_July 17th._--Alas! how transient is all earthly happiness! To-morrow
I quit Colombes and my delightful residence for ever; except, indeed,
I pay it a casual visit, and that I shall hardly have heart to do. A
few short days passed in this elysium have endeared it to me beyond
expression, and, spite of certain little differences, M. Ferdinand
and I have become quite friends. The old man’s manner is always so
kind that I really believe he likes me; but then these French are
consummate _blagueurs_. Our principal quarrel has been invariably
about wine. At first he always produced such as would have done
honour to any table, but by degrees he began from time to time to
introduce a bottle of inferior quality. It was, however, too late;
our palates were formed, and could bear nothing but the best, which
we insisted on having, spite of his equivocations and harangues to
prove to us that we were no judges of wine. Some droll scenes have
arisen out of this; for we discovered that M. Ferdinand has the
greatest horror of our invading his territory, and availed ourselves
of the discovery whenever he tried to play us a trick. Nothing could
be more comical than the expression which his countenance assumed on
these occasions. “Ferdinand!” “Monsieur!” “Ce vin ci n’est pas bon!”
“Ce vin n’est pas bon, monsieur?” arching his grey eyebrows. “Non, il
est exécrable, vilain.” “Mais, monsieur,” with emphasis, “c’est du
meilleur vin de la cave, je vous assure;” and then, with an “Excusez,
monsieur!” he takes the bottle, pours a little wine into the palm of
his hand, tastes it, makes a grimace indicative of pleasure, rubs
down his stomach with feigned ecstasy, and exclaims, “Dieu merci,
comme il est excellent!” “Eh bien, M. Ferdinand, vous ne savez plus
plaire à notre gout; allez vous en, cherchez une chandelle et la clef
de la cave, j’y descendrai choisir moi-même,” &c. &c. This always
produced the desired effect--the comic expression of his countenance
would give place to one of extreme anxiety. “Tenez, monsieur!--tenez!
cela ne sera pas bon; la cave est si obscure, si humide. Ah, je ne
le permettrai jamais. Si monsieur le trouve bon, je descendrai
chercher d’autre vin, et peut-être je serais plus heureux.” Without
waiting for a reply, he would brush off with the activity of a man
twenty years younger. In due time, allowing for the supposed search,
re-enter M. Ferdinand with a joyous countenance and bottle in hand,
from which, the long cork duly extracted, he would deliberately
fill a _large_ glass, look exultingly around, and, making a most
profound bow (without, however, spilling one drop), drink “au
bonheur de Monsieur le Commandant et des braves Anglais,” then
triumphantly plant the bottle on the table with renewed assurances
of the excellence of its contents, which we invariably found to be
perfectly true. On the whole, however, as I before said, we were
excellent friends, and Monsieur le Commandant a special favourite
with honest Ferdinand, whose attentions were unremitting. It grieves
me, certainly, leaving Colombes--but go I must.
Yesterday Sir George Wood received despatches from Lord Mulgrave
appointing Sir John May and Major William Lloyd to the two troops
vacant by the deaths of Ramsay and Bean. This is a disappointment,
for I had fully expected one of them; however, it is somewhat
softened by the handsome manner in which his lordship directs that
I be retained as a supernumerary captain of horse-artillery until a
vacancy may occur, which it is known must be soon, for poor Lloyd
is too severely wounded to survive. But the worst part of the story
is, that my old troop, in which I have now been nine years, is to be
taken from me and given to Major Wilmot, who has just arrived from
England, and I am to go to D Troop, late Bean’s, now Lloyd’s, and no
doubt soon to be mine. This morning Sir Augustus Frazer inspected
G Troop, previously to my giving it up to Wilmot, in the field by
the side of the road from Neuilly Bridge to L’Etoile. I took the
opportunity of complaining that certain malicious reports had been
circulated by persons unknown, to the injury of my character. These
set forth that the great loss sustained by G Troop on the 18th
arose from my culpable stupidity in having unnecessarily exposed my
detachment, gun-horses, &c. Sir Augustus acknowledged having heard
such a report, which he had taken every pains to contradict, and
added, “I have told everybody that the imputation is false; and,
moreover, that if blame attach to any one, it must be to myself
and Major M’Donald, for I placed you in your position, and both of
us visited you repeatedly during the action, and ought to have
corrected anything that was wrong.” This has been some ill-natured,
jealous person, who envies us the little credit we got on that
occasion.
After our inspection I sent Newland home with the troop, and
accompanied Sir Augustus to La Chapelle under Montmartre, on the
road to St Denis, where he inspected the D Troop, now commanded by
Major D., previously to his giving it up to me to-morrow. It is a
wretched troop, and very badly officered; the state of discipline
such as I never thought could have existed in such a perfect service
as the horse-artillery. Frazer flattered me by saying, in answer to
my complaint, “Never mind; I am sure you will soon have it in a very
different state.” I hope so. To-morrow, then, I depart hence--give
up my elysium, and exchange one of the very finest troops in the
service for the _very worst_. But I must try and bring down my
journal, if possible, to the present day, so as to begin a new score
at my new station, wherever that may be. The 13th was the wet day on
which I last wrote, and then did not finish up to the date, I think
the 12th. Hitchins and I breakfasted at seven, and set off together
immediately after for Paris. The road thither, with the exception
of the naked plain between this and Courbevoie, is most interesting.
At the Place Louis Quinze we dismounted, and Milward brought the
horses back, whilst we continued on towards the Louvre by the Rue
de Rivoli, &c. The Louvre is now in all its glory--nothing has been
touched, although restoration is talked of. The Place du Carrousel we
found occupied by Prussian infantry in bivouac. Not far off, near the
Boulevard de la Madelaine, are several large timber-yards. Blucher,
less scrupulous than Wellington, has emptied the contents of one of
these on the Place du Carrousel, where his people have constructed
a little town of sheds or shanties with the planks. A singular
spectacle is this bivouac. The sheds form regular streets parallel
to the Grille; along the centre of these are lines of fires, with
camp-kettles suspended over them, and soldiers in most slovenly (even
beggarly) _déshabillé_ sitting round, peeling potatoes, turnips,
onions, &c., or cutting up very carrion-like meat for their messes.
A chain of sentries kept back the crowd, which was immense--all
eager to see the warriors so often beaten by their own troops, now
in their turn conquerors, and enjoying the fruits of their victory
on the very ground where the mighty Emperor of the West had passed
in review those _soi-disant_ invincible legions, and whence they had
successively departed for Madrid, Vienna, Jena, and Moscow.
Except a scowling ex-_militaire_ here and there, nothing could exceed
the _bonhommie_ apparent in every countenance. Curiosity--pure
curiosity--had drawn them thither, and their staring physiognomies
did not betray an idea beyond the gratification of it. What a
holiday for the Parisians this is, after all! The city seems in
a continued state of festivity, and at the same time of fever.
Amidst such a crowd and such excitement it was not possible to
indulge reflections; yet, spite of these, a confused jumble of
very curious ones flashed across my mind as, _en passant_, I
contemplated this host of foreigners, domesticated, as it were, on
the _sacred territory_; beyond them, and overtopping their temporary
dwellings, the celebrated triumphal arch, surmounted by the four
Venetian horses; and beyond these again, the immense façade (dark
and gloomy) of the Tuileries, scene of such strange and startling
events. Struggling through the crowd, our approach to the Gallery
of the Louvre was announced by a host of boys and women, “A bill of
the play, sir?” “Please to buy a bill of the play?” which was soon
exchanged for “Catalogue du musée, monsieur? un franc, monsieur.”
“Voulez-vous un catalogue du musée, monsieur?” &c. &c. These people
are more persevering than our vendors of these articles; however,
the purchase of one was a mouth-stopper, and we were then suffered
to proceed unmolested to the great doors, where two servants, most
respectably dressed in blue and silver, with white waistcoat and
breeches, received us, and pointed out the way to the first _salon_.
A perfect stream, almost all foreigners, was setting in, and the
_salons_ were already pretty full, although so early in the day. I
cannot set up for a connoisseur either in painting or sculpture,
therefore have little to record of this celebrated collection beyond
my unfeigned admiration of what I there saw. My emotions in each
individual _rencontre_ with the different _chefs-d’œuvre_ here
assembled might be a source of amusement to myself at some future
period had I faithfully noted them down at the moment, but that was
impossible in such a crowd; moreover, I had a companion, the most
complete hindrance imaginable in my estimation to the enjoyment of
anything admirable either in art or nature. Now they are nearly
obliterated, and I can only say that I was delighted, though in some
cases disappointed. This was particularly the case with the Venus de
Medici. I scarcely know what I expected to see; but when a statue,
patched and cracked, the marble discoloured and disfigured with
greenish stains, such as one sees in our garden Neptunes, Tritons,
&c., was pointed out by the number in our catalogue as the Venus, I
could scarcely believe but that it must be a mistake. Such was the
effect of the first _coup d’œil_. Upon a more attentive examination,
however, I could not but admit the thing to be a most beautiful
piece of workmanship as such; and the lady represented a very pretty
woman, but I felt no raptures. The colossal group of the Laocoon,
occupying, like an altar-piece, the whole extremity of the same
apartment, hence called the Salle de Laocoon, had no charms for me.
In the first place, I dislike colossal statues as much as I dislike
allegorical paintings; both are a departure from nature, which I am
not poetical enough to appreciate. Secondly, I hate such subjects--I
hate a gratuitous contemplation of horrors and suffering--and to me
there is something exquisitely disgusting in this subject. Thirdly,
I dislike all attempts at representing violent action either in
painting or sculpture, except for a momentary glance; they cannot
deceive the senses--there is no illusion. Specimens of either should
be subjects to dwell upon, to contemplate, to study. But who can
dwell upon action that _stands still_? What can be more tiresome
than the continually-uplifted arm of the Laocoon, or the immovable
struggles of the two little (by comparison) men (for they are not
boys), with formal curly wigs, on each side of him. In short, I
hate this so far-famed group. Occupying the extremity of the next
_salle_, is the Apollo. Here I was not disappointed. The action has
just ceased--the figure is in a sufficient state of repose to keep up
the illusion and bear continued looking at. And who could ever tire
of this? Such grace and ease, such lightness and activity--activity
written in broad characters upon a figure not in movement--such an
elegant and perfect form, and such a divine head! How often I have
returned to gaze upon this most perfect conception of the human
mind--this most perfect execution of the human hand! How often have I
turned into the _musée_, and, heedless of the Venus, the Laocoon, and
all the other celebrated statues in my way, have passed along, seeing
nothing and heeding nothing, until I stood once more before this most
exquisite piece of statuary! In collections of this kind too many
choice _morceaux_ in juxtaposition, or in immediate neighbourhood,
injure each other--they distract the attention; and it is only after
repeated visits that we become cool enough to attach ourselves to
particular pieces. It was thus with me at my first visit both to
these and the _galerie_; and I have felt the same effect in passing
through a wild and picturesque country exhibiting beautiful features
and pictures at every turn. I have been cloyed, even fatigued; and
looked with pleasure on, and found relief in, a landscape of a tamer
description.
From the _salons_ we ascended to the Galerie du Louvre by a most
superb staircase. English riflemen were posted, not only on the
landing-place, but also distributed at intervals through the whole
length of the gallery--whether to preserve order or the pictures, I
know not; but I do know that the appearance of their green uniforms,
as they stood leaning on their rifles all along this magnificent
perspective, was another of those sights calculated to excite in our
minds such strange tumultuous feelings. What must have been those
of the Parisians, of whom a part of the immense crowd that thronged
the _galerie_ and anteroom was composed? They apprehend that the
spoliation will commence directly, and are therefore assiduous in
their worship of those treasures about to quit them for ever, and
with them, they think, their national glory. The only record I make
of the _galerie_ is, that Poussin’s “Deluge” fascinated me. Never did
I see a picture inspiring so much awe. Paul Potter’s “Bull” pleased
me as an inimitable copy from nature, but as a picture it struck me
as wanting in poetry. Some beggar-boy, by Murillo, perfectly ravished
me, _malgré_ the disgusting subject: here was nature and the most
delicious colouring imaginable.
As both Hitchins and I proposed paying many more visits to the
_musée_, we did little more than walk to the end of the _galerie_ and
back, and then departed, crossed the Prussian bivouac, and wandered
into the palace of the Tuileries. We went as we listed, no one
offering us the slightest obstruction; and the sentinels (I think
they were of the National Guard), although they did not salute us,
yet drew up respectfully at their posts as we passed them. Ascending
a magnificent staircase, we found our way into a large handsome
saloon, over the fireplace in which was a very fine painting of a
battle. I think this was the Salle des Maréchaux. There was not
a living soul to answer our questions; but I have since learned
that what I took for a painting was a piece of Gobelins tapestry.
Unheeded, we rambled on from one large room to another; indeed we
met but few anywhere, until at last we walked most unceremoniously
into one where a number of servants in the royal livery were laying
a dinner-table, which, to our astonishment, we found was for his
Majesty. They hardly noticed us, and answered all our questions in a
most good-natured but most respectful manner. There was a beautiful
service of Worcester ware, and, for a private gentleman, a decent
display of plate, but nothing more--so far all was respectable; but
what a table-cloth! I doubt whether most of our gentry of even the
second table wouldn’t turn up their insolent noses at such a one.
Sure I am that no gentleman in England ever sits down to so coarse
a thing. As dinner was just coming up, the butler (I suppose) very
civilly begged us to retire, as his Majesty would be in immediately.
We descended to the gardens. I had heard and read so much of the
gardens of the Tuileries, that here I experienced a disappointment
similar to that inflicted by the Champs Elysées. Nevertheless they
certainly form a very agreeable promenade. That part immediately
under the windows of the palace is laid out in parterres of
flower-beds of different geometrical figure. I should say that the
garden is a dead level.[15] Between the parterres are broad walks,
well rolled and well swept. The further part is a grove, forming a
cool and pleasant promenade or lounge, much taken advantage of by
the Parisians, who may be seen lounging in one or two chairs, as may
be, in all directions. These chairs are the property of individuals
who bring them there, and make a livelihood by letting them out at
two or three sous the chair. Similar accommodation, it appears,
is to be found in every public place, even in the Boulevards. The
ramparts (rather grandiloquent, when speaking of a mere terrace),
which surround the garden on three sides, are planted also, and
afford a most interesting promenade from the views they command;
yet, strange to say, people appear to prefer the more confined
one below. Although I do not like the formal laying out of these
gardens, yet can I not but confess there is something very lordly
(or kingly) in them. The broad, well-kept gravel-walks, the play
of the fountains, the numerous orange-trees in boxes, which fill
the air with their delicious but rather overpowering perfume, the
multitude of statues, the view down the centre _allée_, which is
prolonged into an immense perspective by being on the same line with
that of the Champs Elysées, and on the other hand the ancient and
venerable pile, with its numerous windows, long covered verandas,
&c., overlooking the whole. The gaily-dressed crowd, too, by which
the garden is almost always filled, gives it a holiday air very
pleasing. Passing once more through the palace and traversing the
Place du Carrousel, we soon reached the southern entrance of the
Palais Royal. It was “change time,” and the place in front of the
gate was filled with business-like people, exactly as in our Royal
Exchange. What a strange propensity the French have for misnomers! On
entering the so-called “_garden_”[16] of the Palais Royal, I was for
the third time disappointed. Instead of a garden I found myself in an
immense arid esplanade, surrounded (at least on three sides) by lofty
uniform buildings, the façade of which was decorated by Corinthian
pilasters, and surmounted by vases, &c. An arcade ran all round the
base. The side by which we entered was disfigured by a shabby wooden
erection, under which were numerous stalls of petty dealers in every
sort of articles, but apparently all of inferior quality. Under
the arcades were shops of a better description, intermingled with
cafés, restaurants, &c., and here was certainly a splendid display of
goods of the richest kind. Watch-makers exhibited the most elegant
little toys, enriched with pearls and chased-work; jewellers the most
splendid articles in precious stone, gold, silver, &c.; shops of
_gourmandise_ (if I may be allowed the term)--everything that could
stimulate or pamper the appetite. Many were entirely filled with
knick-knackery, or articles of _vertu_; others with steel or cutlery;
in others, again, were tastefully displayed the finest cashmere or
merino shawls and _fichûs_ of the most brilliant colours. In short,
I cannot remember the tenth part of the rich display under these
arcades.
In the esplanade were a few shabby trees, some benches, and piles
of chairs. The crowd of loungers, &c. (for I presume most there
were so), under the arcades, was very great, principally, I think,
military. Prussian and Russian officers in blue or green uniforms,
waists drawn in like a wasp’s, breasts sticking out like a pigeon’s;
long sashes, with huge tassels of gold or silver, hanging half-way
down their legs--pretty red and white boyish faces, with an enormous
bush of hair over each ear; lancers in square-topped caps and waving
plumes; hussars in various rich uniforms, one more remarkable,
sky-blue, curiously laced with a sort of chain-lace, very ugly to
my taste; Austrian officers in plain white uniforms, turned up
with red--very neat, very soldier-like, very becoming, and the
men who wore them more gentlemanly in their appearance than any
of the others; English officers in all sorts of dresses, fancy,
half-military, and quite so. To say that women abounded amongst
these would be almost superfluous--some very handsome, some quite
the contrary--all wearing looks of the boldest and most meretricious
character. Boys, too, abounded, as in the Pays Bas, following
and pestering you with their odious propositions. The cafés and
restaurants were principally filled with officers smoking, drinking,
playing chess, &c. &c. A few turns in the promenade, and then it
was so late that we returned to the Place Louis Quinze, whence a
cabriolet in due time brought us to our quiet peaceable village.
The next day (13th), although it looked black and threatening, we
went to Paris; but the rain set in so heavily that we returned
forthwith, most completely drenched, to Colombes, having seen nothing.
The 14th was fine again, and I resolved on an expedition to Malmaison
and Versailles if possible. The road lay through Nanterre, on the
_coteau_, but a little elevated above the meadows through which the
Seine holds its course. The scenery, without being very striking,
was very pleasing and pretty. On my right at some little distance
ran the river, beyond which rose a ridge of vine-clad hills, a
continuation of those behind Argenteuil; on the left, the vineyard,
corn-fields, and rose-gardens terminated in a range of high ground,
wooded, continuing from Mont Valerien towards Marly, where the
water-works, projecting from the there steep acclivity, formed rather
a picturesque object--following the windings of the Seine through
a less interesting country (because all corn). In the distance one
sees the chateau of St Germain, with its long white terrace, backed
by the dark foliage of the park; beneath, the waters of the river
glitter like silver in the bright light. Malmaison is on the higher
ground; and on ascending to the park-gates, I was pleased to find
two neat little lodges, and an entrance perfectly English, which was
the style all around. The house had nothing extraordinary in its
appearance, but the little lawn in front was redolent of the perfume
of the orange-flower, numerous trees being ranged around all in full
blossom. I found but few servants in the house; on asking to see
which, a lady-like person was called, who acted as cicerone with the
easy and graceful manner so characteristic of French women. Had it
not been for the interest one attaches to whatever is connected with
great or extraordinary people, the houses at Malmaison perhaps were
not so much worth seeing as many houses even of our commoners. There
was only one room remarkable for its fitting-up, and it was in other
respects the most interesting. It was Josephine’s bedroom. A little
scene took place here. My companion idolised her former mistress; the
recollections of past times and of her beloved Empress, renewed by my
questions, overpowered her. I believe she was sincere. The furniture
of this room (which was, I think, an octagon) was certainly splendid.
Scarlet cloth (very fine) with trimmings of broad gold-lace, and
deep gold fringe of bullions. The bed-curtains and coverlet were of
the same, and the walls were covered with it instead of paper, the
gold-lace serving as a border to the panels, &c. I did not admire
the taste of Josephine in this. Here it was she expired. Running at
right angles to the front of the house is the _galerie_--a beautiful
_salon_, full of exquisite morsels of sculpture, all modern, but in
my estimation many of them rivalling the antique. Taking leave of
my amiable conductress, I set off to pick my way without a guide
through a woody, intricate, wild country, where the openings were
of no extent, so that no view could be obtained. After riding up
one avenue and down another for some time, I began to fancy I was
lost, when suddenly riding out upon an open I saw several peasants,
male and female, at work near a _bergerie_,[17] which occupied the
centre of the place. I rode forward to inquire my way, when lo! down
went hoes, and away went men, women, and dogs as fast as their legs
could carry them into the neighbouring woods, leaving me as much at
a loss to account for their fright, as to which of the many roads
(_forest_) diverging hence I should take to extricate myself from my
dilemma. As the English nowhere inspire terror, these people must
have taken me for a Prussian hussar, from my pelisse and enormous
mustache. As no information was to be procured, I had nothing left
but to push on and take my chance. I had not ridden far when the
ground began to descend (I had been travelling on an elevated
plateau), the thickets and wood became thinner and more scattered,
and below me I saw several farmhouses. From subsequent inspection
of the map, this must have been La Selle de St Cloud. I rode up to
the first substantial-looking house, tied my horse up in a shed,
and without ceremony marched into the kitchen, where the mistress
and her maids were busily employed in their household concerns. My
entrance did not in the least disconcert them, or even occasion them
any apparent surprise: they entered gaily into conversation without
for a minute interrupting their work. No running away here. I was
very hungry, but, _malgré_ the opulent appearance of the house, the
good lady could give me nothing but bread (sour, as usual), some
very fine cherries, and delicious milk. For this she would accept
no remuneration, but her maids thankfully accepted the trifle I
offered them for their trouble. I found that my deviation from the
direct road to Versailles had not been great; and having received
instructions for my future progress, and taken leave of my kind
hostess, I once more plunged into a forest, from which, however,
I soon emerged upon a cultivated country sprinkled with farms
and villages, and very agreeably diversified with hill, dale, and
woodland. At last the palace of Versailles, overtopping the trees and
buildings in its neighbourhood, burst upon me with imposing grandeur,
and I soon after entered the town.
In front of the palace is a large, almost triangular, esplanade,
narrowing from the palace until it terminates in the road to Paris.
A clumsy thing enough, for when building the palace they might as
well have laid out a handsome square in front of it. The place looked
dull and lifeless, few people, except some Prussian soldiers, being
visible. The number of hotels, taverns, &c. &c., announced it as
the resort of strangers and idlers. The palace itself, from all its
window-shutters being closed, looked as dismal as the rest. Having
secured my horse, I sounded the bell at the palace-gate, which
brought out the _Suisse_, who sounded another bell, which brought a
most gentlemanly, but very melancholy-looking, young man in the royal
livery, who, upon being informed of my wish to see the palace, made
a very polite bow, and requested me to follow him. It were needless
repeating the history he gave of each splendid apartment, and they
appeared innumerable. Solitary and silent, an overpowering sensation
of melancholy came over me in comparing their present deserted state
with that which had for ever passed, and I no longer wondered at
the pensive manner of my interesting young companion, though he was
too young to have known Versailles in the days of its splendour. I
believe, with the exception of ourselves and the _Suisse_, whom we
had left at the gate, this immense fabric did not contain another
living soul. So long did we continue wandering from room to room,
that at last, on returning to the vestibule--no time was left to
visit the _Trianon_ as I had intended, or even the gardens--all that
I saw of them was from a terrace upon which we were admitted from
one of the central _salons_--unless I remained all night. It became
necessary to depart forthwith, or find my way in the dark back to
Colombes.
The great road to Paris is a superb avenue, but it was disfigured by
dust, which, spite of yesterday’s rain, I found a real nuisance.
Numerous were the villas along the road, but, like those in the
neighbourhood of London, the shrubberies in which they were
embowered, and everything about them, was grey and dingy with the
dust with which they were powdered. A great part of this line seemed
inhabited only by washerwomen. The foul linen of all Paris seemed
assembled here. The abundance of fine water, perhaps, is the cause of
this. Pity that some portion of it were not employed in making this
otherwise beautiful ride somewhat more enjoyable. It was growing so
late as I passed Sêvres, that I merely can say I saw the exterior
of the celebrated manufactory of porcelain. A thick dark avenue of
trees, turning to the left, here seemed to promise a short cut to St
Cloud; so up it I turned, but had not proceeded far ere I stumbled on
a guard of Prussian jägers in an old summer-house. The sentry stopped
and ordered me back. The corporal coming out, and finding that I was
an English officer, very civilly informed me that, as Prince Blucher
had his headquarters in the palace of St Cloud, no one was allowed
to cross the park. Back, then, I went, and descending to the Seine
found a good road, by which, passing through St Cloud, Suresnes, &c.,
I returned hither just as it got so dark that I was obliged to my
horse for bringing me safe home. The latter part of my ride along the
charming banks of the river, and in the cool of a fine evening, was
truly delightful.
_15th._--I went to Paris again, wandered about the streets without
any fixed plan, and quite by accident stumbled upon the Hôtel Dieu.
I like this random mode of proceeding much better than following any
fixed plan of sight-seeing: it is more independent. I walked into the
hospital and through its wards. Nothing could be cleaner or better
arranged; but the whole place, especially about the main entrance,
had such an overpowering smell, that I was glad to make my escape
and find my way to the Cathedral of Nôtre Dame. There is something
exceedingly impressive in the interior of a Gothic cathedral at any
time. Mass was performing as I entered the church, the solemnity
of which, from the little light and rather heavy style of the
architecture, was increased by the fine bass voices of the canons who
assisted in the service, every one in his stall. From Nôtre Dame,
after taking an omelet in a neighbouring restaurant, I had a long
stroll by the quays to the Invalides. The old soldiers lounging or
walking about the approaches to this fine establishment, although
perfectly respectful, I thought looked displeased at seeing me. There
were even some who did not attempt to conceal looks and gestures
of hatred and contempt. They are to be pitied more than blamed for
this feeling, since these were the men who fought and _always_
conquered in Italy and Germany. Notwithstanding their scowling
looks, I could not help regarding these fine veterans with the most
profound veneration. I found no difficulty, however, in procuring a
cicerone to show the lions, and under his guidance walked through the
halls, where the tables were already laid for dinner; through the
dormitories, where the beds were all clean and neatly made up, and
looking comfortable, &c. &c. In the officers’ dining-rooms the tables
were also laid--round ones for four or six persons each--not as with
us, all at one long table. A bottle of wine was here placed by the
side of each man’s plate. Nothing could be more comfortable or more
respectable. We then visited the church under the dome where are the
tombs of Turenne and Vauban.[18] All this was not very amusing, but
my guide, leading the way up several staircases, at last ushered me
into a large but low room, immediately under the roof, filled with
beautifully-finished models of almost all the frontier fortresses in
France. Here I passed the remainder of the day most delightfully. The
most interesting of these models were Chateau Trompette; Brest, with
its harbours and the adjacent country for three or four miles round;
Strasbourg and neighbourhood; but one of the most amusing was an
exquisitely-finished model of the battle of Lodi, under a glass bell.
A fine boy of about fifteen or sixteen, to whom my quondam guide had
delivered me over on entering the model-room, excited my surprise,
not only by the clearness with which he explained everything to me,
but also by the shrewdness of his remarks, and the great knowledge
he evinced of military affairs in general; quite an incipient
Buonaparte, I should say--only Buonaparte was never half so handsome.
I could have lingered for a week over these interesting models, but
the diminution of light obliged me at last reluctantly to leave them.
Whilst we were wandering from loft to loft, for there were several,
we came accidentally into one where two or three Prussian officers
were superintending the dismemberment and packing up of all such as
had any relation to the possessions of their monarch; and my young
companion told me he suspected they meant to take away Strasbourg,
and that they had already packed up several which could not come
under that denomination. The poor boy spoke very feelingly on the
subject, and seemed heart-broken at losing his favourite models. I
shall frequently visit the Invalides, unless the Prussians quite
strip it of the models. It will be a delightful lounge, those lofts.
Yesterday, being Sunday, our three troops assembled, under Major
M’Donald, in the park, where Captain M’Donald’s troop is quartered,
and had divine service. Passed the afternoon in riding about the
neighbourhood, and the evening in the enjoyment of my beautiful
terrace, &c. &c.
To-morrow I go in search of my new troop, somewhere about St Denis.