon in my search had a house and offices more or
less convenient (shells, to be sure), and the troop-horses and men
who could not be accommodated under cover found themselves almost
equally well off amongst the _allées_, _berceaux_, and shrubberies
of the gardens. On the contrary, we have a damp location; no shelter
of any kind higher than an artichoke, or, much the same thing, a
vine. There is a well on the premises, certainly, but the water is
so brackish that it is not drinkable; and that of the neighbouring
rivulet, naturally foul, is now so impregnated with soap-suds, from
the multitudes of washermen and washerwomen at work in it, that we
are at a loss how to water our horses, for they won’t touch it.
Bell (our adjutant) has just found us out, and communicated an order
to remain harnessed and ready for an alert, as it is expected the
enemy will attempt something during the night. The firing which we
have heard these two days has proceeded from the Prussians having
attempted to force the French lines; but they met with a more
determined opposition than they expected, and kept fighting their way
round to the right to a place called Argenteuil,[8] where, throwing
a bridge over the Seine, they have crossed that river, and Bell says
are at this moment in possession of St Cloud. So that Paris is, in a
manner, invested.
_July 4th._--Last night passed very tranquilly; and, _malgré_ our
position, I never enjoyed a sounder sleep or woke more refreshed. If
the French intended an attack, they thought better of it, and let us
sleep quietly. We have had some visitors already this morning from
some of the neighbouring bivouacs. They tell us the Prussians are
reported to have lost 15,000 men in the last three or four days’
fighting, and, what is more interesting, that the Duke, _en grande
tenue_, and followed by a numerous retinue, also in their smartest
uniforms, has just galloped down toward St Denis--that a rumour of
negotiations is afloat, and not a word about advancing. Pretty mess,
then, we are in. If this be true, we may stay in this mud-hole for
a week yet. Fortunately for us, Dynely, who occupies a very fine
house and garden a little way up the street, has a most abundant well
of excellent water, to which he has given my people free access,
although he guards it most jealously from everybody else. My poor
horses suffered last night in getting no drink after their hot march.
7 P.M.--I have already got some little confusion in my notes from
not writing them at once, therefore must jot down to-day whilst
daylight enough yet remains to do so. _Imprimis_, then: This has been
a completely idle day; very fine, very hot, and very dusty. Having
nothing else to do, I have amused myself with rambling about the
place, smoking a cigar here and a cigar there, &c. &c. Bull was more
fortunate than we were last night--he stumbled upon a most excellent
bivouac, which I paid my first visit to this morning, as it is not
far up the street. The place is said to belong to the Prince of
Eckmuhl (Davoust), and must have been a delightful residence; it
is now _tout à fait abimé_. The pleasure-grounds and gardens, laid
out in the English style, are quite delicious, not only from the
lovely shady walks and prettily-disposed shrubberies, but also from
the splendid terraces, and the views they command of Paris and the
neighbourhood. Bull’s guns, &c., are packed amongst parterres of the
choicest and rarest flowers: the _berceaux_ and shady walks form
excellent stables, and there his horses are picketed. The officers
occupy a charming _kiosk_, partly embosomed in wood, but open to
the extensive view over the country toward Paris. Here I found some
of them sleeping on the floor, whilst the vacant blankets of others
marked the spot they had chosen as their own.
The house itself, large and magnificent, had already been completely
pillaged. The doors and windows, where not torn from their frames,
were all flying open; furniture of every kind, broken to pieces, and
partly thrown out into the garden or courts, and partly littering the
rooms; pier-glasses of immense size shivered to atoms; the very walls
defaced and smeared with every species of filth. A few of the rooms
had escaped this species of pollution, and, except the destruction of
their furniture, remained in pretty good order. One of these (which
I wondered at) was very handsome, of fine proportions, well lighted,
and the walls exquisitely painted (_not stamped_), to represent an
Oriental landscape through the open sides of the room, the roof being
supported on pillars, which stood so strongly forward that, at the
first _coup d’œil_, the illusion was complete. Unless this were saved
by the interposition of some officer--a man of taste--I much marvel
at the barbarians leaving it untouched; perhaps whilst I write the
destruction is accomplished, for I left numbers of Dutch, Nassau,
and Belgian gentry wandering about on the hunt for plunder.[9] A
large room adjoining was hung round with very fine prints from
Vernet’s paintings of the French ports, all in rich frames. These,
by some miracle, had all escaped destruction, though not one article
of furniture was left. My friend Hitchins, an amateur, thought it
a pity they should be left for destruction, and appropriated the
whole of them, and not only them, but some fine paintings which he
found elsewhere, and cut out of their frames with his penknife.
This certainly is not justifiable, but his argument is a specious
one--better save them at any rate than leave them to be destroyed by
the Belgians. At the back of the house, on the same floor, had been
a handsome library, but here as elsewhere the genius of destruction
had been busy. The furniture was broken to pieces, the books pulled
from their shelves, scattered over the floor, many of them torn to
pieces, and many, thrown out of the windows, lying in heaps on the
pavement of the court below. The foreigners were not the only busy
people in Garges--our own troops were not idle. Leathes’ servant in
this very house has found a magnificent work in three folio volumes,
splendidly bound--a series of views of the principal buildings and
scenery in France, in the best style of line-engraving. This appears
to have been considered the greatest treasure in the library, being
the only work attempted to be hidden. He found it under a cask in the
wine-cellar, where he had no business. In the gardens and shrubberies
the foreign troops were searching for plunder very systematically.
Armed with watering-pots, they proceeded regularly over the ground,
watering as they went, and whenever the moisture was quickly
absorbed, dug. In this manner I understand they have already found
many valuable things--certes, whilst I was at this chateau they found
a batch of very fine wine buried under a flower-bed. Our men are not
so indefatigable; they certainly take what they want when it presents
itself, but do not give themselves much trouble in hunting things up.
A party of Dutch (Protestants) broke into the church this morning,
and after amusing themselves for a time with dressing themselves
in the priests’ garments, &c., and turning into ridicule the Roman
Catholic ceremonies, finished by breaking to pieces the altar and
destroying everything they found in the church or vestry. Our allies
are by no means an amiable set, nor very cordial with us. If an
English corps (as Bull’s troop) occupy a chateau and its grounds,
still they leave free ingress and egress to any others so long as
they do not interfere with them. On the contrary, a single Dutch,
Nassau, or Belge, will sometimes (if a commanding officer) occupy
a whole place himself: sentinels are placed at every gate, and the
place strictly _tabooed_. They are a brutal set. The Dutch appear the
best. They are all uncommonly insolent to us.
_July 5th._--Our conjectures as to the business which took the Duke
to St Denis yesterday prove to be correct. It is rumoured this
morning that the preliminaries of peace are signed, and that the _war
is at an end_! So terminates, then, our campaign--short, but active,
brilliant, and honourable to all concerned. Another fine but hot day.
This morning rode to Gonesse, the headquarters, through a country no
doubt pretty enough before our arrival, but in which armed men now
occupy the place of vines and fig-trees, &c.--in short, one continued
bivouac. Arnouvilles, through which I passed, is a pretty village,
and, although the houses were filled with soldiers, did not seem to
have suffered like many other places, especially that unfortunate
Garges. Four short but well-built and clean streets branch off from
a pretty circus, the area of which is a nice smooth turf planted
round with young elms. The shrubberies and pleasure-grounds of the
Archbishop of ---- (I forget who), all untouched and in good order,
added to the pleasing appearance of the place, forming, as it did,
such a contrast with the desolate state of the surrounding country.
Louis XVIII. occupies the palace, and his Suisses, gardes du corps,
&c., the village. Gonesse is a nasty, dirty, gloomy place, and I made
little stay there after getting my English letters. My garden begins
already to be _home_, spite of its _désagrémens_.
_July 6th._--All quiet; not a word about moving. Hitchins and I were
both very ill last night after drinking some coffee. This we had
brought with us, and therefore it was good: the horrible water here
must have caused our illness. Passed the whole morning in idling
about the street. There is a very pretty house with (apparently)
delicious gardens at the upper end of the town; but some Dutch
colonel has got possession, and his sentry turned me from the gate
rather rudely. This evening the Doctor and I rode down to St Denis
to see the lions. The French outposts had been withdrawn and their
barricade removed, so that nothing impeded our progress until we
arrived at the entrance of the town, and had a glimpse of the
long dusky perspective of its principal street; but here we found
an English guard, whose orders were to permit no one (officer or
soldier) to enter the place. This was somewhat of a disappointment,
but we must see it soon. Just at the entrance to the town is a very
fine barrack of grey stone, with a spacious parade, separated from
the road by a handsome _grille_ or iron railing. The little muddy
rivulet which runs through Garges and Dugny crosses the road, just
by the entrance, into St Denis, and then falls into the Seine.
This feature had been taken advantage of in the intended military
defence: the bridge removed and a battery constructed with earth
and casks quite across the road. The approach to St Denis on this
side is very fine; for at a short distance from this battery three
chaussées converge to a point, and a more magnificent _coup d’œil_
cannot be conceived than that which presents itself to a person
placing himself at the point of union, which at once commands three
splendid avenues of the finest elms joining overhead and forming so
many lofty arches. From Garges to this point our bivouacs extend; and
the rich harvest of wheat which had covered the adjacent fields is
completely trodden down. Just by the _etoile_ formed by the meeting
of the roads, we found Dick Jones encamped with his corps (about 500)
of Flemish waggoners with their horses and waggons--a motley and not
unpicturesque crew, with their blue smock-frocks and _bonnets de
nuit_, wooden shoes, &c., as they sat in groups cooking, or smoking
their short pipes. As it was yet early, we did not relish returning
immediately to Garges and therefore made a detour to the left
through the vineyards, plantations of artichokes, rose-bushes, &c.
It was quite refreshing to find this part of the country untouched,
everything uninjured and thriving. But there were no vine-dressers,
no inhabitants of any kind--not a soul; field and houses all alike
deserted. Philosophising as we went on the horrors of war and the
beauty of the scenery we were passing through, which contrasted so
strongly with that about Garges and every other place where the
army halted, we rather unexpectedly entered a pretty village--that
is, it had been once so; now devastation had visited it, and the
forlorn deserted street was everywhere encumbered as usual with
broken glass and fragments of furniture, &c.; every window in the
place was destroyed. In front of the church was a small open space,
whence a handsome lodge and _grille_ gave a view of a long avenue
terminated by a chateau. In this place about twenty or thirty hussar
horses were standing linked together under charge of one hussar. I
believe these people were Prussians, but I can’t say. From this man
we learned that his comrades were at the chateau, and thither we
went, curious to ascertain what they did there. We were certainly not
quite so much shocked at the scene of ruin and havoc which presented
itself as we went down the avenue as we should have been a week ago;
they are becoming familiar now. The fragments of sofas, chairs,
tables, &c., lying about the grass, bespoke a richly-furnished
house, and the nearer we drew to the house the thicker became these
signs of vengeance. Large pieces of painted paper torn from the
walls, remnants of superb silk window-curtains, with their deep
rich fringe, hung amongst the bushes; broken mirrors and costly
lustres covered the ground in such a manner as to render it difficult
to avoid hurting our horses’ feet--the brilliant drops of these
last, scattered amongst the grass, might, with a little stretch
of imagination, have induced us to believe ourselves traversing
Sinbad’s valley of diamonds; slabs of the rarest marble, torn from
the chimney-pieces, lay shattered to atoms; even the beds had been
ripped open, and the contents given to the winds, and conveyed by
them to all parts of the park, covering in some places the ground
like newly-fallen snow. The trees of the avenue were cut and hacked,
and large patches of bark torn off--many were blackened and scorched
by fires made at the foot of them, with the mahogany furniture for
fuel; the shrubs cut down or torn up by the roots; the very turf
itself turned up or trampled into mud by the feet of men and horses.
Hitchins and I dismounted at the grand entrance into the house; and,
by way of securing our horses, shut them up in a little room to which
a door was still left, and proceeded to inspect the interior of this
once splendid mansion. Shouts and laughter resounded through the
building. The hussars were busy completing the work of destruction;
and as we passed the magnificent stairs leading up from the hall,
we narrowly escaped being crushed under a large mirror which these
gentlemen at that very moment launched over the banisters above with
loud cheers. The ground-floor on the side fronting the park consisted
of a suite of magnificent rooms, lofty, finely proportioned, and
lighted by a profusion (as we should deem it) of windows down to the
floor. These had been most luxuriously and richly furnished; now they
were empty, the papering hanging in rags from the walls, and even
the cornices destroyed more or less. Every kind of abuse of France
and the French was written on the walls. In one room was the remnant
of a grand piano. The sad reflections awakened by this sight may be
more easily conceived than described, and I turned from it with a
sickening and overwhelming sensation of disgust, in which I am sure
Hitchins fully participated. The next room seemed to have been chosen
as the place of execution of all the porcelain in the house, which
had there been collected for a grand smash. The handsomest Sêvre and
Dresden vases, tea and dinner services, formed heaps of fragments all
over the floor, and a large porcelain stove had shared the same fate.
Another room had been lined with mirrors from the ceiling to the
floor; it appeared these had been made targets of, for many were the
marks of pistol-balls on the walls they had covered; little remained
of these except some parts of their rich gilt frames. The last room
of the suite had the end farthest from the windows semicircular,
and this end had been fitted up with benches, _en amphithéâtre_.
The whole of this room was painted to represent the interior of
a forest, and on one side was a pool of water, in which several
naked nymphs were amusing themselves. The plaster was torn down in
large patches, and the nymphs stabbed all over with bayonets. The
upper floor consisted of bed-rooms, dressing-rooms, and baths, and
exhibited the same melancholy destruction as those below; even the
leaden lining of the baths, the leaden water-pipes, &c., were cut to
pieces. On inquiring of one hussar why they so particularly wreaked
their vengeance on this house, he said because it belonged to Jerome
Buonaparte, whom every German detested. Having seen enough here, we
looked into another chateau somewhat smaller, but which had also been
something very fine; it was precisely in the same state. A very fine
library had been here, but the books had been thrown out of window; a
small pond below had received multitudes of them, and the rest were
scattered all over the park. In the pond I saw several beautiful
Oriental MSS., and I fished out a pretty little edition of ‘Seneca,’
which I pocketed. Disgusted, we returned to our garden, which, by the
by, begins to look rather the worse for wear, and I hope if we stay
any longer we may be able to get into some house.
_July 7th._--Fine hot day. Since early morning the road from Paris
has been crowded with people of all ages, sexes, and conditions
flocking to Arnouvilles to greet their _beloved monarch_. The whole
population seems to have turned out, so continuous is the stream.
Berlines, caleches, equestrians, and pedestrians, flow along without
cessation or diminution of numbers. All are in their _habits de
Dimanche_, and all gay and merry. It is a perfect holiday, which
all seem to enjoy without alloy. I could scarcely persuade myself
that the gay throng passing before me was the same that, after being
accustomed for a quarter of a century to look upon themselves as
invincible, then twice within a twelvemonth saw themselves humbled to
the dust, and those whom they had so long been accustomed to trample
on in military possession of their capital, who now were hastening
to do homage to the family twice driven from their throne--and who,
in traversing the bivouac of their conquerors, saw on all sides
the wreck and ruin of their own houses, fields, and gardens;--yet,
nothing daunted, on they went, laughing, chatting, and even singing,
in the gayest of all possible moods. For them it was a _jour de
fête_, which they seemed determined to enjoy, no matter what its
origin. The smart dresses and lively colour contrasted strongly with
the dingy clothing, hardy embrowned visages, and apathetic demeanour
of our soldiery, who lounged at the roadside, amused by the passing
crowd. There were the members of the Legislative Assembly in their
embroidered uniforms, some in carriages, some on horseback, others
walking and looking dignified; near them, perhaps, a group of pretty
brunettes, with brilliant black eyes and coquettishly arranged
_cornettes_. Then comes a National Guardsman with his blue and red
uniform, with white breeches and _brown-topped boots_, strutting
along most consequentially, a handkerchief in hand, which ever
and anon he applies to wipe away the dust from his fair face. High
and low, rich and poor, jostle along together; and not the least
remarkable amongst them is the _limonadier_, in his light cotton
jacket and cocked-hat. On his back is suspended a tall machine of
lustrous tin or some such metal, picked out with brass. Its shape
is that of a Chinese pagoda, and from the lower part of it two long
slender leaden pipes, terminating in brass cocks, lead round under
his right arm. _Chemin faisant_, the tumblers which he carries in his
left hand are filled from one or other cock as may be called for,
and handed to his fellow-travellers. One cock furnishes lemonade,
but of the produce of the other I am ignorant--perhaps a light
beer, for the French seem fond of such thin drinks, although the
constant repetition of the words “_Eau de vie_” (sometimes “_Au de
vis_”) indicates that they are not altogether averse to something
more stimulating. In the afternoon I mounted Cossack and joined the
throng. There was no choice but to go at their pace, so completely
filled was the road. The easy, natural, good-humoured manner in which
my companions, right and left, chatted and laughed with me, left no
room to feel one’s self a foreigner, much less an enemy. We were all
“_hail fellow well met_.” Occasional openings allowed me from time
to time to push on, and thus change my company. There was, however,
no difference between them in one respect--I always found my new
friends just as chatty and good-humoured as those left behind.
At Arnouvilles, still following the stream, I was swept into
the palace gardens, and found myself in the midst of a most gay
_fête-champêtre_. All had come provided with a little basket, or
something of the sort, and now, seated round a clean white cloth
spread on the grass, numerous parties were enjoying at once the
coolness and fragrance under the shade of fine trees or thickets
of acacias, laburnums, syringas, &c. &c. Merry laughter, and an
occasional “Vive le Roi!” resounded on all sides, and was from time
to time responded to more loudly by the crowd assembled without, all
anxious to get a sight of their _new old_ King. I longed to try the
same experiment as at Senlis, but did not dare.[10] Handsome young
men of the Garde-de-Corps, in their classical helmets and brilliant
uniforms, were strolling along the gravel walk, their countenances
radiant with joy. I could not but sympathise with them in thus
returning into the bosom of their country, and again meeting with
those dearest to them after an absence which, though short, had at
its commencement promised a most hopeless duration. Indeed, I did
witness more than one tender recognition and affectionate embrace.
In the palace his majesty was holding a levee, which, judging from
the numbers crowding in, must have been very fatiguing work. Whilst
strolling about amidst this scene of festivity, the sharp notes of a
trumpet recalled me to the palace, where I found all bustle. It was
the _bout-selle_ that had sounded, and the Garde-de-Corps was already
formed on parade to accompany the advance of the royal cortège.
As I wished to see this, and had as yet not dined, I returned
forthwith to Garges, which a diminution of the throng fortunately
allowed me to do speedily, and having got my dinner, regained the
highroad (which crosses at the higher end of our village) just as
the cortège and crowd came up. First marched the Garde-de-Corps,
resplendent with steel and silver; then came the Garde Suisse, about
two hundred as handsome young men as can well be imagined, and such
as I never before saw in one body--tall, straight, even genteel
figures. They owed nothing to their dress, which was shabby in the
extreme--old threadbare frock-coats, once blue, now of any colour,
and sufficiently ragged; trousers to match, and mean misshapen
forage-caps; arms and accoutrements all wanting--to be sure, some
of them carried sticks; knapsacks of long-haired goatskins, once
white, but now of a reddish-yellow hue. To these succeeded five or
six 4-pounders, in style and equipment a fitting match for such
soldiers, who, I should have added, marched along very dejectedly, as
if ashamed of their mean appearance. The guns were drawn by little
ragged farmers’ horses, with their own common harness, driven by the
_cultivateur_ himself in his smock-frock, night-cap, and _sabots_;
carriages, deplorably in want of paint, and further disguised by
Belgic mud still adhering to them, were loaded (limbers, trails,
and all) with women, children, and bundles; a few old cannoneers,
quite in keeping with all the rest, walked beside the wheels;--the
whole corps more fit to march through Coventry than to accompany the
triumphal entry of a monarch into his capital, and that eminently
military. The royal carriages, drawn by post-horses, came next,
and in outward appearance were little better than those of his
majesty’s guns. Louis was in the last carriage, and a dense cloud
of pedestrians, with a plentiful admixture of British officers on
horseback, closed the procession. I accompanied the throng as far
as St Denis, which took up a considerable time, since its movements
were necessarily slow. No complimentary movement was made by our
troops, although his majesty passed through the midst of us. The more
curious crowded to the roadside, which was lined by them, but all in
their fatigue-jackets, or even without any--but numbers remained at
their occupations, or sitting smoking at a distance. The brigade of
Highlanders alone cheered as the King passed through their bivouac.
Why was this? Is there any connection between this and the protection
afforded the Stuarts by the Bourbon family? Certain it is that the
Highlanders alone cheered! The entrance to St Denis was almost
impossible, such was the multitude choking up the street, peasantry
as well as citizens; and, as the royal carriages approached, they
made the air ring with their shouts of “Vive le Roi!” “Vivent les
Bourbons!” Only a short month ago, perhaps, these same people, and
on this very spot, had shouted as lustily, “Vive l’Empereur!” “Vive
Napoleon!” “A bas les Bourbons!” &c. &c. I never felt prouder of
being an Englishman! From Garges to St Denis I kept close to the
royal carriage, watching the countenance of his majesty in order
to detect any emotion. He betrayed none. It was calm, serious, and
unvarying in general, occasionally illumined by a faint smile as he
returned salutations, but the smile was evanescent--very--and the
features immediately resumed their calmness. Our troops seemed to
attract considerable interest, particularly the Highlanders; and to
every English officer he paid most marked attention, returning their
salutes with eagerness and punctilio.