CHAPTER XVII.

_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.