CHAPTER XIX.

_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.