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Title: Before and after Waterloo - Letters from Edward Stanley, sometime Bishop of Norwich (1802; 1814; 1816)
Author: Stanley, Edward, 1779-1849
Language: English
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produced from images available at Bibliothèque nationale
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(http://www.archive.org).



[Illustration: book's cover]



BEFORE AND AFTER WATERLOO

[Illustration: _Le courier du Rhin perd tout en revenant de la foire de
Leipsig._]



BEFORE AND AFTER WATERLOO

LETTERS

FROM

EDWARD STANLEY

SOMETIME BISHOP OF NORWICH

(1802; 1814; 1816)

EDITED BY JANE H. ADEANE AND MAUD GRENFELL

LONDON

T. FISHER UNWIN

ADELPHI TERRACE
MCMVII

(_All rights reserved._)

ECHOES OF PAST DAYS

AT

ALDERLEY RECTORY

[Illustration: _Edward Stanley D.D._

_Bishop of Norwich_

_n. 1780 ob. 1849_]



CONTENTS


                                                                 PAGE

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF EDWARD STANLEY                               9

CHAPTER I
NEW FRANCE AND OLD EUROPE                                          25

CHAPTER II
AFTER NAPOLEON'S FALL                                              73

CHAPTER III
UNDER THE BOURBON FLAG                                             97

CHAPTER IV
ON THE TRACK OF NAPOLEON'S ARMY                                   144

CHAPTER V
THE LOW COUNTRIES                                                 199

CHAPTER VI
THE WATERLOO YEAR                                                 235

CHAPTER VII
AFTER WATERLOO                                                    247

_The originals of most of the letters now published are, with the
drawings that illustrate them, at Llanfawr, Holyhead._

_Some extracts from these letters have already appeared in the "Early
Married Life of Maria Josepha, Lady Stanley," but are here inserted
again by kind permission of Messrs. Longman, and complete Bishop
Stanley's correspondence._

_Portions of letters quoted in Dean Stanley's volume, "Edward and
Catherine Stanley," have also been used with Messrs. Murray's consent._

_In addition to the MSS. at Llanfawr, Lord Stanley of Alderley has
kindly contributed some original letters in his possession._

_J.H.A._



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


"LE COURIER DU RHIN"                                   _Frontispiece_

_Sketch brought to England 1814 by General Scott of Thorpe,
one of the detenus in France for ten years after the rupture
of the Peache of Amiens, mentioned page 73._

BISHOP STANLEY                                       _To face page_ 2

_By John Linnell. From a drawing in the possession of
Canon J. Hugh Way, Henbury._

MARGARET OWEN, LADY STANLEY                              "         10

_From a miniature in the possession of Lady Reade-Carreglwyd,
Anglesey._

"FLIGHT OF INTELLECT"                                    "         17

_Humorous sketch by E. Stanley._

EDWARD STANLEY, 1800                                     "         25

_By P. Green. The original in the possession of Lord Stanley
of Alderley, at Penrhos, Anglesey._

THE PRISON OF THE TEMPLE                                 "         31

_Sketch by E. Stanley, 1802._

THE GUILLOTINE AT CHALON-SUR-SAÔNE                       "         43

_Sketch by E. Stanley,_

LORD SHEFFIELD                                           "         73

_By Sir Joshua Reynolds, P.R.A. From an engraving in the
possession of J.H. Adeane, Lanfavar, Holyhead._

KITTY LEYCESTER, MRS. EDWARD STANLEY                     "         82

_From a drawing by H. Edridge, A.R.A., at Alderley Park,
Cheshire._

PARIS, 1814. OLD BRIDGE AND CHÂTELET                     "        108

_E. Stanley._

PARIS, LA POMPE, NOTRE DAME                              "        115

_E. S._

PARISIAN AMUSEMENTS                                      "        141

_E. S._

THE CATACOMBS, PARIS                                     "        143

_E. S._

LAON. HOUSES AND TOWER, 1814                             "        161

_E. S._

BERRY AU BAC                                             "        164

_E. S._

VERDUN. BRIDGE                                           "        168

_E. Stanley._

FRENCH DILIGENCE                                         "        193

_E. S._

DUTCH SHIPS                                              "        199

_E. S._

DUTCH DILIGENCE ON BOARD A BOAT                          "        219

_E. S._

GOAT CARRIAGE FOR THE LITTLE KING OF ROME                "        223

_E. S._

DUTCH TABLE D'HOTE                                       "        226

_E. S._

OLD HOUSES, SAARDAM                                      "        228

_E. S._

PETER THE GREAT'S HOUSE, SAARDAM                         "        230

_E. S._

DUTCH FISHERMEN                                          "        233

_E. S._

DUTCH CARRIAGE                                           "        234

_E. S._

CORN MILLS AT VERNON                                     "        247

_E. S._

FRENCH CABRIOLET                                         "        260

_E. S._

HOUGOUMONT                                               "        263

_E. S._

INTERIOR OF HOUGOUMONT                                   "        265

_E. S._

LA BELLE ALLIANCE                                        "        267

_E. S._

WATERLOO                                                 "        270

_E. S._

GHENT. ST. NICHOLAS                                      "        274

_E. S._

PORTE DE HALLE, BRUSSELS, LEADING TO WATERLOO            "        276

_E. S._

PARISIAN RAT-CATCHER AND ITINERANT VENDORS                "        300

_E. S._

THE GREAT GREEN COACH                                    "        306

_E. S._

ALDERLEY RECTORY                                           _page_ 308



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF EDWARD STANLEY


The letters which are collected in this volume were written from abroad
during the opening years of the nineteenth century, at three different
periods: after the Peace of Amiens in 1802 and 1803, after the Peace of
Paris in 1814, and in the year following Waterloo, June, 1816.

The writer, Edward Stanley, was for thirty-three years an active country
clergyman, and for twelve years more a no less active bishop, at a time
when such activity was uncommon, though not so rare as is sometimes now
supposed.

Although a member of one of the oldest Cheshire families, he did not
share the opinions of his county neighbours on public questions, and his
voice was fearlessly raised on behalf of causes which are now
triumphant, and against abuses which are now forgotten, but which
acutely needed champions and reformers a hundred years ago.

His foreign journeys, and more especially the first of them, had a large
share in determining the opinions which he afterwards maintained against
great opposition from many of his own class and profession. The sight of
France still smarting under the effects of the Reign of Terror, and of
other countries still sunk in Mediævalism, helped to make him a Liberal
with "a passion for reform and improvement, but without a passion for
destruction."

He was born in 1779, the second son and youngest child of Sir John
Stanley, the Squire of Alderley in Cheshire, and of his wife Margaret
Owen (the Welsh heiress of Penrhos in Holyhead Island), who was one of
the "seven lovely Peggies," well known in Anglesey society in the middle
of the eighteenth century.

The pictures of Edward Stanley and his mother, which still hang on the
walls of her Anglesey home, show that he inherited the brilliant Welsh
colouring, marked eyebrows and flashing dark eyes that gave force as
well as beauty to her face. From her, too, came the romantic Celtic
imagination and fiery energy which enabled him to find interests
everywhere, and to make his mark in a career which was not the one he
would have chosen.

[Illustration: _Margaret Owen, Lady Stanley.

n. 1742 ob. 1816._]

"In early years" (so his son the Dean of Westminster records) "he had
acquired a passion for the sea, which he cherished down to the time of
his entrance at college, and which never left him through life. It first
originated, as he believed, in the delight which he experienced, when
between three and four years of age, on a visit to the seaport of
Weymouth; and long afterwards he retained a vivid recollection of the
point where he caught the first sight of a ship, and shed tears because
he was not allowed to go on board. So strongly was he possessed by the
feeling thus acquired, that as a child he used to leave his bed and
sleep on the shelf of a wardrobe, for the pleasure of imagining himself
in a berth on board a man-of-war.... The passion was overruled by
circumstances beyond his control, but it gave a colour to his whole
after-life. He never ceased to retain a keen interest in everything
relating to the navy.... He seemed instinctively to know the history,
character, and state of every ship and every officer in the service. Old
naval captains were often astonished at finding in him a more accurate
knowledge than their own of when, where, how, and under whom, such and
such vessels had been employed. The stories of begging impostors
professing to be shipwrecked seamen were detected at once by his
cross-examinations. The sight of a ship, the society of sailors, the
embarkation on a voyage, were always sufficient to inspirit and delight
him wherever he might be."

His life, when at his mother's home on the Welsh coast, only increased
this liking, and till he went to Cambridge in 1798 his education had not
been calculated to prepare him for a clerical life. He never received
any instruction in classics; of Greek and Latin and mathematics he knew
nothing, and owing to his schools and tutors being constantly changed,
his general knowledge was of a desultory sort.

His force of character, great perseverance and ambition to excel are
shown in the strenuous manner in which he overcame all these obstacles,
and at the close of his college career at St. John's, Cambridge, became
a wrangler in the Mathematical Tripos of 1802.

After a year passed in foreign travel Edward Stanley returned home at
his brother's request, and took command of the Alderley Volunteers--a
corps of defence raised by him on the family estate in expectation of a
French invasion.

In 1803 he was ordained and became curate of Windlesham, in Surrey.
There he remained until he was presented by his father in 1805 to the
living of Alderley, where he threw himself enthusiastically into his
work.

Alderley parish had long been neglected, and there was plenty of scope
for the young Rector.

Before he came, the clerk used to go to the churchyard stile to see
whether there were any more coming to church, for there were seldom
enough to make a congregation, but before Edward Stanley left, his
parish was one of the best organised of the day. He set on foot schemes
of education throughout the county as well as at Alderley, and was
foremost in all reforms.

The Chancellor of the diocese wrote of him: "He inherited from his
family strong Whig principles, which he always retained, and he never
shrank from advocating those maxims of toleration which at that time
formed the chief watchwords of the Whig party."

He was the first who distinctly saw and boldly advocated the advantages
of general education for the people, and set the example of the extent
to which general knowledge might be communicated in a parochial school.

"To analyse the actual effects of his ministrations on the people would
be difficult, ... but the general result was what might have been
expected. Dissent was all but extinguished. The church was filled, the
communicants many."

He helped to found a Clerical Society, which promoted friendly
intercourse with clergy holding various views, and was never afraid of
avowing his opinions on subjects he thought vital, lest he should in
consequence become unpopular.

He grudged no trouble about anything he undertook, and the people
rejoiced when they heard "the short, quick tramp of his horse's feet as
he went galloping up their lanes." The sick were visited and cheered,
and the children kindly cared for in and out of school.

It was said of him that "whenever there was a drunken fight in the
village and he knew of it, he would always come out to stop it--there
was such a spirit in him."

Tidings were once brought to him of a riotous crowd, which had assembled
to witness a desperate prize fight, adjourned to the outskirts of his
parish, and which the respectable inhabitants were unable to disperse.
"The whole field" (so one of the humbler neighbours represented it) "was
filled and all the trees round about, when in about a quarter of an hour
I saw the Rector coming up the road on his little black horse as quick
as lightning, and I trembled for fear they should harm him. He rode
into the field and just looked round as if he thought the same, to see
who there was that would be on his side. But it was not needed; he rode
into the midst of the crowd and in one moment it was all over. There was
a great calm; the blows stopped; it was as if they would all have wished
to cover themselves up in the earth. All from the trees they dropped
down directly. No one said a word and all went away humbled."

The next day the Rector sent for the two men, not to scold them, but to
speak to them, and sent them each away with a Bible. The effect on the
neighbourhood was very great, and put a stop to the practice which had
been for some time prevalent in the adjacent districts.

His influence was increased by his early knowledge of the people, and by
the long connection of his family with the place.

Two years after Edward had accepted the incumbency, his father died in
London, but he had long before given up living in Cheshire, and Alderley
Park had been occupied at his desire by his eldest son, afterwards Sir
John, who had made his home there since his marriage in 1796.

Both the Stanley brothers married remarkable women. Lady Maria Josepha
Holroyd, Sir John's wife, was the elder daughter of the first Lord
Sheffield, the friend and biographer of Gibbon, and her strong
personality impressed every one who met her.

Catherine, wife of the Rector, was the daughter of the Rev. Oswald
Leycester, of Stoke Rectory, in Shropshire. Her father was one of the
Leycesters of Toft House, only a few miles from Alderley, and at Toft
most of Catherine's early years were spent. She was engaged to Edward
Stanley before she was seventeen, but did not marry him till nearly two
years later, in 1810.

During the interval she spent some time in London with Sir John and Lady
Maria Stanley, and in the literary society of the opening years of the
nineteenth century she was much sought after for her charm and
appreciativeness, and for what Sydney Smith called her "porcelain
understanding." The wits and lions of the Miss Berrys' parties vied with
each other in making much of her; Rogers and Scott delighted in her
conversation--in short, every one agreed, as her sister-in-law Maria
wrote, that "in Kitty Leycester Edward will indeed have a treasure."

After her marriage she kept up with her friends by active correspondence
and by annual visits to London. Still, "to the outside world she was
comparatively unknown; but there was a quiet wisdom, a rare
unselfishness, a calm discrimination, a firm decision which made her
judgment and her influence felt through the whole circle in which she
lived." Her power and charm, coupled with her husband's, made Alderley
Rectory an inspiring home to their children, several of whom inherited
talent to a remarkable degree.

Her sister Maria[1] writes from Hodnet, the home of the poet Heber: "I
want to know all you have been doing since the day that bore me away
from happy Alderley. Oh! the charm of a rectory inhabited by a Reginald
Heber or an Edward Stanley!"

That Rectory and its surroundings have been perfectly described in the
words of the author of "Memorials of a Quiet Life"[2]: "A low house,
with a verandah forming a wide balcony for the upper storey, where
bird-cages hung among the roses; its rooms and passages filled with
pictures, books, and old carved oak furniture. In a country where the
flat pasture lands of Cheshire rise suddenly to the rocky ridge of
Alderley Edge, with the Holy Well under an overhanging cliff; its
gnarled pine-trees, its storm-beaten beacon tower ready to give notice
of an invasion, and looking far over the green plain to the smoke which
indicates in the horizon the presence of the great manufacturing towns."

There was constant intercourse between the Park and the Rectory, and the
two families with a large circle of friends led most interesting and
busy lives. The Rector took delight in helping his seven nieces with
their Italian and Spanish studies, in fostering their love of poetry and
natural history, and in developing the minds of his own young children.
He wrote plays for them to act and birthday odes for them to recite.

[Illustration: THE FLIGHT OF INTELLECT

Skit on the recent discovery of the motive power of steam.--E. Stanley.

_To face p. 17._]

Legends of the countryside, domestic tragedies and comedies were turned
into verse, whether it were the Cheshire legend of the Iron Gates or the
fall of Sir John Stanley and his spectacles into the Alderley mere, the
discovery of a butterfly or the loss of "a superfine piece of Bala
flannel."

His caricatures illustrated his droll ideas, as in his sketches of the
six "Ologies from Entomology to Apology." His witty and graceful
"Bustle's Banquet" or the "Dinner of the Dogs" made a trio with the
popular poems then recently published of the "Butterfly's Ball" and "The
Peacock at Home."

    "And since Insects give Balls and Birds are so gay,
    'Tis high time to prove that we Dogs have our day."

He wrote a "Familiar History of Birds," illustrated by many personal
observations, for throughout his life he never lost a chance of watching
wild bird life. In his early days he had had special opportunities of
doing so among the rocks and caverns of Holyhead Island. He tells of the
myriads of sea-birds who used to haunt the South Stack Rock there, in
the days when it was almost inaccessible; and of their dispersal by the
building of the first lighthouse there in 1808, when for a time they
deserted it and never returned in such numbers.

His own family at Alderley Rectory consisted of three sons and two
daughters.

The eldest son, Owen, had his father's passion for the sea, and was
allowed to follow his bent. His scientific tastes led him to adopt the
surveying branch of his profession, and in 1836, when appointed to the
_Terror_ on her expedition to the North Seas, he had charge of the
astronomical and magnetic operations.

When in command of the _Britomart_, in 1840, he secured the North Island
of New Zealand to the English by landing and hoisting the British flag,
having heard that a party of French emigrants intended to land that day.
They did so, but under the protection of the Union Jack.

In 1846 Owen Stanley commanded the _Rattlesnake_ in an important and
responsible expedition to survey the unknown coast of New Guinea; this
lasted four years and was very successful, but the great strain and the
shock of his brother Charles' death at Hobart Town, at this time, were
too much for him. He died suddenly on board his ship at Sydney in 1850,
"after thirty-three years' arduous service in every clime."

Professor Huxley, in whose arms he breathed his last, was surgeon to
this expedition, and his first published composition was an article
describing it. He speaks of Owen Stanley thus: "Of all those who were
actively engaged upon the survey, the young commander alone was destined
to be robbed of his just rewards; he has raised an enduring monument in
his works, and his epitaph shall be the grateful thanks of many a
mariner threading his way among the mazes of the Coral Seas."

The second and most distinguished of the three sons was Arthur Penrhyn
Stanley, of whom it was said "that in the wideness of his sympathies,
the broadness of his toleration, and the generosity of his temperament
the brilliant Dean of Westminster was a true son of his father, the
Bishop of Norwich."

The third son, Charles Edward, a young officer in the Royal Engineers,
who had done good work in the Ordnance Survey of Wales, and was already
high in his profession, was suddenly cut off by fever at his official
post in Tasmania in 1849.

The eldest daughter, Mary, had great powers of organisation, was a keen
philanthropist and her father's right hand at Norwich. In 1854 she took
charge of a detachment of nurses who followed Miss Nightingale's pioneer
band to the East, and worked devotedly for the Crimean sick and wounded
at the hospital at Koulalee.

Katherine, the youngest daughter, a most original character, married Dr.
Vaughan, headmaster of Harrow, Master of the Temple, and Dean of
Llandaff. She survived her whole family and lived till 1899.

The home at Alderley lasted for thirty-three years, during which Edward
Stanley had changed the whole face of the parish and successfully
organised many schemes of improvement in the conditions of the working
classes in his neighbourhood. He could now leave his work to other
hands, and felt that his energies required a wider field, so that when
in 1838 Lord Melbourne offered him the See of Norwich he was induced to
accept the offer, though only "after much hesitation and after a severe
struggle, which for a time almost broke down his usual health and
sanguine spirit."

"It would be vain and useless," he said, "to speak to others of what it
cost me to leave Alderley"; but to his new sphere he carried the same
zeal and indomitable energy which had ever characterised him, and gained
the affection of many who had shuddered at the appointment of a "Liberal
Bishop."

At Norwich his work was very arduous and often discouraging. He came in
the dawn of the Victorian age to attack a wall of customs and abuses
which had arisen far back in the early Georgian era, with no hereditary
connection or influence in the diocese to counteract the odium that he
incurred as a new-comer by the institution of changes which he deemed
necessary.

It was no wonder that for three or four years he had to stem a steady
torrent of prejudice and more or less opposition; but though his
broadminded views were often the subject of criticism, his bitterest
opponents could not withstand the genial, kindly spirit in which he met
their objections.

"At the time of his entrance upon his office party feeling was much more
intense than it has been in later years, and of this the county of
Norfolk presented, perhaps, as strong examples as could be found in any
part of the kingdom."

The bishop was "a Whig in politics and a staunch supporter of a Whig
ministry," but in all the various questions where politics and theology
cross one another he took the free and comprehensive instead of the
precise and exclusive views, and to impress them on others was one chief
interest of his new position.

The indifference to party which he displayed, both in social matters and
in his dealings with his clergy, tended to alienate extreme partisans of
whatever section, and at one time caused him even to be unpopular with
the lower classes of Norwich in spite of his sympathies.

The courage with which the Rector had quelled the prize fight at
Alderley shone out again in the Bishop. "I remember," says an
eye-witness, "seeing Bishop Stanley, on a memorable occasion, come out
of the Great Hall of St. Andrew's, Norwich. The Chartist mob, who lined
the street, saluted the active, spare little Bishop with hooting and
groans. He came out alone and unattended till he was followed by me and
my brother, determined, as the saying is, 'to see him safe home,' for
the mob was highly excited and brutal. Bishop Stanley marched along ten
yards, then turned sharp round and fixed his eagle eyes on the mob, and
then marched ten yards more and turned round again rapidly and gave the
same hawk-like look."

His words and actions must often have been startling to his
contemporaries; when temperance was a new cause he publicly spoke in
support of the Roman Catholic Father Mathew, who had promoted it in
Ireland; when the idea of any education for the masses was not
universally accepted he advocated admitting the children of Dissenters
to the National Schools; and when the stage had not the position it now
holds, he dared to offer hospitality to one of the most distinguished of
its representatives, Jenny Lind, to mark his respect for her life and
influence.

For all this he was bitterly censured, but his kindly spirit and
friendly intercourse with his clergy smoothed the way through apparently
insurmountable difficulties, and his powerful aid was ever at hand in
any benevolent movement to advise and organise means of help.

In his home at Norwich the Bishop and Mrs. Stanley delighted to welcome
guests of every shade of opinion, and one of them, a member of a
well-known Quaker family, has recorded her impression of her host's
conversation. "The Bishop talks, darting from one subject to another,
like one impatient of delay, amusing and pleasant," and he is described
on coming to Norwich as having "a step as quick, a voice as firm, a
power of enduring fatigue almost as unbroken as when he traversed his
parish in earlier days or climbed the precipices of the Alps."

In his public life the liveliness of his own interest in scientific
pursuits, the ardour with which he would hail any new discovery, the
vividness of his own observation of Nature would illustrate with an
unexpected brilliancy the worn-out topics of a formal speech. Few who
were present at the meeting when the Borneo Mission was first proposed
to the London public in 1847 can forget the strain of naval ardour with
which the Bishop offered his heartfelt tribute of moral respect and
admiration to the heroic exertions of Sir James Brooke.

It was his highest pleasure to bear witness to the merits or to
contribute to the welfare of British seamen. He seized every opportunity
of addressing them on their moral and religious duties, and many were
the rough sailors whose eyes were dimmed with tears among the
congregations of the crews of the _Queen_ and the _Rattlesnake_, when he
preached on board those vessels at Plymouth, whither he had accompanied
his eldest son, Captain Owen Stanley, to witness his embarkation on his
last voyage.

"The sermon," so the Admiral told Dean Stanley twenty years afterwards,
"was never forgotten. The men were so crowded that they almost sat on
one another's shoulders, with such attention and admiration that they
could scarcely restrain a cheer."

For twelve years his presence was felt as a power for good through the
length and breadth of his diocese; and after his death, in September,
1849, his memory was long loved and revered.

"I felt as if a sunbeam had passed through my parish," wrote a clergyman
from a remote corner of his diocese, after a visit from him, "and had
left me to rejoice in its genial and cheerful warmth. From that day I
would have died to serve him; and I believe that not a few of my humble
flock were animated by the same kind of feeling."

His yearly visits to his former parish of Alderley were looked forward
to by those he had known and loved during his long parochial
ministrations as the greatest pleasure of their lives.

"I have been," he writes (in the last year of his life), "in various
directions over the parish, visiting many welcome faces, laughing with
the living, weeping over the dying. It is gratifying to see the cordial
familiarity with which they receive me, and Norwich clergy would
scarcely know me by cottage fires, talking over old times with their
hands clasped in mine as an old and dear friend."

Under the light which streams through the stained glass of his own
cathedral the remains of Bishop Stanley rest in the thoroughfare of the
great congregation.

"When we were children," said a grey-haired Norfolk rector this very
year, "our mother never allowed us to walk upon the stone covering
Bishop Stanley's grave. I have never forgotten it, and would not walk
upon it even now."

    "We pass; the path that each man trod
       Is dim, or will be dim, with weeds:
       What fame is left for human deeds
     In endless age? It rests with God."

[Illustration: _P. Green, pinx circa 1800. Emery Walker Ph. Sc._

_Edward Stanley._]



CHAPTER I

NEW FRANCE AND OLD EUROPE

Rouen and its theatres--Painted windows--Paris--Costumes _à la
Française_--The guillotine--Geneva--Vetturino
travelling--Italy--Spain--The Ship _John_ of Leith--Gibraltar.


In June, 1802, Edward Stanley started on the first of those foreign
journeys which, throughout his life, continued to be his favourite form
of holiday.

He had just left Cambridge, having obtained a brilliant degree, and
before taking Orders he set out with his college friend, Edward
Hussey,[3] on the Grand Tour which was then considered necessary to
complete a liberal education.

They were fortunate in the moment of their journey, for the Treaty of
Amiens, which had been concluded only a few months before, had enabled
Englishmen to tour safely in France for the first time for many years;
and every scene in France was full of thrilling interest. The marks of
the Reign of Terror were still plainly to be seen, and the new order of
things which the First Consul had inaugurated was only just beginning.

It was an epoch-making journey to a young man fresh from college, and
Edward Stanley was deeply impressed by what he saw.

He could compare his own experiences with those of his brother and
father, who had been in France before the Revolution, and of his
sister-in-law, Maria Josepha, who had travelled there just before the
Reign of Terror; and in view of the destruction which had taken place
since then, he was evidently convinced that Napoleon's iron hand was the
greatest boon to the country.

He and his companion had the good fortune to leave France before the
short interval of peace ended abruptly, and they were therefore saved
from the fate of hundreds of their friends and fellow-travellers who had
thronged across the Channel in 1802, and who were detained by Napoleon
for years against their will.

Edward Stanley and Edward Hussey left France at the end of June, and
went on to Switzerland, Italy, and finally to Spain, where the
difficulties and dangers which they met, reveal the extraordinary dearth
of personal comfort and civilised habits among that nation at the time.

The dangers and discomforts did not, however, interfere with the
interest and pleasure of the writer who describes them. Then and ever
after, travelling was Edward Stanley's delight, and he took any
adventure in the spirit of the French song--

    "Je suis touriste
     Quel gai métier."

His letters to his father and brother show that he lost no opportunity
of getting information and of recording what he saw; and he began on
this journey the first of a long series of sketchbooks, by which he
illustrated his later journeys so profusely.


_Edward Stanley to his Father, Sir John T. Stanley, Bart._

ROUEN, _June 11, 1802_.

MY DEAR FATHER,--You have already heard that I arrived here, & have been
fortunate in every thing since I left England. Our passage from Brighton
to Dieppe was short and pleasant, and so was our stay at Dieppe, which
we left the morning after we arrived in it. I never saw France before
the Revolution, & therefore cannot judge of the Contrasted appearance of
its towns, but this I can safely say, that I never before saw such
strong marks of Poverty both in the houses & Inhabitants. I have as yet
seen nothing like a Gentleman; probably many may affect the dress and
manners of the lower Orders, in order to screen themselves & may
consider that an outward show of Poverty is the only way of securing
what Riches they have. I can conceive nothing so melancholy.

When I saw fine seats without Windows or with shattered Roofs, &
everywhere falling to decay, I could not help thinking of their
unfortunate Owners, who, even if they were lucky enough to be reinstated
in their possessions, might fear to repair their Places, lest an
Appearance of comfort might tempt the Government to seize their Effects.
The only Buildings at all tolerable are the Barracks, which in general
are large and well taken care of, & plenty of them there are in every
town and village. Every Person is here a Soldier, ready to turn out at a
moment's warning. This Town is in a flourishing State at present, tho'
during the war not a single ship made its appearance in its Ports; now
there are a great number of Vessels, chiefly Dutch. The Trade is Cotton,
for the Manufactory of Stuffs and Handkerchiefs. It is said to be one of
the dearest towns in France; certainly I have not found things very
cheap. We were at the Play last night. An Opera called "La Dot," and an
after piece called "Blaise & Bullet" were performed. The Actors were
capital, at Drury Lane they could not have acted better. The House is
very large for a Country Theatre and very pretty, but so shockingly
filthy and offensive, that I wondered any Person could go often, but
habit, I suppose, reconciles everything. There were a great many
officers in the Boxes, a haughty set of beings, who treat their
Compatriotes in a very scurvy way. They are the Kings of the place and
do what they please. Indeed, we had a fine Specimen of Liberty during
the Performances. An Actress had been sent to Rouen from Paris, a
wretched Performer she was, but from Paris she came, and the Managers
were obliged to accept her & make her act. The Consequence was, she soon
got hissed, and a Note was thrown on the Stage; whatever it was they
were not permitted to read or make it public till they had shewn it to
the Officer of Police, who in the present Case would not let them read
it. The hissing was, however, continued from Corners of the House, & one
man who sate near us talked in a high style about the People being
imposed on, when in the middle of his Speech I saw this Man of Liberty
jump out of the Box and disappear in an Instant. I opened the Box door
to see what was the cause, when lo! the Lobby was filled with Soldiers,
with their Bayonets fix'd, and the officer was looking about for any
Person who might dare to whistle or hiss, and silent and contented were
the Audience the rest of the Performance. I cannot help mentioning a
Speech I heard this very evening at the Play. A Man was sitting near a
Lady & very angry he was, & attempted often to hiss, but was for some
time kept quiet by the Lady. At last he lost all Patience and exclaimed,
"Ma Foi, Madame, Je ferai ici comme si jétais en Angleterre où on fait
tout ce qu'on plait." And away he went to hiss; with what effect his
determination a l'Angloise was attended, I have mentioned. I afterwards
entered into conversation with the Lady, & when she told me about the
Police Officer not giving permission to read the note, she added,
looking at us, "to you, Gentlemen, this must be a second Comedy." Last
night (Sunday) I went to a Fête about a mile from the Town; we paid 1s.
3d. each. It concluded with a grand Firework. It was a sort of Vauxhall.
In one part of the Gardens they were dancing Cotillons, in another
swinging. In another part bands of Music. I was never so much
entertained as with the Dancers; most of them were Children. One little
set in a Cotillon danced in a Style I could not have fancied possible;
you will think I am telling a _Traveller's_ Story when I tell you I
thought they performed nearly as well as I could have seen at the Opera.
Here, as at the Theatre, Soldiers kept every body in awe; a strong party
of Dragoons were posted round the Gardens with their horses saddled
close at hand ready to act. I din'd yesterday at a Table d'Hôte, with
five French Officers. In my life I never saw such ill bred Blackguards,
dirty in their way of eating, overbearing in their Conversation, tho'
they never condescended to address themselves to us, and more proud and
aristocratical than any of the _ci-devant Noblesse_ could ever have
been. From this Moment I believe all the Accounts I have heard from our
officers of the French officers who were prisoners during the War. They
were always insolent, and excepting in some few cases, ungratefull in
the extreme for any kindness shewn to them.

[Illustration: THE PRISON OF THE TEMPLE, PARIS, JUNE, 1802.

_To face p. 31._]

PARIS, _June 17th_.

The Day before yesterday I arrived in this Metropolis. We left Rouen in
a Diligence & had a pleasant Journey; the Country we passed over was
throughout extremely fertile; whatever Scarcity exists at present in
France, it must be of short duration, as the Harvest promises to be
abundant, and as every Field is corn land, the quantity of Grain will be
immense. Government has indeed now taken every precaution. The Ports of
Rouen & Dieppe were filled with Ships from Embden & Dantzig with Corn.
Our Diligence was accompanied all the Night by a Guard of Dragoons, and
we passed every now and then parties of Foot Soldiers on the Watch. The
reason was, that the road had lately been infested with Robbers, who
attacked the Public Carriages in great numbers, sometimes to the Amount
of 40 together. They in general behaved well to the Passengers,
requiring only any Money belonging to Government which might happen to
be in the Carriage. At present as the Leader is taken and the Band
dispersed, there is no Danger, but it is a good excuse to keep a Number
of Troops in that part of the Country. We entered Paris by St. Denis,
but the fine Church and Royal Palace are not now as they were in your
time. The Former is in part unroofed and considerably damaged--the
latter is a Barrack and from its outward appearance seems to have
suffered much in the Revolution. The City of Paris on entering it by no
means strikes a stranger. In your time it must have been but tolerable,
now it is worse, as every other house seems to be falling down or to be
deserted. We have taken our abode in the Rue de Vivienne at the Hôtel de
Boston, a central Situation and the house tolerably dear. The poor
Hussey suffered so much from a Nest of Buggs the first night, that he
after enduring them to forage on his body for an Hour, left his Bed &
passed the night on a sofa. A propos, I must beg to inform Mr. Hugh
Leycester that I paid Attention to the Conveyances on the road & think
that he will have no reason to complain of them; the vehicles are not
quite so good as in England nor are the Horses, but both are still very
tolerable. The Inns I slept at were very good, and the roads by no means
bad. I have been to a Play every Night since my arrival in Paris and
shall continue so to do till I have seen all the theatres. The first
evening I went to the "Théâtre de la République"; I am told it is the
best. At least the first Actors performed there. It is not to be
compared with any of ours in style of fitting up. The want of light
which first strikes a Stranger's eye on entering a foreign Play-house
has its Advantage. It shews off the Performers and induces the Audience
to pay more Attention to ye Stage, but the brilliant Effect we are used
to find on entering our Theatres is wanting. This House is not fitted up
with any taste. I thought the theatre at Rouen preferable. The famous
Talma, the Kemble, acted in a Tragedy, & Mme. Petit, the Mrs. Siddons
of Paris, performed. The former, I think, must have seen Kemble, as he
resembles him both in person and style of acting, but I did not admire
him so much. In his silent Acting, however, he was very great. Mme.
Petit acted better than any tragic Actress I have ever seen, excepting
Mrs. Siddons. After the Play last Night I went to the Frascati, a sort
of Vauxhall where you pay nothing on entering, but are expected to take
some refreshments. This, Mr. Palmer told me, was the Lounge of the Beau
Monde, who were all to be found here after the Opera & Plays. We have
nothing of the sort in England, therefore I shall not attempt to
describe it. We staid here about an hour. The Company was numerous, & I
suppose the best, at least it was better than any I had seen at the
Theatres or in the Walks, but it appeared to me to be very bad. The Men
I shall say nothing more of, they are all the same. They come to all
Places in dirty Neckcloths or Pocket Handkerchiefs tied round their
necks & most of them have filthy great Coats & Boots, in short, Dress
amongst the Bucks (& I am told that within this Month or two they are
very much improved) seems to be quite out of the Question. As for the
Ladies, O mon Dieu! Madame Récamier's[4] Dress at Boodles was by no
means extraordinary. My sister can describe that and then you may form
some idea of them. By what I can judge from outward appearance, the
Morals of Paris must be at a very low ebb. I may perhaps see more of
them, when I go to the Opera & Parties. I have a thousand things more to
say, but have no room. This Letter has been written at such out of the
way times & by little bits at a time, that I know not how you will
connect it, but I have not a moment to spare in the regular Course of
the Day. It is now between 6 & 7 o'Clock in the Morning, and as I cannot
find my Cloaths am sitting in a Dress à la Mode d'une Dame Française
till Charles comes up with them. Paris is full of English, amongst
others I saw Montague Matthews at the Frascati. I shall stay here till
5th July, as my chance of seeing Buonaparte depends on my staying till
4th, when he reviews the Consular Guard. He is a fine fellow by all
accounts; a Military Government when such a head as his manages
everything cannot be called a Grievance. Indeed, it is productive of so
much order and regularity, that I begin not to dislike it so much. At
the Theatres you have no disturbance. In the streets Carriages are kept
in order--in short, it is supreme and seems to suit this Country vastly
well, but God forbid I should ever witness it in England. You may write
to me and tell others so to do till the 25th of June. Adieu; I cannot
tell when I shall write again. This you know is a Family Epistle,
therefore Farewell to you all.

ED. STANLEY.

I have just paid a visit to Madame de D. She received me very
graciously, & strongly pressed me to stay till 14th of July to be
present at the Grand Day. She says Paris is not now worth seeing, but
then every Person will be in Town. If there is no other way of seeing
Buonaparte I believe I shall stay--but I do not wish it--I shall prefer
Geneva.


_Edward Stanley to his brother, J. T. Stanley._

HOTEL DE BOSTON, RUE VIVIENNE,
_June 21, 1802_.

MY DEAR BROTHER,-- ... I sailed from Brighton on the evening of 8th and
was wafted by a fine Breeze towards this Coast, which we made early on
the morning of 9th, but owing to the tide, which had drifted us too much
to leeward of Dieppe, we were unable to land before noon. We were
carried before the Officer of the municipality, who after taking down
our names, ages, & destination, left us to ramble about at pleasure.
Whatever Dieppe might have been before the Revolution, it is now a
melancholy-looking place. Large houses falling to ruin. Inhabitants
poor, Streets full of Soldiers, & Churches turned into Stables,
Barracks, or Magazines. We staid there but one night & then proceeded in
one of their Diligences to Rouen. These Conveyances you of course have
often seen; they are not as Speedy in their motion as an English Mail
Coach, or as easy as a Curricle, but we have found them very convenient,
& shall not complain of our travelling accommodation if we are always
fortunate enough to meet with these vehicles. At Rouen we staid four
days, as the Town is large and well worth seeing; I then made an attempt
to procure you some painted glass; as almost all the Churches and all
the Convents are destroyed, their fine windows are neglected, & the
panes broken or carried off by almost every person. The _Stable_ from
whence our Diligence started had some beautiful windows, and had I
thought of it in time I think I might have sent you some. As it was I
went to the owner of the Churches & asked him if he would sell any of
the windows. Now tho' ever since he has had possession of them Everybody
has been permitted to demolish at pleasure, he no sooner found that a
Stranger was anxious to procure what to him was of no value, & what he
had hitherto thought worth nothing, than he began to think he might take
advantage & therefore told me that he would give me an answer in a few
days if I would wait till he could see what they were worth. As I was
going the next morning I could not hear the result, but I think you
could for one guinea purchase nearly a whole Church window, at least it
may be worth your while to send to Liverpool to know if any Ship is at
any time going there. The Proprietor of these Churches is a Banker, by
name Tezart; he lives in la Rue aux Ours.

I arrived in Paris on the 15th, and intend staying even till the 14th of
July if I cannot before then see the chief Consul. Hitherto I have been
unfortunate; I have in vain attended at the Thuilleries when the
Consular guard is relieved, and seated myself opposite his box at the
Opera. On the 4th of July, however, there is a Review of his Guard, when
he always appears, then I shall do my utmost to get a view of him. I
cannot be introduced as I have not been at our Court, and no King was
ever more fond of Court Etiquette than Buonaparte. He resides in the
Thuilleries; opposite to his windows is the place de Carousel, which he
has Separated from the great Area by a long Iron railing with three
Gates. On each side of the 2 side Gates are placed the famous brazen
horses from Venice, the middle Gate has 2 Lodges, where are stationed
Horse Guards. Above this Gate are four Gilt Spears on which are perched
the Cock & a Civic wreath which I at first took for the Roman Eagle,
borne before their Consuls, resembling it in every other respect. These
Gates are shut every night and also on every Review day. Paris, like all
the Country, swarms with Soldiers; in Every Street there is a Barrack.
In Paris alone there are upwards of 15 thousand men. I must say nothing
of the Government. It is highly necessary in France for every person,
particularly Strangers, to be careful in delivering their opinions; I
can only say that the _Slavery_ of it is infinitely more to my taste
than the _Freedom_ of France. The public Exhibitions (and indeed almost
Every thing is public) are on a scale of Liberality which should put
England to the blush. Everything is open without money. The finest
library I ever saw is open Daily to Every person. You have but to ask
for any book, & you are furnished with it, and accommodated with table,
pens, ink, & paper. The Louvre, the finest Collection of pictures and
Statues in the world, is likewise open, & not merely open to view. It is
filled, excepting on the public days, with artists who are at liberty to
copy anything they please. Where in England can we boast of anything
like this? Our British Museum is only to be seen by interest, & then
shewn in a very cursory manner. Our Public Libraries at the Universities
are equally difficult of access. It is the most politic thing the
Government could have done. The Arts are here encouraged in a most
liberal manner. Authors, Painters, Sculptors, and, in short, all persons
in France, have opportunities of improving themselves which can not be
found in any other Country in the World, not even in Britain. You may
easily conceive that I who am fond of painting was most highly
Entertained in viewing the Great Gallery of the Louvre, & yet you will,
I am sure, think my taste very deficient when I tell you that I do not
admire the finest pictures of Raphael, Titian, Guido, and Paul Veronese,
so much as I do those of Rubens, Vandyck, & le Brun, nor the landscapes
of Claude and Poussin so much as Vernet's. Rembrandt, Gerard Dow & his
pupils Mieris and Metsu please me more than any other artists. In the
whole Collection they have but one of Salvator's, but that one, I think,
is preferable to all Raphael's. I have not yet seen statues enough to be
judge of their beauties. The Apollo of Belvidere & the celebrated
Laocoon lose, therefore, much of their Excellence when seen by me. There
is still a fine Collection in the Palace of Versailles, but the view of
that once Royal Palace excites the most melancholy ideas. The furniture
was all sold by auction, & nothing is left but the walls and their
pictures. The Gardens are much neglected, & will soon, unless the Consul
again makes it a royal residence, be quite ruined. You have, I daresay,
often heard that the Morals & Society of Paris were very bad; indeed,
you have heard nothing but the truth. As for the men, they are the
dirtiest set of fellows I ever saw, and most of them, especially the
Officers, very unlike Gentlemen. The dress of the women, with few
exceptions, is highly indecent; in London, even in Drury Lane, I have
seen few near so bad. Before I left England, I had heard, but never
believed, that some Ladies paraded the streets in men's Clothes. It is
singular that in the first genteel-looking person I spoke to in Paris to
ask my way, I was answered by what I then perceived a lady in Breeches &
boots, since when I have seen several at the Theatres, at the Frascati &
fashionable lounges of the evening, & in the Streets and public walks! I
have not heard from you since I left England. Excepting the letter which
was forwarded from Grosvenor Place. I hope to hear at Geneva, where I
shall go as soon as the great Consul will permit me by shewing himself.
The Country is in the finest state possible, and their weather most
favourable. They have had a scarcity of corn lately, but the approaching
Harvest will most assuredly remove that. Adieu; I hope Mrs. Stanley has
already received a very trifling present from me; I only sent it because
it was classic wood. I mean the necklace made of Milton's mulberry-tree.
I brought the wood from Christ's College Garden, in Cambridge, where
Milton himself planted it.

Believe me,

Yours sincerely,

EDWD. STANLEY.


_From Edward Stanley to his Father and Mother._

LYONS, _July 20, 1802_.

I shall not write you a very long letter as I intend to send you a more
particular account of myself from Geneva, for which place we propose
setting out to-morrow, not by the Diligence, but by the Vetturino, a
mode of travelling which, of course, you are well acquainted with, being
the usual and almost only method practised throughout Italy unless a
person has his own carriage. I am to pay £3 10s. for ourselves and
Suite, but not including bed and provisions. South of the Alps these are
agreed for.

After every endeavour to see Buonaparte had proved vain, on the 6th of
July we quitted Paris in a Cabriolet. All this night, and especially
the next day, we thought we should be broiled to death; the thermometer
was at 95 the noon of July 7th; as you relish that, you may have some
idea of the Luxury you would have enjoyed with us.

We arrived at Troyes on the evening of the 7th, an old town in
Champagne. People civil and excellent Living, as the Landlord was a
_ci-devant_ Head cook to a convent of Benedictines, but Hussey and
Charles were almost devoured in the Night by our old enemies the Bugs.
Hussey was obliged to change his room and sleep all next day. I escaped
without the least visit, and I am persuaded that if a famine wasted the
Bugs of the whole Earth, they would sooner perish than touch me.

We left Troyes early on the morning of the 9th, arrived at Chatillon at
four, and stayed there all night, for the Diligences do not travel so
fast as in England. We left it at four the next morning, Hussey, as
usual smarting, and I very little refreshed by sleep, as owing to a
Compound of Ducks and Chickens who kept up a constant chorus within five
yards of my bed, a sad noise in the kitchen from which I was barely
separated, Dogs barking, Waggon Bells ringing, &c., I could scarcely
close my eyes.

At Dijon, beautiful Dijon, we arrived on the Evening of the 10th. Had I
known it had been so sweet a Town I should have stayed longer, but we
had taken our places to Châlons and were obliged to pass on. You, I
believe, staid some time there, but, alas! how different now! The Army
of rescue was encamped for some time in its neighbourhood, and the many
respectable families who lived in or near it rendered it a sad prey to
the hand of Robespierre. Its Churches and Convents are in a deplorable
state, even as those of this still more unfortunate Town. The best
Houses are shut up, and its finest Buildings are occupied by the
Military. We left on the morning of the 11th, travelled safely (except a
slight breakdown at our journey's end) to Châlons sur Saône, and on the
11th went by the water-diligence to Macon, where we stopped to sleep. We
arrived at dusk, and as we were in a dark staircase exploring our way
and speaking English, we heard a voice say, "This way, Sir; here is the
supper." We were quite rejoiced to hear an English voice, particularly
in such a place.

We soon met the speaker, and passed a most pleasant Hour with him. He
proved to be a Passenger like ourselves in the Diligence from Lyons
which met ours here at the Common resting-place. He was a Surgeon of the
Staff, returning from Egypt, by name Shute. We all three talked
together, and as loud as we could; the Company, I believe, thought us
strange Beings. We told him what we could of England in a short time, he
of the South, and we exchanged every Species of information, and were
sorry when it was necessary to part.

[Illustration: THE GUILLOTINE AT CHALON-SUR-SAÔNE.

_To face p. 43._]

We arrived at Lyons on the 14th, the Day of the Grand Fête. We saw the
Town Hall illuminated, and a Review on the melancholy Plains of
Buttereaux, the common Tomb of so many Lyonnese. Here we have remained
since, but shall probably be at Geneva on the 23rd. I lodge at the Hotel
de Parc looking into the Place de Ferreant.

The Landlady, to my great surprise, spoke to me in English very
fluently. She is also a very excellent Spaniard. She has seen better
days, her husband having been a Merchant, but the Revolution destroyed
him. She was Prisoner for some time at Liverpool, taken by a Privateer
belonging to Tarleton and Rigge, who, I am sorry to say, did not behave
quite so handsomely as they should, the private property not having been
restored.

Of all the Towns I have seen this has suffered most. All the Châteaux
and Villas in its most beautiful Environs are shut up. The fine Square
of St. Louis le Grand, then Belle Cour, now Place Buonaparte, is knocked
to pieces; the fine Statue is broken and removed, and nothing left that
could remind you of what it was.

I have been witness to a scene which, of course, my curiosity as a
Traveller would not let me pass over, but which I hope not to see
again--an Execution on the Guillotine. Charles saw a man suffer at
Châlons; we did not know till it was over, but the Machine was still
standing, and the marks of the Execution very recent. On looking out of
my window the morning after our arrival here, I saw the dreadful
Instrument in the Place de Ferreant, and on inquiry found that five men
were to be beheaded in the morning and two in the evening. They deserved
their fate; they had robbed some Farmhouses and committed some
cruelties. In England, however, they would probably have escaped, as the
evidence was chiefly presumptive. They were brought to the Scaffold from
the Prison, tied each with his arms behind him and again to each other;
they were attended by a Priest, not, however, in black, and a party of
soldiers. The time of execution of the whole five did not exceed five
minutes. Of all situations in the world, I can conceive of none half so
terrible as that of the last Prisoner. He saw his companions ascend one
after another, heard each fatal blow, and saw each Body thrown aside to
make room for him. I shall never forget his countenance when he
stretched out his neck on the fatal board. He shut his eyes on looking
down where the heads of his companions had fallen, and instantly his
face turned from ghastly paleness to a deep red, and the wire was
touched and he was no more. Of all Deaths it is far the most easy; not a
convulsive struggle could be perceived after the blow. The sight is
horrid in the extreme, though not awful, as no ceremony is used to make
it so. Those who have daily seen 200 suffer without the least ceremony
or trial get hardened to the sight.

The mode of Execution in England is not so speedy certainly nor so
horrid, but it is conducted with a degree of Solemnity that must impress
the mind most forcibly. I did not see the two who suffered in the
evening, the morning's business was quite enough to satisfy my
curiosity.

The next Morning I saw a punishment a degree less shocking, though I
think the Prisoner's fate was little better than those of the day
before. He was seated on a Scaffold in the same place for Public View,
there to remain for six hours and then to be imprisoned in irons for 18
years, a Term (as he is 41) I think he will not survive.

What with the immediate effects of the Siege and events that followed,
the Town has suffered so much in its Buildings and inhabitants, that I
think it will never recover. The Manufactories of silk are just
beginning to shoot up by slow degrees. Formerly they afforded employment
to 40,000 men, now not above half that number can be found, and they
cannot earn so much. Were I a Lyonese I should wish to plant the plains
of Buttereaux with cypress-trees and close them in with rails. The Place
had been a scene of too much horror to remain open for Public amusement.
The fine Hôpital de la Charité, against which the besiegers directed
their heaviest cannon in spite of the Black ensign, which it is
customary to hoist over buildings of that nature during a Siege, is much
damaged, though scarcely so much as I should have expected. The Romantic
Castle of the Pierre Suisse is no longer to be found, it was destroyed
early in the troubles together with most of the Roman Antiquities round
Lyons. I yesterday dined with two more Englishmen at the Table d'hôte;
they were from the South; one, from his conversation a Navy officer, had
been absent seven years, and had been in the Garrison of Porte Ferrajo
in the Isle of Elba, the other an Egyptian Hero. There is also a Colonel
from the same place whose name I know not.

I heard it was an easy thing to be introduced to the Pope,[5] if letters
are to be had for our Minister, whose name is Fagan, or something like
it. Now, as I may if I can get an opportunity when at Geneva to pay a
visit to Rome and Florence previous to passing the Pyrenees, I should
like a letter to this Mr. Fagan, if one can be got. As Buonaparte's Pope
is not, I believe, so particular as the Hero himself with regard to
introductions, I may perhaps be presented to him. I look forward with
inexpressible pleasure to my arrival at Geneva, to find myself amongst
old friends and to meet with, I hope, an immense collection of letters.

The Vineyards promise to be very abundant; of course we tasted some of
the best when in Burgundy and Champagne. What a country that is! The
corn to the East of Paris is not so promising as that in Normandy. The
frosts which we felt in May have extended even more to the South than to
this Town. The apple-trees of Normandy have suffered most, and the vines
in the Northern parts of France have also been damaged.... I shall go
from Geneva to Genoa, and there hold a council of war.

GENEVA.

...Between Lyons and Geneva we supped with the Passengers of a
Vetturino. Two of these were Officers in the French Service, one of them
a Swiss, the other a Frenchman. The conversation soon fell upon
Politics, in which I did not choose to join, but was sufficiently
entertained in hearing the Discourse. Both agreed in abominating the
present state of Affairs. The Swiss hated the Consul, because he
destroyed his Country, the other because he was too like a King. Both
were Philosophers, and each declared himself to be a Moralist. The
Frenchman was by far the most vehement of the two, and the Swiss seemed
to take much pleasure in leading him on. His philosophy seemed to be
drawn from a source equally pure with his Morality; assuming for his
Motto his first and favourite Maxim, "que tous les hommes sont égaux par
les lois de la Nature," &c., he thought himself justified in wishing
Buonaparte (I was going to say) at the Devil (but I soon found out that
the existence of that Gentleman was a matter of great doubt with the
Philosopher) for daring to call himself the Head of the French Republic.
His hatred of Power was only equalled by his aversion to the English,
whom he seemed to abhor from the bottom of his heart, so much so, that
when I attempted to defend the First Consul, he dashed out with a
Torrent of abuse, and ended by saying, "Et enfin c'est lui qui a fait la
paix avec l'Angleterre."

I was for some time in doubt what part of the Revolution he preferred,
but by defending Robespierre, he soon gave me an Idea of his Love of
Liberty, Morality, Equality, and so forth. I was sorry he retired so
soon after Supper, as I never was more entertained in my life in so
short a time as with this little Fellow, as singular in his Figure and
Dress as in his Manner, and he contrived to be always eating as well as
talking.


_Edward Stanley to his brother J, T. Stanley._

_Argonauta_, OFF HYÈRES,
_Sept. 29, 1802._

MY DEAR BROTHER,--Before I left Geneva I firmly intended writing to you,
but as I left it unexpectedly and sooner than I intended I had not time,
but this, and all my adventures till I left it, I hope you have already
heard, as I wrote two letters, one to my Father, the other to my Mother
before I quitted Geneva. You will no doubt be Surprised, and perhaps
envy my present situation. Where do you think I am? Why, truly, writing
on a cot between two 24-pounders in a Spanish 84. You will wonder, I am
sure, at seeing the date of this letter, and perhaps wish to know by
what good fortune I found a berth in a Spanish man-of-war, an Event
which I little expected when I wrote last. I shall begin my story from
Geneva, and you shall hear my adventures to the present moment. We left
Geneva in a Vetturino for Turin, a Journey which took up 8 days longer
than it naturally should have done, but our Coachman was taken ill, & we
were on his account obliged to travel slowly. But I was not impatient,
as you will know the Scenery is beautiful; we crossed Mount Cenis,
which, after St. Bernard's, cannot be called a difficult pass. At Turin
we stayed 3 days. It is now a melancholy Town, without commerce, &
decreasing daily in population. The celebrated Jourdan[6] is the ruler
of the place, & with his wife lives in the King's Palace. From Turin we
went to Genoa, passing through Country not equal in Scenery, but
infinitely more interesting than that between Geneva & Turin, every step
almost having been the scene of battle, and every Town the Object of a
siege. But the most interesting spot of all was the plain of Marengo,
near Alessandria. As we travelled in the Diligence I had not so good an
opportunity of viewing it as I should have had in a Vetturino, but we
stopped a short time to see the monument which is raised to commemorate
the victory; it is erected near 2 remarkable spots, one where Desaix[7]
fell, the other the House from which Buonaparte wrote an account of the
event to the Directory.

We passed also thro' Novi, every House in which is marked by Shot; that
unfortunate Town has been three times pillaged during the war. We
arrived at Genoa on the 10th of Septr., in my opinion the most
magnificent Town for its size I ever saw. The Palaces are beyond
conception beautiful, or rather were, for the French Troops are not at
this moment admitted within the Gates; they are quartered in the Suburb
in great numbers. As for the new Government, it is easily seen who is at
the head of it. There is a Doge, to be sure, but his orders come all
from Paris. While we were waiting there expecting a ship to sail to
Barcelona, the _Medusa_, English Frigate, came in, and amongst its
passengers who came with her we found a Cambridge acquaintance, who
advised us to go without delay to Leghorn as the Spanish Squadron was
waiting there for the King of Etruria[8] in order to carry him to
Barcelona. Fortunately the next day an English Brig was going, & in her
we took our passages; we were fortunate enough to receive a large packet
of letters from England a few hours before she sailed, which had she
sailed at the time the Captain intended we should have missed. Will you
let my sisters know that they arrived safe? I am not without hopes of
making some use of the interesting letters to Italy, tho' I am now
steering to the westward. After a good passage of two days we arrived at
Leghorn and found the Spaniards still there. As soon as I landed I
delivered a letter to a Mr. Callyer, a Liverpool Gentleman who is
settled there, & by his means was introduced to the Admiral's first
Lieut., who promised to secure me a berth in some of the ships. In
short, here I am in a very fine ship, tho' a horrid sailer. I have now
given you a short sketch of my tour till arriving at Leghorn; I have
only to say something of Leghorn and the _Argonauta_. The Town has
suffered very much by the war, supported nearly as it was by its
Commerce with England. The inhabitants saw with little pleasure a French
army take possession of the place & drive away the English. They still
have a strong force in the town--upwards of 2,000--and its
fortifications have been dismantled. It is singular enough to see the
French and Tuscan colours flying together on the same staff. When we
entered the port the Tuscan Ensign was becalmed & the French flag was
flying _by itself_. I was much grieved not to be able to visit Florence
when so near it, but as the Squadron was in daily expectation of sailing
I did not venture to be absent for 4 days, which the Journey would have
required. I was therefore obliged to content myself with a view of Pisa,
which I would not have missed on any account. The leaning Tower is a
curiosity in itself sufficient to induce a stranger to make a long
journey to visit it. Here the King of Etruria lived and was hourly
expected to set out for Leghorn. But his health, as it was believed, was
in so precarious a State that it was sometimes reported that he would
not go at all. The Queen, indeed, was in a very critical state, and were
it not that her children, she being an Infanta of Spain, are entitled to
a certain sum of money by no means small, provided they were born in
Spain, it would have been madness in her to have undertaken the voyage;
indeed, I think it highly probable that a young Prince will make his
appearance ere we arrive at Barcelona. After having spent a longer time
than I liked at Leghorn, which has nothing curious to recommend it, at
length it was given out that on the 26th the K. would certainly arrive
from Pisa and embark as soon as possible. Accordingly at 6 o'Clock on
that day all the houses were ornamented in the Italian style by a
display of different coloured Streamers, etc., from the windows, & His
Majesty entered the Town. Had I been a King I should have been not
altogether pleased with my reception. He appeared in the Balcony of the
Grand Duke's Palace, no one cried, "Viva Ludovico I!" He went to the
Theatre the same Evening, which was illuminated on the occasion, &, of
course, much crowded. I do not think our opera could have boasted a
finer display of Diamonds than I saw that Evening in the Ladies' heads,
but, be it remembered, that there are 7,000 Jews in Leghorn, not one of
whom is poor; some are reported to be worth a million. Many of the
Italians are also very rich. Next day we were informed that it was
necessary to repair on board our ship, as the King was to go early on
the 20th. The Naval Scene received an addition on 26th by the arrival of
2 French frigates from Porto Ferrajo. They had carried a fresh garrison
there & landed 500 men of the former one at Leghorn; they marched
immediately, as it was said, to garrison Florence. On the 27th the
Spaniards and French, the only ships of war in the roads, saluted, were
manned and dressed. At Eleven o'Clock of the 27th (after having again
seen the K. at the Opera) in the Launch of the _Argonauta_ we left
Leghorn & went on board, for the first time in my life, to spend I hope
many days in so large a ship. She was one of that unfortunate Squadron
which came forth from Cadiz to convey home Adl. Linois[9] & his prize
the _Hannibal_, after our unsuccessful attack in Algeciras bay. This
Ship suffered little; she was then a better sailer than she is now, or
most probably she would not be at present in the Service of Spain. Early
on the morning of the 28th the Marines were on the deck. It blew fresh
from the shore, & it was doubted whether the K. would venture; at 8
o'Clock, however, the Royal barge was seen coming out of the Mole. The
Admiral's Ship, _La Reyna Louisa_, gave the signal & at the instant
Every Ship fired 3 royal salutes. The Effect was very beautiful; we were
the nearest to the Admiral, nearer the land were the 2 other Spanish
frigates, & abreast of us the two French Ships. They were all dressed,
and as the King passed near them they were manned and three cheers were
given. The King's boat came first, then the Queen's. After them followed
the Consuls of the different Nations who were at Leghorn, & after them a
boat from each of the Ships. There were besides a great number of other
boats & Ships sailing about. Soon after the King had arrived on board
the _Reyna Louisa_, of 120 guns, the Signal was made for preparing to
Sail, & soon after the Signal for Sailing. We all got under weigh, but
as our Ship was a bad sailer we had the mortification of seeing
ourselves left far behind in a short time. We have had nothing but light
winds ever since, & for the last two days contrary, but I am not in the
smallest degree impatient to get to Barcelona. The Novelty of Scene,
more especially as it is a naval one, pleases me more than anything I
have met with hitherto. We are, however, now (Oct. 3rd) looking out for
land. Cape Sebastian will be the point we shall first see in Spain, & I
much fear that to-morrow night I shall sleep in Barcelona. Of the
Discipline of the Spanish Navy I cannot say much, nor can I praise their
cleanliness. I wish much to see a storm. How they manage then I do not
know, for when it blows hard the sailors will not go aloft; as for the
officers or Midshipmen, they never think of it. Indeed, the latter live
exactly as well as the officers; they mess with them, have as good
berths, & are as familiar with them as they are with each other; very
different in every respect from the discipline in English Men of War. I
shall write another letter to my sisters by this post; as they are at
Highlake you may exchange letters. Soon I shall write to you again. I
have to thank you for a very long letter which I received at Geneva,
chiefly relating to the proper judgement of paintings. I am not yet
quite a convert, but experience may improve me. In Spain I understand I
shall see some very good ones by the first masters. I fear much that my
desire of visiting Spain will not be so keen as it was when I have seen
a very little of it. By all accounts, even from Spaniards themselves,
travelling is very inconvenient, & what is infinitely worse, very
expensive; added to which the intolerable Suspicion & care of the
Government renders any stay there very unpleasant. In case I find myself
not at my ease there I shall, when at Gibraltar, take a passage back to
Italy, for Rome & Naples must be seen. Now I think of it I must mention
one ship well known to you which I saw at Leghorn, namely, the _John of
Leith_. I accidentally saw her boat with the name written; you may be
sure I looked at her with no small pleasure.[10] When I sought for her
next day she was gone. I little thought when I last saw you to see a
ship in which you had spent so much time, up the Mediterranean. I am
learning Spanish at present, & the progress I have made in it is not the
least pleasure I have received during my stay in the _Argonauta_. It is
a language extremely difficult to understand when spoken, but easy to
read, & very fine. I can already understand an easy book. If I can add
Spanish & Italian, or some knowledge of those languages, to my stock, I
shall consider my time and money as well spent, independent of the
Countries I shall have seen. Before I close this letter, which you will
receive long after its original date, I must tell you I have been making
a most interesting visit to the celebrated Lady of Mont Serrat,[11] &
was even permitted to kiss her hand, an honour which few, unless well
recommended, enjoy. I have not time to say so much of it as I could, I
can only assure you that it fully answered the expectations I had
raised. The singular Scenery and the more singular Customs of its
solitary inhabitants, excepting the monks of the convent, who lead a
most merry, sociable life, are well worth the trouble of going some
distance to visit. The formation of the mountain is also very
extraordinary. Entirely pudding stone, chiefly calcarious, some small
parts of quartz, red granite, & flint only to be found. I have preserved
some pieces for your museum, which I hope will arrive safe in England,
as also the small collection of stones which I sent from the Alps.

Yours sincerely,
EDWD. STANLEY.


MALAGA, _Jan., 1803_.

MY DEAR FATHER,--To this place am I once more returned, after having
made an excursion to the far-famed city of Granada and still more
renowned palace of the Alhambra. My last letter was dated from Gibraltar
on the 17th of Decr. We left the Rock in a Vile Tartan,[12] rendered
still less agreeable by belonging to Spaniards, who, at no time
remarkable for cleanliness, were not likely to exert themselves in that
point in a small trading Vessel. We were crowded with Passengers and
empty Casks--both Equally in the Way; tho' the latter were not then
noisy nor Sick, I considered them as the least nuisance. Fortunately a
strong W. Breeze soon carried us from the Rock, and in one night we
found ourselves close to the Mole of Malaga. We introduced ourselves on
landing to the English Consul Laird, to whose attentions we have been
since much indebted. On the 2nd day after our arrival we heard of a
Muleteer who was on his return to Granada, and with whom we agreed for 3
Mules. The distance is 18 leagues over the Mountains, a Journey of 3
days; this is a Country wild as the Highlands of Scotland, and in parts,
if possible, more barren. The first night we slept at Vetey Malaga and
the 2nd at Alhama, a Town famous for its hot baths, which, thanks to the
Moors--who built walls about them--the Spaniards still enjoy. The
accommodations in the Country are rather inferior to those of England,
tho' perhaps you may consider me so prejudiced in favour of my own, and
therefore unjust in my accounts of other Countries. This may be the
Case, and I dare say a Muleteer would find infinite fault with an
English Inn, where accommodation may be found for the Rider as well as
the Mule. On entering one of these Ventas, or Inns, you find yourself in
the Midst of Jack Asses and Mules, the necks of which, being usually
adorned with bells, produce a Music highly entertaining to a traveller
after a long day's Journey over these delightful roads. If you can force
your way through this Crowd of Musical Quadrupeds it is necessary that
you should attempt to find out the Landlord and petition for a room,
which in general may be had, and if you are fortunate, Mattrasses are
laid on the floor. Eating, however, is always out of the question. It is
absolutely necessary to carry your own Stock and look for your self if
a frying Pan can be found. If you are very much tired and the Bugs,
Mosquitos, Fleas, and other insects (sent into the World, I believe, to
torment Mankind) are also tired or satiated with sucking the Blood from
the Travellers the preceding night, you may chance to sleep till 3
o'clock in the Morning, when the Carriers begin to load their beasts and
prepare for the day's Journey. The pleasure of travelling is also
considerably diminished by the numbers of Crosses by the road side,
which, being all stuck up wherever a murder has been committed, are very
unpleasant hints, and you are constantly put in mind of your latter End
by these confounded Monuments of Mortality. Fortunately, we met with no
Tromboners on the road, and hitherto we have saved the Country the
Expence of Erecting 3 Crosses on our account. At last we arrived at
Granada, the 3rd Town in Spain in Extent, being surpassed only by
Seville and Toledo. You will, I suppose, expect a long account of the
Alhambra and Romantic Gardens of the Generalife, a minute account of the
curiosities in the City and a long string of etceteras relative to the
place. You must, however, remain in ignorance of all these things till
we meet, as at present I have neither time or inclination or paper
sufficient to repeat my adventures and observations: suffice it to say
that on the whole I was much disappointed both with the Alhambra and
Granada, which are I cannot say lasting Monuments, for they are falling
fast to ruin. Of the Indolence and negligence of the people, you will
scarcely believe that so large a Town so near the sea, and situated in
one of the finest vales in Spain, is almost without Trade of any
Sort--neither troubling itself with importations or exerting its powers
to provide Materials for Exportation. The Capt. Genl., however, is doing
all he can to restore it to its former dignity, and were he well
seconded, Granada might again hope to become one of the brightest
ornaments of Spain. We returned by way of Loja and Antiquiera on the
27th of Decr., and have been wind bound ever since, and likely to be for
another Month--sure never was a wind so obstinate as the present. We
have here, I believe, quite formed a party to visit another quarter of
the Globe--a short trip to Africa is at present in agitation. A Capt.
Riddel from Gibraltar is one of the promoters, and if we can get to
Gibraltar in any decent time you may possibly in my next letter hear
some account of the Good Mahometans at Tangiers. We are but to make a
short Stay and carry our Guns and dogs, as we are told the Country is
overrun with game of every sort. I have been most agreeably surprised in
finding Malaga a very pleasant place: we have met with more attention
and seen more Company here than we ever did in Barcelona. I am this
Evening going to a Ball; unfortunately Fandangos are not fashionable
dances, but they have another called the Bolero, which in grace and
Elegance stands unrivalled, but would scarcely be admitted in the less
licentious circles of our N. Climate. I shall take lessons at Cadiz, and
hope to become an adept in all those dances before I see you. If you
write within a fortnight--and of course you will after receiving
this--you may still direct to Cadiz. There has been a disturbance at
Gibraltar, which was hatching when we were there, and during our absence
has Broken out. The many strange reports and particulars which have
reached Malaga--as I cannot vouch for their truth, I shall not Mention;
the Grand point, however, was to put his Royal H. on board of a Ship and
send him back to England. There has been also a desperate gale of Wind
in the Straights--3 Portuguese Frigates, one with the loss of her
rudder, were blown in here. Some Vessels, I understand, were also lost
at the Rock. I hope our little brig, _ye Corporation_, with the young
pointers has arrived in the Thames in spite of the constant Gales and
contrary Winds which we met with. I was sorry when the Wind became fair
and the Rock appeared ahead. My taste for salt Water is not at all
diminished by Experience. It is no doubt a strange one, but there is no
accounting for these things, you know. Malaga is warm enough--we have
Green Peas and Asparagus every day. But we experienced very severe
Weather at Granada--Frost and Snow. The baths of the Alhambra were even
covered with Ice an Inch Thick. Adieu! this is Post Day.

Loves to all,
Yours Sincerely,
E. S.


GIBRALTAR, _Jan. 22, 1803_.

MY DEAR BROTHER,--I promised in my last, which I wrote when I was on the
point of Setting out on a tour to Granada, to write again and give some
account of myself immediately on my return, which was delayed on account
of Sundry unfortunate Circumstances till the day before yesterday. From
Malaga I wrote to my Father, and you probably have heard that a fair
wind carried us in a vile vessel from this place to Malaga in one night,
from whence, staying as Short a time as possible, I set out on mules to
Granada, distant a journey of three days. Till this time I had never,
excepting from hearsay, formed a true idea of the perfection to which
travelling in Spain could be carried, and yet, bad as it was, my return
to land from Gibraltar has shown that things might be a degree worse. Of
the roads I can only say that most probably the Spaniards are indebted
to the Moors for first marking them out, and that the present race
follow the steps of their Ancestors, without troubling themselves with
repairs or alterations of any description. You may well then imagine the
delicate State in which they now are. The Ventas or Inns are in a State
admirably corresponding to that of the high-roads. Provisions of every
sort must necessarily be carried unless the traveller wishes to fast;
beds are occasionally, and indeed I may say pretty generally, to be met
with, such as they are; of course, bugs, fleas, Mosquitos, and so forth
must not be considered: they are plentifully diffused over the Country,
and are by no means confined to the inferior houses. With a Substitution
for "Pallida Mors" the quotation from Horace may with truth be applied,
"aequo pulsant pede pauperum tabernae, Regum turres." We passed thro'
Alhama, near which are some very fine hot baths; the exact heat I could
not ascertain (as my thermometer was actually jolted to pieces tho' in
its case in my pocket, travelling from Turin to Genoa), but it is so
great that I could scarcely keep my hand immersed for a minute. In
another Country they would be much frequented; as it is there are only
some miserable rooms for those who repair to them from necessity. On the
evening of the 21st of December we arrived at our Journey's end, and
found, what we did not expect, a very tolerable Inn, though as Granada
is considered the third Town in Spain, those who are unacquainted with
the country might expect a better. I have so much to say that I cannot
enter into a minute account of the famous Palace of the Alhambra and
other Curiosities in the Town, which is most beautifully situated at the
foot of a range of snow-covered Mountains at the extremity of what is
said to be the most luxuriant and delightful valley in Spain. I hope for
the credit of the Inhabitants that it is not so, as certainly it is in a
disgraceful state of Cultivation, and were it not for the Acqueducts
erected by the Moors for the convenience of watering the land would, I
fear, in a few years be burnt up by the intense heat of summer. Its
chief produce is Corn and oil; silk and Wine are also cultivated, but
the cold of winter sometimes injures the two latter. The place is badly
peopled and has no trade; it is chiefly supported by being the chief
criminal port of Spain, and the richest people are consequently the
Lawyers. We saw the baths of Alhambra in a state very different from
what they usually are--actually frozen over and the Ice nearly an Inch
thick. I must say I was greatly disappointed with these famed remains of
Moorish Magnificence, tho' certainly when everything was kept in order,
the fountains all playing, it must have been very different; at present
it is falling fast to ruin. The Governor is a man appointed by the
Prince of Peace,[13] and I believe would be unwilling to bestow any
attention on anything in the world but his own person, of which by all
accounts he takes special care. We returned to Malaga through Loja and
Antequerra, both Moorish towns. At Malaga we were detained by Contrary
winds for three weeks; we might, indeed, have passed our time less
advantageously at other places, as we experienced much unexpected
Civility & saw a great deal of Spanish Society. Wearied at length with
waiting for Winds, we determined to set out on our return to the Rock by
land, and accordingly hired 4 horses, and, under the most favourable
auspices, left Malaga. We soon found that even a Spanish sky could not
be trusted; it began before we had completed half our first day's
journey to pour with rain. To return was impossible, as we had forded
the first river. In short, for three days we suffered Every
Inconvenience which can be conceived, but were still to meet with
another disappointment, for on the Morning of the day in which we had
certainly calculated to arrive at Gibraltar we came to a River which was
so much swelled that the Boatman could not ferry us over. Nearly a
hundred Muleteers and others were in the same predicament, and we had
the satisfaction of passing two most miserable days in a horrid Cortigo,
a house of _accommodation_ a degree lower than a Venta. Our provisions
were exhausted, and nothing but bread and water were to be met with.
Beds, of course, or a room of any sort were unobtainable. Conceive to
yourself a kitchen filled with smoke, without windows, in which were
huddled together about forty of the lowest order of Spaniards. As it
poured with rain we could not stir out, and as for staying within doors
it was scarcely possible. If we tried to sleep we were instantly covered
with fleas and other insects equally partial to a residence on the human
body. After two days' penance, as the waters began to abate, we
determined to cross the river in a small boat and proceed on foot, which
we did, and though we had to skip thro' 2 or 3 horrible streams and wade
thro' Mud and Marshes we performed the journey lightly, as anything was
bearable after the Cortigo del rio Zuariano. We passed through St. Roque
and the Spanish lines and arrived at Gibraltar on 20th, out of patience
with the Spaniards and everything belonging to Spain. Indeed, the
Country is a disgrace to Europe. I wish indolence was the only vice of
the inhabitants, but added to laziness they are in general mean in their
ideas, the women licentious in their manners, and both sexes sanguinary
to a degree scarcely credible. In Malaga particularly, few nights pass
without some murders. Those who have any regard for their safety must
after dark carry a sword and a lantern. You may form some idea of the
people when there was one fellow at Granada who had with his own hand
committed no less than 22 Murders. Nothing could be more gratifying to
an Englishman than finding wherever he goes the manufactures of his own
Country. This in Spain is particularly the case; there is scarcely a
single article of any description which this people can make for
themselves, consequently English goods are sure of meeting with a quick
sale. Perhaps it may be from prejudice, but certainly the idea I had of
England before I left it has been raised many degrees since I have had
an opportunity of comparing it with other countries. But now for some
news respecting Gibraltar itself, which has during my absence been a
scene of Confusion, first by a dreadful gale of wind, and secondly from
a much more serious cause, a spirit of Mutiny in the Garrison. By the
former 16 or 18 vessels were either lost or driven on shore; by the
latter some lives were sacrificed before tranquillity was restored, and
3 men have since suffered death by the Verdict of a Court Martial. No
doubt you will see something of it in the papers; I cannot now enter
into a detail as it would take some time. The 2 Regts. principally, and
I believe I may say only, concerned were the Royals, which is the
Duke's[14] own Regt., and the 25th; fortunately they did not act in
concert. The other Regts. of the Garrison, the 2nd, 8th, 23rd, and 54th,
particularly the latter, behaved well. The design was to seize the Duke
and put him on board a ship and send him to England. He is disliked on
account of his great severity: whether he carries discipline to an
unnecessary degree military men know better than myself. Despatches have
been sent to England, and I believe some of the men concerned; the
greatest anxiety prevails to know what answers or orders will be
returned. Of War and the rumours of War, tho' we it seems are nearer the
scene of action than those who dwell at home, little is known, and what
little is seems to be more inclined to peace than the English papers
allow. It is here said, on what grounds I know not, that the Spaniards
have entirely ceded Minorca to their good neighbours the French. We have
but a small Naval force in the bay; and a few frigates and ships of
war, one of the latter the _Bittern_, I believe, arrived yesterday from
England, but without any particular news. Many gun boats were fitting
out at Malaga, but I was informed they were only meant for "Guarda
Costas," which may or not be the truth. We sailed for Cadiz the moment
an E. wind would give us leave; it has now blown almost constantly a W.
wind for three months, and the season has been remarkably wet. I am
impatient to get to Cadiz as I expect certainly to find letters, the
receipt of which from home is, I think, the greatest pleasure a
traveller can experience. Of Louisa's[15] marriage I have as yet not
heard, tho' no doubt, however, it has taken place. How are my Nephews
and Nieces? I do indeed look forward with pleasure to my next visit to
Alderley. Remember it is now nearly 2 years since I have seen you; how
many things have happened in the time to yours most sincerely

EDWD. STANLEY.


_Edward Stanley to his brother J. T. Stanley._

GIBRALTAR, _January 16, 1803_.

MY DEAR BROTHER,-- ... I shall pass over the greater part of the rest of
your long letter & proceed without further delay to talk of myself. The
last time you heard from me I think was soon after I arrived in
Barcelona; what occurred during my stay there you have most probably
heard from my sisters, as I wrote to Highlake just before I left that
place. I consider myself as extremely fortunate in being at Barcelona
during a time when I had a better opportunity of seeing the Court of
Spain and the different amusements of the Country than I could have
witnessed by a much longer residence even in Madrid itself. I was,
however, unfortunately only a Spectator; as no regular English Consul
had arrived in Barcelona, I had no opportunity of being introduced
either at Court or in the first Circles. Another difficulty also was in
my way; unfortunately I was not in the Army & consequently had no
uniform, without which or a Court dress no person is considered as a
Gentleman in this Country. I have repeatedly regretted that before I
left England I did not put my name down on some Military list, & under
cover of a red Coat procure an undisputed right to the title of
Gentleman in Spain.

As for the people, both noble and vulgar, it requires but a very short
residence amongst them to be highly disgusted; few receive any thing
which deserves the name of a regular Education, & I have been told from,
I believe, undoubted Authority, that a nobleman unable to write his
name, or even read his own pedigree, is by no means a difficult thing to
meet with. The Government is in such a State that ere long it must fall,
I should think. The King is entirely under the power of the Prince of
Peace,[16] a man who from being a common Corps de Garde has risen by
degrees, & being naturally ambitious & extremely avaricious has gained a
rank inferior only to that of the King, & a fortune which makes him not
only the richest man in Spain but probably in Europe. He is disliked by
every Class of people, & it is not, I believe, without good ground that
he is considered as little better than a tool of Buonaparte's.

The conduct of France to Spain in many particulars, which are too
numerous now to mention, shews in what a degraded state the latter
is--how totally unable to act or even think for herself. One instance I
need only mention, tho' I do not vouch for the truth of it, further than
as being a report current in the Garrison. The French have _kindly_
offered to send 4,000 troops to Minorca in order to _take care_ of it
for yr good friends the Spaniards, and a Squadron is fitting out at
Toulon to carry them there. After your alarming account of the naval
preparations in the three kingdoms you will expect that I, who am here
in the centre of everything, should be able to tell you a great deal;
you will, therefore, be surprised when you are informed that yours is
almost the only account of another war which I have heard of. A Strong
Squadron, indeed, of 6 line of Battle Ships some time ago sailed with
sealed orders and went aloft, but where is unknown. From Barcelona, as
it was utterly impossible to get to Madrid on account of the King
having put an Embargo on every Conveyance, which is easily done as the
Conveyances are bad as the roads and difficult to meet with, as well as
enormously dear, we determined to steer for Gibraltar by Sea, and
accordingly took passage on an English brig, which was to stop on the
Coast for fruit we took on board. The Voyage was uncommonly long, and we
met with every Species of weather, during which I had the pleasure of
witnessing a very interesting Collection of Storms, with all the
concomitant circumstances such as Splitting Sails and Shipping Seas, one
of which did us considerable mischief, staving in all the starboard
quarter boards, filling and very nearly carrying away the long-boat,
drowning our live Stock, and, of course, ducking us all on deck most
thoroughly. We stayed a week at Denia, a small but beautiful Town on the
south part of the K. of Valencia. We were fortunately put on shore here
in the night of December 6th. I say fortunately, as in consequence of a
very strong Levanter the Captn. was for some hours in doubt whether he
should not be under the necessity of running through the straits and
carrying us to England, which was very near happening. Italy I have
quite given up for the present. Rome and Naples I lament not to have
seen, but you know that from Leghorn I turned to the westward in
Compliance with Hussey's wish, who was anxious to be near Lisbon. We
have some idea of going from this place thro' Malaga to Granada, and
soon after we return proceed to Cadiz, and after making some excursions
from thence go on to Lisbon. Your letter which you promised to send to
Madrid will, I fear, never reach me, tho' I have still hopes of paying
that Capital a visit. At Lisbon I shall arrive, I should think, about
March, and hope to be in England about May, or perhaps sooner. At Lisbon
I hope to find a letter from you; the direction is Jos. Lyne & Co. I
have been very unfortunate in not finding some friends in the Garrison,
the only officer to whom I had a letter whom I found here has been of
little Service to us. I have, however, made the best use of my time and
have been over the greatest part of this extraordinary Fortress, but
shall leave the description of it, as well as of an infinity of other
things, till we meet, which shall be very soon after my arrival in
England. I must send this instantly or wait for the next Post day, so I
shall conclude rather hastily. My best Love to Mrs. S. and Believe me,

Yours sincerely,
EDWD. STANLEY.

[Illustration: Lord Sheffield

Walker & Boutall, ph. sc.]



CHAPTER II

AFTER NAPOLEON'S FALL

News of the Emperor's fall--Foreign plans--Disquieting
rumours--Madame de Staël--London in an uproar--Emperors and
Kings--Hero-worship at close quarters.

1814.


The sudden rupture of the Peace of Amiens in May, 1803, closed France to
Englishmen, except to the miserable eight or nine thousand who were in
the country at the time, and were forcibly detained there by orders of
the First Consul. It was not until eleven years later, in April, 1814,
when Napoleon had abdicated, and when the allies had triumphantly
entered Paris and restored Louis XVIII. to the throne of his fathers,
that peaceful British travellers could cross the frontier once more.

The busy parish life which had occupied Edward Stanley during the years
which had elapsed since his first visit to France had not made him less
keen for travel than he had been in his college days, and all his ardour
was aroused by the news that there was to be an end to Napoleon's rule.

The excitement caused by the rumour of the capture of Paris and the
deposition of the Emperor may be guessed at by a letter received at
Alderley from Lord Sheffield, father of Lady Maria Stanley, in the
spring of 1814.


_Letter from Lord Sheffield._

PORTLAND PLACE, _April 6, 1814_.

...I am just come from the Secretary of State's Office. We are all
gasping for further intelligence from Paris, but none has arrived since
Capt. Harris, a very intelligent young man who was despatched in half an
hour after the business was completed, but of course cannot answer half
the questions put to him. He came by Flanders, escorted part of the way
by Cossacks, but was stopped nearly a day on the road. Schwartzenberg
completely out-generalled Buonaparte. An intercepted letter of the
latter gave him notice of an intended operation. He instantly decided on
the measures which brought on the capture of Paris. I suppose you know
that King Joseph sent the Empress and King of Rome previously to
Rambouillet. It is supposed that Buonaparte has fallen back to form a
junction with some other troops. A friend of Marshal Beresford's[17] has
just called here who lately had a letter from the Marshal which says
that he is quite sure that Soult has not 15,000 men left, and that in
sundry engagements and by desertion he has lost about 16,000 men. I
have no letter from Sir Henry[18] or William Clinton[19] since I saw
you, but I learn at the War Office that the latter was, on the 20th of
last month, within ten days' march of the right wing of Lord
Wellington's army.[20]

       *       *       *       *       *

Further news soon followed, and the authentic accounts of the Emperor's
abdication at Fontainebleau on April 11th, and of his banishment to
Elba, made it certain that his power was broken.

The Rector of Alderley was eager to seize the chance of viewing the
wreck of Napoleon's Empire while the country was still ringing with
rumours of battles and sieges, and he began to make plans to do so
almost as soon as the French ports were open.

His wife was as keen as himself, and it was at first suggested that Sir
John and Lady Maria, as well as Mrs. Edward Stanley, should join the
expedition; but the difficulties of finding accommodation, and the fears
of the disturbed state of the country, made them abandon the idea, to
their great disappointment.

The following extracts from the correspondence of Lady Maria Stanley
explain the reasons for the journey being given up by herself and her
sister-in-law.

They describe the feeling in England on the foreign situation, and also
give a glimpse of the wayward authoress, Madame de Staël, who was just
then on her way back to France after a banishment of ten years.


_Lady Maria Stanley to her sister, Lady Louisa Clinton._

ALDERLEY PARK, _April 30, 1814_.

So the Parisian expedition is at an end for us, in convention, that is,
for I think Edward will brave all difficulties, and with Ed. Leycester,
taking Holland first on his way, make a fight for Paris if possible; but
all who know anything on the subject represent the present difficulties
as so great, and the probable future ones so much greater, that Kitty
(Mrs. Ed. Stanley) has given up all thought of making the attempt this
year.

Lodging at Paris is difficult to be had, and there are even serious
apprehensions of a scarcity of provisions there. Moreover, the wise ones
would not be surprised if things were in a very unsettled and, perhaps,
turbulent state for some months. This is Miss Tunno's information,
confirmed by other accounts she has had from Paris.

Madame Moreau's[21] brother means to return to prepare for her
reception and the mode of travelling, and when all is arranged to come
again to fetch her.

There seems every reason to think another year preferable for a trip,
especially as I have been making the same melancholy reflections as Cat.
Fanshawe,[22] and feared there would not be one clever or agreeable
person left in London a Twelve-month hence; my only comfort is the
expectation that House rent will be very cheap, and that the said Cat.
will be better disposed to take up with second best company for want of
perfection, and that we may have more of her society.

...All you say of the French nobility and their feelings is very true;
but if they return with the sentiment that all the Senate who wish for a
good constitution are "des coquins," which I very much suspect, I shall
consider the emigrants are the greatest "coquins" of the two sets.

Surely, all the very bad Republicans and terrorists are exterminated. I
should like to see a list of the Constituent Assembly, with an account
of what has become of each. I have been reading all the accounts we have
of the Revolution from the beginning. When I begin I am as fierce a
Republican as ever, and think no struggle too much for the purpose of
amending such a government or such laws. By the time I come to /93,
however, one begins to hesitate, but I rejoice most heartily the old
times are not restored, and hope Louis means to be sincere and
consistent with his good beginning.

I return the "Conte de Cely," which is very entertaining and
interesting, as no doubt speaking the sentiments of all the old
nobility. I do not think France has seen the end of her troubles
entirely. It is impossible the Senate and the Emigrants can sit down
quietly together, but the former--the Marshals and the Generals--would
be formidable if they had reason given them to doubt the security of
Louis' acceptation of the Constitution. If the Bourbons share the
sentiments of their nobles, will you not give me leave to think they are
too soon restored?

Miss Tunno is very intimate with Mdme. Moreau and a cousin of hers. All
her accounts have been conformable with yours.


_Lady Louisa Clinton to her sister, Lady Maria Stanley._

To-day I sat an hour with Cat. Fanshawe, and was highly amused by the
account she gave of Mme. de Staël bolting up to her while standing
speaking to Lord Lansdowne and some others at Mrs. Marcet's,[23] and
saying, "I want to be acquainted with you. They say you have written a
minuet. I am not a judge of English poetry, but those who are told me
it is very good. Is it printed?" This intolerable impertinence, which,
however, she probably meant for condescension, so utterly overset Cat.,
that she could find not a word to say, and treated the overture so
coldly that nothing more came of it.

I exhort Cat. to recollect that the woman was so notorious for excessive
ill-breeding, that no particular affront was intended, and hoped she
would not continue coy, as I long to hear something of this Lioness from
one who can judge.

Hitherto I have had no such luck. I hear the most exaggerated statements
of the Baroness's absurdities, or of the necessity of her being one of
every literary party.


_Letter from Miss Catherine Fanshawe, after meeting Lord Byron and Mme
de Staël at Sir Humphry and Lady Davy's._

_Early Spring, 1814._

I have just stayed in London long enough to get a sight of the last
imported lion,[24] Mme de Staël; but it was worth twenty peeps through
ordinary show-boxes, being the longest and most entertaining dinner at
which I ever in my life was present. The party being very small, her
conversation was for the benefit of all who had ears to hear, and even
my imperfect organ lost little of the discourse--happy if memory had
served me with as much fidelity; for, had the whole discourse been
written without one syllable of correction, it would be difficult to
name a dialogue so full of eloquence and wit. Eloquence is a great word,
but not too big for her. She speaks as she writes; and upon this
occasion she was inspired by indignation, finding herself between two
opposite spirits, who gave full play to all her energies. She was
astonished to hear that this pure and perfect constitution was in need
of radical reform; that the only safety for Ireland was to open wide the
doors which had been locked and barred by the glorious revolution; and
that Great Britain, the bulwark of the World, the Rock which alone had
withstood the sweeping flood, the ebbs and flows of Democracy and
Tyranny, was herself feeble, disjointed, and almost on the eve of ruin.
So, at least, it was represented by her antagonist in argument, Childe
Harold, whose sentiments, partly perhaps for the sake of argument, grew
deeper and darker in proportion to her enthusiasm.

The wit was his. He is a mixture of gloom and sarcasm, chastened,
however, by good breeding, and with a vein of original genius that makes
some atonement for the unheroic and uncongenial cast of his whole mind.
It is a mind that never conveys the idea of sunshine. It is a dark night
upon which the lightning flashes. The conversation between these two
and Sir Humphry Davy,[25] at whose house they met, was so animated that
Lady Davy[26] proposed coffee being served in the eating-room; so we did
not separate till eleven. Of course we had assembled rather late. I
should not say "assembled," for the party included no guests except Lord
Byron and myself in addition to the "Staël" quartette....

As foreigners have no idea that any opposition to Government is
compatible with general obedience and loyalty, their astonishment was
unbounded. I, perhaps I only, completely relished all her reasonings,
and I thought her perfectly justified in replying to the pathetic
mournings over departed liberty, "Et vous comptez pour rien la liberté
de dire tout cela, et même devant les domestiques!" She concluded by
heartily wishing us a little taste of real adversity to cure us of our
plethora of political health.

       *       *       *       *       *

In consequence of the difficulties and dangers anticipated in the above
letters Edward Stanley finally decided to take as his only travelling
companion his young brother-in-law, Edward Leycester, who was just
leaving Cambridge for the Long Vacation.

Mrs. Stanley accompanied her husband and brother as far as London, in
order to see the festivities held in honour of the State visit of the
Allied Sovereigns to England in June, on their way from the Restoration
ceremonies in France.

Her letters to her sister-in-law during this visit describe some of the
actors in the great events of the last few months and the excitement
which pervaded London during their stay.


_Mrs. Edward Stanley to Lady Maria Stanley._

LONDON, _Friday, June 13, 1814_.

Edward went for his passport the other day, and was told he must go to
the Alien Office, being taken for a Frenchman....

I forgot yesterday to beg Sir John would write Edward an introduction to
Lord Clancarty,[27] and anybody else he can think of at Paris or the
Hague, and send them to him as soon as possible.

We have been Emperor[28] hunting all morning. No, first we went to Mass
with Miss Cholmondeley, and heard such music!

Then with her to the Panorama of Vittoria, and since then we have been
parading St. James's Street and Piccadilly. Oh! London for ever! Edward
saw a whiskered man go into a shop, followed him, and accosted him, and
it was a man just arrived with despatches for the Crown Prince, who was
thankful to be shewn his way. There was a gentleman came up to talk to
Miss Cholmondeley, and he had been living in the house with Lucien
Bonaparte.[29]

[Illustration: _H. Edridge A.R.A. Welt 1811_ _Emory Walker Ph. Sc._

_Kitty Leycester--married Edward Stanley 1810._]

Then Edward was standing in Hatchard's shop, and he saw a strange bonnet
in an open landau, and there was the Duchess of Oldenburg[30] and her
Bonnet, and her brother sitting by her in a plain black coat, and he
gave himself the toothache running after the carriage.

He saw, or fancied he saw, a great deal of character in the Duchess's
countenance. I just missed this, but afterwards joined Edward, and
walked up and down St. James's Street, trusting to Edward's eyes, rather
than all the assurances we met with, that the Emperor was gone to
Carlton House, and were rewarded by a sight of him in a quarter of an
hour, which had sufficed him to change his dress and his equipage, and a
very fine head he has. Such a sense of bustle and animation as there is
in that part of the town! You and Sir John may, and I daresay will,
laugh at all the amazing anxiety and importance attached to a glimpse of
what is but a man after all; but still the common principles of sympathy
would force even Sir John's philosophy to yield to the animating throng
of people and carriages down St. James's Street, and follow their
example all the time he was abusing their folly.


_June 13, 1814._

At half-past ten we started for the illuminations, and nearly made the
tour of the whole town from Park Lane to St. Paul's in the open
barouche.

I cannot conceive a more beautiful scene than the India House; they had
hung a quantity of flags and colours of different sorts across the
street; the flutings and capitals of the pillars, and all the outlines
of the buildings, marked out with lamps, so that it was much more like a
fairy palace and a fairy scene altogether than anything else.

The flags concealed the sky, and formed such a fine background to the
brilliant light thrown on all the groups of figures.

We did not get home till daylight. There was nothing the least good or
entertaining in the way of inscriptions and transparencies, except a
"Hosanna to Jehovah, Britain, and Alexander."


_Mrs. E. Stanley to Lady Maria Stanley._

LONDON, _Wednesday, June, 1814_.

Where did we go to be made fools of by the Emperor yesterday for four
hours? We went with Miss Tunno, got introduced to a gentleman's tailor
in Parliament Street, and looked out of his window; saw a shabby coach
and six pass, full of queer heads, one of which was so like the prints
of Alexander, and bowed so like an Emperor, that I must and will
maintain it to have been him till I can receive positive proof that it
was not. We saw, too, what they said was Blücher, but we could hear or
see nothing but that something was wrapped up in furs. However, Edward
was more fortunate, and came in for the real bows which the real Emperor
made from the Pulteney Hotel window, and you and Sir John may laugh as
you please at all the trouble we have taken to see--nothing.

Nevertheless, though I was well disposed to kiss the Emperor and Prince,
and all who contributed to disappoint the public expectation, it is
certainly entertaining and enlivening to be in expectation of meeting
something strange every corner you turn and every different report you
hear. The Emperor has gone out this morning to look about at half-past
nine, long before the Prince Regent called.

They say he will sail in one of his own ships from Leith and may pass
through Manchester. But after all, it is something like what Craufurd
described being in Paris, to be hearing yourself in the midst of a
great bustle with your eyes shut and unable to see what was going on
round you.

We talk of Monday se'enight for our separation. There is so much to be
seen if one could but see it here, that Edward is in no hurry to be
off....

At Lady Cork's the other night Blücher was expected. Loud Huzzas in the
street at length announced him, the crowd gathered round the door, and
in walked Lady Caroline Lamb[31] in a foreign uniform! This I had from
no less authentic and accurate a source than Dr. Holland, who was an
eye-witness. She had been at the party in female attire, and seeing Lady
Cork's anxiety to see the great man, returned home and equipped herself
to take in Lady C. and Co.


_Monday, 8 a.m., June 16th._

Yesterday, after Church, we went to the Park. It was a beautiful day,
and the Emperor may well be astonished at the population, for such a
crowd of people I could not have conceived, and such an animated crowd.
As the white plumes of the Emperor's guard danced among the trees, the
people all ran first to one side and then to the other; it was
impossible to resist the example, and we ran too, backwards and forwards
over the same hundred yards, four times, and were rewarded by seeing the
Ranger of the Forest, Lord Sydney, who preceded the Royal party, get a
good tumble, horse and all. We saw Lord Castlereagh almost pulled off
his horse by congratulations and huzzahs as loud as the Emperor's, and a
most entertaining walk we had.

We dined at Mr. Egerton's. Mr. Morritt[32] rather usurped the
conversation after dinner, but I was glad of him to save me from the
history of each lady's adventures in search of the Emperor or the
illuminations. The Opera must have been a grand sight; it seems
undoubted that the Emperor and Prince Regent, and all in the Royal box,
rose when the Princess of Wales came in and bowed to her--it is supposed
by previous arrangement. Lord Liverpool[33] declared that he would
resign unless something of the sort was done.

One man made forty guineas by opening his box door and allowing those in
the lobbies to take a peep for a guinea apiece. We made an attempt on
Saturday to get into the pit, but it was quite impossible. I would not
for the world but have been here during the fever, although what many
people complain of is very true, that it spoils all conversation and
society, and in another day or two I shall be quite tired of the sound
or sight of Emperors.

The merchants and bankers invited the Emperor to dinner; he said he had
no objection if they would promise him it should not exceed
three-quarters of an hour, on which Sir William Curtis lifted up his
hands and exclaimed, "God bless me!"

He is tired to death with the long sittings he is obliged to undergo.
The stories of him quite bring one back to the "Arabian Nights," and
they could not have chosen a more appropriate ballet for him than "Le
Calife Voleur."

If he stayed long enough, he might revolutionise the hours of London.

I was close to Blücher yesterday, but only saw his back, for I never
thought of looking at a man's face who had only a black coat on.

You may safely rest in your belief that I do not enjoy anything I see or
hear without telling it to you, and you are quite right in your
conjecture as to what your feelings would be here.

I have thought and said a hundred times what a fever of impatience
disappointment, and fatigue you would be in.... You are also right in
supposing that you know as much or more of the Emperor than I do, for
one has not the time nor the inclination to read what one has the chance
of seeing all the day long, and it is so entertaining that I feel it
quite impossible to sit quiet and content when you know what is going
on.

One person meets another: "What are you here for?" "I don't know. What
are you expecting to see?" One says the Emperor is gone this way, and
another that way, and of all the talking couples or trios that pass you
in the street, there are not two where the word "Emperor" or "King" or
"Blücher" is not in one, if not both mouths; and all a foxhound's
sagacity is necessary to scent him successfully, for he slips round by
backways and in plain clothes.


_Mrs. E. Stanley to Lady Maria Stanley._

LONDON, _June 17, 1814_.

We were in high luck on Sunday in getting a private interview with the
Cossacks, through some General of M.'s acquaintance. We saw their horses
and the white one, 20 years old, which has carried Platoff[34] through
all his engagements. They are small horses with very thick legs. The
Cossacks themselves would not open the door of their room till luckily a
gentleman who could speak Russian came up, and then we were admitted.

There were four, one who had been thirty years in the service, with a
long beard and answering exactly my idea of a Cossack; the others,
younger men with fine countenances and something graceful and
gentleman-like in their figure and manner. They were very happy to talk,
and there was great intelligence and animation in their eyes. No wonder
they defy the weather with their cloaks made of black sheepskin and
lined with some very thick cloth which makes them quite impenetrable to
cold or wet. Their lances were 11 feet long, and they were dressed in
blue jacket and trousers confined round the waist with a leather belt,
in which was a rest for the lance. I envied their saddles, which have a
sort of pommel behind and before, between which is placed a cushion, on
which they must sit most comfortably. We must see them on horseback to
_have seen_ them, but we shall probably have an opportunity of seeing
them again.


_June 18, 1814._

On returning from Miss Fanshawe's we saw a royal carriage in George
Street at Madame Moreau's, and we waited to see the Emperor and the
Duchess (of Oldenburg) get into the carriage. He was in a plain blue
coat; she without her curious bonnet, so that I had a good view of her
face, which I had the satisfaction of finding exactly what I wished to
see. The extreme simplicity of her dress--she had nothing but a plain
white gown and plain straw hat, with no ornament of any sort--and her
very youthful appearance made me doubt whether it was really the
Duchess; but it was.

She is very little, and there is a strong expression of intelligence,
vivacity, and youthful, unsophisticated animation in her countenance. I
fancied I could see so much of her character in the brisk step with
which she jumped into the carriage, and the unassuming, lively smile
with which she bowed to the people.

The Emperor looks like a gentleman--but a country gentleman, not like an
Emperor. His head is very like R. Heber's. The Duchess allowed herself
to be pleased and to express her pleasure at all the sights without the
least restraint. She asks few questions, but those very pertinent. She
is impatient at being detained long over anything, but anxious to
silence those who would hence infer that she runs over everything
superficially, without gaining or retaining real knowledge.

At Woolwich she was asked if she would see the steam-engines. "No, she
had seen them already, and understood them perfectly." As they passed
the open door she turned her head to look at the machinery, and
instantly exclaimed, "Oh, that is one of Maudesley's engines," her eye
immediately catching the peculiarity of the construction.


LONDON, _June 22, 1814_.

In the middle of Edward's sermon at St. George's to-day somebody in our
pew whispered it round that there was the King of Prussia[35] in the
Gallery. I looked as directed, and fixed my eyes on a melancholy,
pensive, interesting face, exactly answering the descriptions of the
King, and immediately fell into a train of very satisfactory reflection
and conjecture on the expression of his physiognomy, for which twenty
minutes afforded me ample time. The King was the only one I had not
seen, therefore this opportunity of studying his face so completely was
particularly valuable. When the prayer after the sermon was concluded,
my informer said the King was gone, when, to my utter disappointment, I
beheld my Hero still standing in the Gallery, and discovered I had
pitched upon a wrong person, and wasted all my observations on a face
that it did not really signify whether it looked merry or sad, and
entirely missed the sight of the real King, who was in the next pew.

Nothing but his sending to offer Edward a Chaplaincy in Berlin for his
excellent sermon can possibly console me, except, indeed, the _honour by
itself_ of having preached before a King of Prussia, which can never
happen again in his life.

...The Duchess of Oldenburg took all the merchants by surprise the other
day. They had no idea she was coming to their dinner; she was the only
lady, and she was rather a nuisance to them, as they had provided a
hundred musicians, who could not perform, as she cannot bear music.[36]
She was highly amused at the scene and with their "Hip! Hip!"


MONDAY, _June 23, 1814_.

At our dinner Mr. Tennant came in late, with many apologies, but really
he had been hunting the Emperor--waiting for him two hours at one place
and two hours at another, and came away at last without seeing him at
all.

He said, in his dry way, that "Have you seen the Emperor?" has entirely
superseded the use of "How do you do?"

In the morning he had gone into a shop to buy some gloves, and whilst he
was trying them on the shopman suddenly exclaimed, "Blücher! Blücher!"
cleared the counter at a leap, followed by all the apprentices, and Mr.
Tennant remained soberly amongst the gloves to make his own selection,
for he saw nothing more of his dealers.

Rooms are letting to-day in the City at 60 guineas a room, or a guinea a
seat for the procession. Tickets for places to see it from White's to be
had at Hookham's for 80 guineas; 50 have been refused.

Your letter revived me after five hours' walking and standing, and
running after reviews, &c.

I did see the King of Prussia, to be sure, and the Prince, and the
people climbing up the trees like the grubs on the gooseberry bushes,
and heard the _feu de joie_, whose crescendo and diminuendo was very
fine indeed, but altogether it was not worth the trouble of being tired
and squeezed for.

At the reception at Sir Joseph Banks's house last night the most
interesting object of the evening was a sword come down from heaven on
purpose for the Emperor! Let the Prince Regent and his garters and his
orders, and the merchants and the aldermen and everybody hide their
diminished heads! What are they and their gifts to the Philosophers'?

This is literally a sword made by Sowerby from the iron from some
meteoric stones lately fallen--of course in honour of the Emperor. There
is an inscription on it something to this effect, but not so neat as
the subject demanded, and it is to be presented to Alexander--who does
not deserve it, by the by, for having entirely neglected Sir Joseph
amongst all the great sights and great men, which has rather mortified
the poor old man.


LONDON, _Monday night_.

They are off, and in spite of all my friends' predictions to the
contrary, I am here.

Edward went this morning to Portsmouth on his way to Havre, but the
Havre packet is employed in pleasuring people up and down to see the
ships. Not a bed is to be had in the place, so he has secured his berth
in the packet, if he can find her, and get on board at night after her
morning's excursions.

Standing room is to be had in the streets for three shillings; seats are
putting up in and for two miles out of the town; all the laurels cut
down to stick upon poles; in short, everybody is madder there than in
London.

Can the English ever be called cool and phlegmatic again? It is really a
pity some metaphysicianising philosopher is not here to observe,
describe, and theorise on the extraordinary symptoms and effects of
enthusiasm, curiosity, insanity--I am sure I do not know what to call
it--en masse.

One should have supposed that the great objects would have swallowed up
the little ones. No such thing! they have only made the appetite for
them more ravenous.

The mob got hold of Lord Hill[37] in the Park at the review, and did
literally pull his coat and his belt to pieces. He snatched off his
Order of the Bath, and gave it to Major Churchill, who put it in the
holster of his saddle, where he preserved it from the mob only by
drawing his sword and declaring he would cut any man's hand off who
touched it. Some kissed his sword, his boots, his spurs, or anything
they could touch; they pulled hair out of his horse's tail, and one
butcher's boy who arrived at the happiness of shaking his hand, they
chaired, exclaiming, "This is the man who has shaken hands with Lord
Hill!" At last they tore his sword off by breaking the belt and then
handed it round from one to another to be kissed.

My regret at not having been at White's is stronger than my desire to go
was; it must have been the most splendid and interesting sight one could
ever hope to see.

       *       *       *       *       *

On Friday, June 27th, Edward Stanley and Edward Leycester finally set
off and sailed from Portsmouth, all gay with festivities in honour of
the Allied Sovereigns.

Mrs. Stanley was left to spend the time of their absence at her father's
house in Cheshire, but the keen interest with which she would have
shared the journey was not forgotten by her husband.

The events of the tour were minutely chronicled in his letters to her,
and not only in letters, but in sketch books, filled to overflowing with
every strange group and figure which met the travellers on their way,
through countries which had been, although so near, prohibited for such
a long time that they had almost the interest of unknown lands.


_Mrs. E. Stanley to Lady Maria Stanley._

STOKE, _July 4, 1814_.

...That my curiosity may not catch cold in the too sudden transition
from exercise to inaction, the Shropshire and Cheshire Heroes have
followed me down here, and I have had the pleasure of seeing and hearing
of the crowds going to touch (for that is the present fashion of seeing,
or, to speak philosophically, _mode_ of _perception_) Lord Hill; and
yesterday I met Lord Combermere and his Bride at Alderley, and a worthy
Hero he is for Cheshire!

A folio from Havre just arrived. I am very noble, very virtuous, and
very disinterested--pray assure me so, for nothing else can console
me--it is too entertaining to send one extract.



CHAPTER III

UNDER THE BOURBON FLAG

French prisoners--Oldenburg bonnets--"Fugio ut Fulgor"--Soldiers of
the Empire--Paris--A French hotel--A walk through Paris--Portrait
of Madame de Staël--An English ambassador--The Louvre--French
tragedy--The heights of Montmartre--Cossacks in the Champs
Elysées--£900 for substitute--Napoleon's legacies to his
successor--A dinner at the English Embassy--Botany and
mineralogy--Party at Madame de Staëls--A debate in the Corps
Législatif--Malmaison--Elbowing the marshals--St Cloud and
Trianon--The Catacombs.


_Edward Stanley to his Wife._


LETTER I.

HAVRE, _June 26, 1814_.

We have passed the Rubicon--nous voilà en France, all new, interesting,
and delightful. I know not where or how to begin--the observations of an
hour were I to paint in Miniature would fill my sheet; however, you must
not expect arrangement but read a sort of higgledy-piggledy journal as
things run through my head. I must pin them down like my Butterflies as
they pass, or they will be gone for ever.

At half-past four on Friday we sailed from Portsmouth, and saw the fleet
in the highest beauty--amongst them all while they were under sail
tacking, &c.; the delay has not been lost time. I should observe before
I quit the subject of Portsmouth events, that the Emperor could not find
time to sail about for mere amusement two days, this he left to the P.
R.[38] He (the Emperor) and the Duchess of Oldenburg occupied themselves
in visiting the Dockyards, Machinery, Haslar Hospital--in short,
everything worthy the notice of enlightened beings....

Our passengers were numerous, about 25 in a vessel of as many tons, with
only six what they called regular sleeping-places.... But I had no
reason to complain, our party was in many respects excellent--one, a
jewel of no ordinary value, by name Mr. John Cross, of whom I must
enquire more. I have seldom met with a man of more general and at the
same time deep information; he seemed perfect in everything. Mineralogy,
Antiquities, Chemistry, literature, human nature were at his fingers'
ends, and most gentlemanly manners into the bargain....

Amongst others we had three French officers, prisoners returning home.
They had not met before that evening, but had you heard their
incomparable voices when they sang their trios, you would have supposed
they had practised together for years. Mr. John Cross alone surpassed
them in their art. These gentlemen were certainly not _hostile_ to
Bonaparte, but to gratify their musical taste they stuck at
nothing--"God save the King," "Rule Britannia," "The Downfall of Paris"
were chaunted in swift succession, and the following commencement of one
of their songs will show the popular opinion of Bonaparte's campaign in
Russia:--

    "Quel est le Monarque qui peut
         Etre si fou
     Que d'aller à Moscou
     Pour perdre sa grande armée?"

A fair wind brought us in sight of the French coast early on Saturday.
At 11 we were under the headland of Havre, and at 12 anchored in the
bay, and were in an instant surrounded by chattering boatfuls who talked
much but did nothing. On landing we were escorted to the Passport Office
and most civilly received there; the difference, indeed, between public
offices in England and France is quite glaring. Even the Custom house
Officers apologised for keeping us waiting for the form of searching;
and tho' the Underlings condescended to take a Franc or two, the Officer
himself, when I offered money, turned away his head and hand and cried,
"Ba, Ba, Non, Non," with such apparent sincerity that I felt as if I had
insulted him by offering it....

The whole process of getting our passports signed, &c., being over, we
went to an Hotel. "Ici, garçon, vite mettez Messieurs les Anglois à
l'onzième," cried a landlady--and such a landlady! and up we scampered
to the 5th storey (there are more still above us) and to this said, "No
onzième." ...

We lost no time in the evening in looking about us; the town is situated
about two miles up the Seine on a sort of Peninsula surrounded with very
regular and strong fortifications. Its docks are incomparable, and
Bonaparte would have added still more to their magnificence, but now all
is at a stand--the grass is quietly filling up spaces hitherto taken up
by soldiers, Workmen, shot and guns; the numberless merchant vessels in
a state of decay proved sufficiently the entire destruction of all
trade; but what gave me particular satisfaction was the sight of a
flotilla of Praams, luggers, intended for the invasion of England, all
reposing in a happy progress to speedy putrefaction and decay. About a
mile from the town on the hill is a beautiful village called St. Michel,
where the Havre citizens have country houses. The town itself is as
singular as heart can wish--indeed, I am firmly convinced that the
difference between the towns of the Earth and Moon is not greater than
that between those of England and France. I scarcely know how to
describe it to you. Conceive to yourself a long street of immensely tall
houses from 5 to 8 Stories, _huddled_, for huddling is the only word
which can convey my meaning, and in truth their extraordinary height and
narrow breadth seem rather the effect of compression than design....
These houses are inhabited by various families of various occupations
and tastes, so that each Storey has its own peculiar character--here you
see a smart Balcony with windows to the ground, garnished above and
below with the insignia of washing woman or taylor. They are built of
all materials, though I think chiefly of wood (like our old Cheshire
houses) and stucco; and, thanks to time and the filth and poverty of the
people, their exterior assumes a general tint of pleasing dirty
picturesque. This said dirt may have its advantages as far as the eye is
concerned, but the nose is terribly assailed by the innumerable
compounded Effluvias which flow from every Alley-hole and corner. For
the people and their dress! who shall venture to describe the things I
have seen in the shape of caps, hats and bonnets, cloaks and petticoats,
&c.? There I meet a group of Oldenburg Bonnets broader and more loaded
with flowers, bunches, bows, plumes than any we saw in London, and would
you believe it I am already not merely getting reconciled but absolutely
an admirer of them.

Having passed the groups of bonnets I meet at the next moment a set of
beings ycleped Poissardes, caparisoned with coverings of all sorts,
shapes, and sizes--here flaps a head decorated with lappets like
butterflies' wings--here nods a bower of cloth and pins tall and narrow
as the houses themselves, but I must not be too prolix on any one
particular subject.


_Sunday._

We have been to the great Church. It was full, very full, but the
congregation nearly all female.

There is certainly something highly imposing and impressive in that
general spirit of outward devotion at least which pervades all ranks.
Nothing can be finer than their music: we had a sermon, too, and not a
bad one. The order of things is somewhat reversed. In England we wear
white bands and black gown, here the preacher had black bands and white
gown, and I fear the eloquence of St. Paul would not prevent the smiles
of my hearers in Alderley Church were I to pop on my head in the middle
of the discourse a little black cap of which I enclose an accurate
representation.

What shall I say of political feeling? I think they appear to think or
care very little about it; the military are certainly dissatisfied and
the Innkeepers delighted, but further I know not what to tell you; I am
told, however, that the new proclamation for the more decent observance
of Sunday, by forcing the Shopkeepers to shut up their shops during
Mass, is considered a great grievance.....


LETTER II.

ROUEN, _June 28, 1814_.

Foolish people are those who say it is not worth while to cross the
water for a week. For a week! why, for an hour, for a minute, it would
be worth the trouble--in a glance a torrent of news, ideas, feelings,
and conceptions are poured in which are valuable through life. We staid
at Havre till Monday morning, and though a Cantab friend of Edward's, on
bundling into his cabriolet, expressed his astonishment we would think
of staying a day, when he had seen more than enough of the filthy place
in an hour, we amused ourselves very well till the moment of
departure....

At 4 on Monday we stepped into the cabriolet or front part of our
diligence, on the panels of which was written "Fugio ut Fulgor," and
though appearances were certainly against anything like compliance with
this notice, the result was much nearer than I could have conceived.
Five horses were yoked to this unwieldy caravan--two to the pole, and
three before, and on one of these pole horses mounted a Driver without
Stockings in Jack Boots, crack went an enormous whip, and away galloped
our 5 coursers. It is astonishing how they can be managed by such simple
means, yet so it was; we steered to a nicety sometimes in a trot,
sometimes in a canter, sometimes on a full gallop.

The time for changing horses by my watch was not more than one
minute--before you knew one stage was passed another was commenced; they
gave us 5 minutes to eat our breakfast--an operation something like that
of ducks in a platter, the dish consisting of coffee and milk with rolls
sopped in it. The roads are incomparable--better than ours and nearly if
not quite as good as the Irish. The country from Havre to Rouen is rich
in corn of every description--there is nothing particular in the face
of it, and yet you would, if awakened from a dream, at once declare you
were not in England; in the first place there are no hedges--the road
was almost one continuous avenue of apple-trees; the timber trees are
not planted in hedgerows but in little clumps or groves, sometimes but
generally rather removed from the road, and it is amongst these that the
villages and cottages are concealed, for it is surprising how few in
comparison with England are seen. The trees are of two
descriptions--either trimmed up to the very top or cut off so as to form
underwood. I did not observe one that could be called a branching tree;
the finest beech we saw looked like a pole with a tuft upon it. The
cottages are mostly of clay, generally speaking very clean, and coming
nearer to what I should define a cottage to be than ours in England.

You see no cows in the fields, they are all tethered by the road-side or
other places, by which a considerable quantity of grass must be saved,
and each is attended by an old woman or child. We passed through 2 or 3
small towns and entered Rouen 8 hours after quitting Havre, 57 miles.
Rouen, beautiful Rouen, we entered through such an avenue of noble
trees, its spires, hills and woods peeping forth, and the Seine winding
up the country, wide as the Thames at Chelsea.

Such a gateway! I have made a sketch, but were I to work it up for a
month it would still fall far short and be an insult to the subject it
attempts to represent. If Havre can strike the eye of a stranger, what
must not Rouen do? Every step teems with novelty and richness, Gothic
gateways, halls, and houses. What are our churches and cathedrals in
England compared to the noble specimens of Gothic architecture which
here present themselves?... Rouen has scarcely yet recovered from the
dread they were in of the Cossacks, who were fully expected, and all
valuables secreted--not that they were absolutely without news from the
capital: the diligence had been stopped only once during the three days
after the Allies entered Paris. Till then they had proceeded _comme à
l'ordinaire_, and the diligence in which we are to proceed to-night left
it when Shots were actually passing over the road during the battle of
Montmartre--how they could find passengers to quit it at such an
interesting moment I cannot conceive; had I been sure of being eaten up
by a Horde of Cossacks, I could not have left the spot.

What an odd people the French are! they will not allow they were in
ignorance of public affairs before the entrance of the Allies. "Oh no,
we had the Gazettes," they say, and I cannot find that they considered
these Gazettes as doubtful authorities. We have plenty of troops
here--genuine veterans horse and foot; I saw them out in line yesterday.
The men were soldier-like looking fellows enough, but one of our cavalry
regiments would have trotted over their horses in a minute without much
ceremony; the army is certainly dissatisfied. Marmont is held in great
contempt; they will have it he betrayed Paris, and say it would be by no
means prudent for him to appear at the head of a line when there was any
firing. The people may or may not like their emancipation from tyranny,
but their vanity--they call it glory--has been tarnished by the
surrender of Paris, and they declare on all hands that if Marmont had
held out for a day Bonaparte would have arrived, and in an instant
settled the business by defeating the Allies. In vain may you hint that
he was inferior in point of numbers (to say anything of the skill and
merit of the Russians perhaps would not have been very prudent), and
that he could not have succeeded. A doubting shake of the head,
significant shrug of the shoulders, and expressive "Ba, Ba," explain
well enough their opinions on the subject.

I cannot conceive a more grating badge to the officers than the white
cockade--the fleur de lys is now generally adopted in place of the N and
other insignia of Bonaparte, but, excepting from some begging boys, I
have never heard the cry of "Vive Louis XVIII.!" and then it was done, I
shrewdly suspect, as an acceptable cry for the Anglois, and followed
immediately by "un pauvre petit liard, s'il vous plait, Mons." We went
to the play last night; the house was filthy beyond description, and the
company execrable as far as dress went; few women, and those in their
morning dress and Oldenburg Bonnets--the men almost all officers, and a
horrid-looking set they were. I would give them credit for military
talents; they all looked like chiefs of banditti--swarthy visages,
immense moustachios, vulgar, disgusting, dirty, and ill-bred in their
appearance.

From all I hear the account of the duels between these and the Russian
officers at Paris were perfectly correct.[39]

I am just come in from a stroll about the town. Among the most
interesting circumstances that occurred was the inspection of
detachments of several regiments quartered there. I happened to be close
to the General when he addressed some Grenadiers de la Garde Impériale
on the subject of their dismissal, which it seems they wanted. They
spoke to him without any respect, and on his explaining the terms on
which their dismissal could alone be had, they appeared by no means
satisfied, and when he went I heard one of them in talking to a party
collected round him say, "Eh bien, s'il ne veut pas nous congédier, nous
passerons." A man standing by told me a short time ago a regiment of
Imperial Chasseurs when called upon to shout "Vive Louis XVIII.!" at
Boulogne, to a man, officers included, cried "Vive Napoleon!" and I feel
very certain that had the same thing been required to-day from the
soldiers on the field, they would have acted in the same manner, and
that the spectators would have cried "Amen."

I heard abundance of curious remarks on the subject of the war, the
peace, and the changes; they will have it they were not conquered. "Oh
no." "Paris ne fut jamais vaincue--elle s'est soumise seulement!" I
leave it to your English heads to define the difference between
submission and conquest.

Beef and mutton are 5d. per lb. here. Chickens 3s. the couple, though 24
per cent. was probably added to me as an Englishman. Bread a 100 per
cent. cheaper than in England--at least so I was informed by an
Englishman in the commercial line. Fish cheap as dirt at Havre, 3 John
Dorys for 6d.

From Havre to Rouen, 57 miles, cost us £1 6s. for both; from thence to
Paris, 107 miles, £2; our dinners, including wine, are about 4s. a head;
breakfast 2s., beds 1s. 6d. each.


LETTER III.

PARIS, _June 30th_.

Here we arrived about an hour ago; for the last two miles the country
was a perfect garden--cherries, gooseberries, apple-trees, corn,
vineyards, all chequered together in profusion; in other respects
nothing remarkable....

The first sight of Paris, or rather its situation, is about 10 miles
off, when the heights of Montmartre, on one side, and the dome of the
Hôpital des Invalides on the other reminded us of their trophies and
disasters at the same time....

[Illustration: OLD BRIDGE AND CHÂTELET.

_Paris July 4, 1814_

_To face p. 108._

Now you must enter our rooms in l'Hôtel des Etrangers, rue du Hazard, as
I know you wish to see minutely. First walk, if you please, into an
antechamber paved with red hexagon tiles (dirty enough, to be sure), and
the saloon also, into which you next enter through a pair of folding
doors. This saloon is in the genuine tawdry French style--gold and
silver carving work and dirt are the component features. It is about 20
feet square, plenty of chairs, sofas of velvet, and so forth, but only
one wretched rickety table in the centre. Two folding doors open into
our bedroom, which is in furniture pretty much like the rest; the beds
are excellent--fitted up in a sort of tent fashion--and mine has a
looking-glass occupying the whole of one side, in which I may at leisure
contemplate myself in my night-cap, for I cannot discover for what other
purpose it was placed there.

Now let us take a walk--put on thick shoes or you will find yourself
rather troubled with the paving stones, for nothing like a flagged
footpath exists; a slight inclination from each side terminates in a
central gutter, from which are exploded showers of mud by the passing
carriages and cabriolets. You must get on as you can; horse and foot,
coaches and carts are jumbled together, and he who walks in Paris must
have his eyes about him. The streets are in general narrow and
irregular, and so much alike that it requires no small skill to find
one's way home again. Ariadne in Paris would wish for her clue. First we
ascended the bronze column[40] in the Place de Vendôme--figure to
yourself a column perfect in proportions much resembling Nelson's in
Dublin, ornamented after the plan of Trajan's pillar--all of bronze, on
which the operations of the wars and victories in Germany are recorded.
Bonaparte's statue crowned it, but that was removed. The column itself,
however, will remain an eternal statue commemorating his deeds, and
though the Eagles and letter N are rapidly effacing from every quarter,
this must last till Paris shall be no more. From the top of this pillar
you of course have a magnificent view, and it must have been a choice
spot from whence to behold the fight of Montmartre. It will scarcely
interest you much to say much about the other public buildings, suffice
it to say that all the improvements are in the very best
style--magnificent to the last degree; they may be the works of a
Tyrant, but it was a Tyrant of taste, who had more sense than to spend
120,000 Louis in sky-rockets. His public buildings at least were for the
public good, and were ornaments to his capital.

But let us turn from inanimate to living objects; since I penned the
last line I have been sitting with Mme. de Staël.... By appointment we
called at 12.[41] For a few moments we waited in a gaudy drawing-room;
the door then opened and an elderly form dressed _à la jeunesse_
appeared; she is not ugly; she is not vulgar (Edward begs to differ from
this opinion, he thinks her ugly beyond measure); her countenance is
pleasing, but very different from anything my fancy had formed; a pale
complexion not far from that of a white Mulatto, if you will allow me to
make the bull; her eyebrows dark and her hair quite sable, dry and crisp
like a negro's, though not quite so curling. She scarcely gave me time
to make my compliments in French before she spoke in fluent English. I
was not sorry she fought under British colors, for though she was never
at a loss, I knew I could express and defend myself better than had she
spoken in French. I hurried her as much as decency would permit from one
subject to another, but I found politics were uppermost in her
thoughts.... She was equally averse to both parties--to the royal
because she said it was despotism; the Imperial because it was tyranny.
"Is there," said I, "no happy medium; are there none who can feel the
advantages of liberty, and wish for a free constitution?" "None," said
she, "but myself and a few--some 12 or 15--we are nothing; not enough to
make a dinner party." I ventured to throw in a little flattery--I knew
my ground--and remarked that an opinion like hers, which had in some
measure influenced Europe, was in itself an host; the compliment was
well received, and in truth I could offer it _conscientiously_ to pay
tribute to her abilities.

On leaving Mme. de S. we paid another visit. From the greatest woman we
went to see our greatest man in Paris, Sir Charles Stuart,[42] to whom
Lord Sheffield had given me a letter of introduction. This had been sent
the day before, and of course I now went to see the effect. After
waiting in the Anti-chamber of the great man for about half an hour, and
seeing divers and sundry faces pass and repass in review, we were
summoned to an audience. We found a little, vulgar-looking man, whom I
should have mistaken for the great man's butler if he had not first
given a hint that he was bonâ fide the great man himself. I think the
conversation was nearly thus: E. S.: "Pray, Sir, are the Marshalls in
Paris, and if so is it easy to see them?" Sir C. S.: "Upon my soul I
don't know." E. S.: "Pray, Sir, is there anything interesting to a
stranger like myself likely to take place in the course of the next
fortnight?" Sir C. S.: "Upon my soul I don't know." E. S.: "Pray, Sir,
is the interior of the Thuilleries worth seeing, and could we easily see
the apartments?" Sir C. S.: "Upon my soul I don't know." This, I do
assure you, was the cream of the conversation. Now certainly a great man
ought to look wise and say he does not know so and so, when in fact he
knows all about it, but somehow or other I could not help thinking that
Sir Charles spoke the truth, for if I may draw any inference from
Physiognomy, I never saw a face upon which the character of "upon my
soul I don't know" was more visibly stamped. I left my card, bowed, and
retired....

I next turned my eyes to the Louvre.[43] What are the exhibitions of
London, modern or ancient? What are Lord Stafford's, Grosvenor's,
Angerstein's, &c., in comparison with this unrivalled gallery? Words
cannot describe the coup d'œil. Figure to yourself a magnificent room so
long that you would be unable to recognise a person at the other
extremity, so long that the perspective lines terminate in a point,
covered with the finest works of art all classed and numbered so as to
afford the utmost facility of inspection; no questions asked on
entering, no money to be given to bowing porters or butlers, no cards of
admission procured by interest--all open to the public view, unfettered
and unshackled; the liberality of the exhibition is increased by the
appearance of Easels and desks occupied by artists who copy at leisure.
It is noble and grand beyond imagination. In the Halls below are the
Statues, arranged with equal taste, though, as they are in different
rooms, the general effect is not so striking. I recognised all my old
friends, the Venus de Medicis was alone new to me. She is sadly
mutilated, but is still the admiration of all persons of sound judgment
and orthodox taste, amongst whom, I regret to say, I deserve not to be
classed, as I really cannot enter into the merits of statues, and the
difference between a perfect and moderate specimen of sculpture appears
to me infinitely less than between good and moderate paintings....

After dining at a Restaurateur's, who gave us a most excellent dinner,
wine, &c., for about 3s. a head, we went to the Théâtre Français, or the
Drury Lane of Paris. We expected to see Talma[44] in Mérope, but his
part was taken by one who is equally famous, Dufour, and the female part
by Mme. Roncour. She was intolerable, though apparently a great
favourite; he tolerable, and that is all I can say. In truth, French
tragedy is little to my taste.... The best part of the play was the
opportunity it afforded "les bonnes gens" de Paris to show their
loyalty, and much gratified I was in hearing some enthusiastic applause
of certain passages as they applied to the return of their ancient
sovereign. There is something very sombre and vulgar in the French
playhouses with the men's boots and the women's bonnets. Could I in an
instant waft you from the solitudes of Stoke to the clatter of Paris,
how you would stare to see the boxes filled with persons almost
extinguished in their enormous casques of straw and flowers. I have seen
several bearing, in addition to other ornaments, a bunch of 5 or 6
lilies as large as life....

[Illustration: POMP. NOTRE DAME.

_Paris, July 11, 1814._

_To face p. 115._]


LETTER IV.

PARIS, _July 8, 1814_.

You will take for granted we have seen all the exhibitions, libraries,
&c., of Paris; they will wait for more ample description--a glance on
one or two will be sufficient.

L'Hôpital des Invalides was, you know, famous for its magnificent dome,
which was decorated with flags, standards, and trophies of the
victorious arms of France; impatient to shew them to Edward, I hastened
thither, but alas, not a pennant remains. On the near approach of the
Allies they were taken down, and some say burnt, others buried, others
removed to a distance. I asked one of the Invalides whether the Allies
had not got possession of a few. With great indignation and animation he
exclaimed, "Je suis aussi sûr que je suis de mon existence qu'il n'out
pas pris un _seul_ même."

On Sunday last, after having hunted everywhere for a Protestant church,
one of which we found at last by some blunder quite empty, we went with
our landlord, a serjeant in the national guard, to inspect the heights
of Chaumont, Belleville, and Mt. Martre.... We ascended from the town
for about 3 miles to a sort of large rambling village, in situation and
circumstances somewhat like Highgate. This was Belleville, whose heights
run on receding from Paris a considerable distance, but terminate rather
abruptly in the direction of Mont Martre, from which they are separated
by a low, swampy valley containing all the dead horses, filth, and
exuvious putrefactions of Paris.... Immediately below, extending for
many miles, including St. Denis and other villages, are fine plains;
upon which plains about 3 in the morning the Russians deployed, and the
Spectacle must have been interesting beyond measure.... On the heights
and towards the base were assembled part of Marmont's[45] army with
their field pieces and some few heavier guns; there, too, were stationed
the greater part of the students of l'Ecole Polytechnique, corresponding
to our Woolwich cadets. Nothing could surpass their conduct when their
brethren in arms fled; they clung to their guns and were nearly all
annihilated. I was assured that their bodies were found in masses on the
spot where they were originally stationed; their number was about
300.... I met a few in the course of the day who were, like ourselves,
contemplating the field of battle, and who spoke like the rest of their
countrymen of the baseness of Marmont and treachery of the day. The
cannonade must have been pretty sharp while it lasted, as about 5,000
Russians perished before they got possession of the heights--though the
actual operation of storming did not occupy half an hour--but their
lines were quite open to a severe fire of grape from eminences
commanding every inch of the plain. Whilst this work was going on at
Belleville, another Russian column performed a similar service at Mt.
Martre, which is nearer Paris--in fact, immediately above the
Barriers.... Thither our guide next conducted us, and pointed out the
particular spots where the assault and carnage were most desperate. A
number of Parties were walking about and all talking of the battle or
Bonaparte.... Till this day I had never heard him openly and honestly
avowed, but here I had several opportunities of incorporating myself in
groups in which his name was bandied about with every invective which
French hatred and fluency could invent. Their tongues, like Baron
Munchausen's horn, seemed to run with an accumulated rapidity from the
long embargo laid upon them. "Sacré gueux, bête, voleur," &c., were the
current coin in which they repaid his despotism, and I was happy to find
that his conduct in Spain was by all held in utter detestation and
considered as the ground work of his ruin.

I saw one party in such a state of bodily and mental agitation that I
ran up expecting to see a battle, but the multiplicity of hands, arms,
and legs which were rising, falling, wheeling, and kicking, were merely
energetic additions to the general subject.... The National guard were
not (with few exceptions) actually engaged. To the amount of 36,000 they
occupied the towns and barriers, by all accounts guessing, or, as one
intelligent conductor assured us, very certain that they would not be
called upon to fight much for the defence of Paris.... Indeed, from all
I have been able to learn, and from all I have been able to see, it
appears pretty clear that no serious defence was intended--a little
opposition was necessary for the look of the thing. And although Marmont
might have done more, I feel convinced that had he exerted himself to
the utmost, Paris must have perished.

The heights were defended in a very inadequate and unsoldierlike manner;
not a single work was thrown up before the guns, no entrenchments, no
bastions, and yet with three days' notice all this might have easily
been done. The barriers all round Paris were, and still are, hemmed
round with Palisades with loop holes, each of which might have been
demolished by half a dozen rounds from a 6-pounder; the French, indeed,
laugh at them and consider them as mere divertissements of Bonaparte's,
and feeble attempts to excite a spirit of defence amongst the people--a
spirit which, fortunately for Europe, was never excited. The lads of
Paris had determined to take their chance and not to do one atom more
than they were called upon or compelled to do. These wooden barriers
are made of le bois de tremble (aspen), and the pun was that the
fortifications "tremblaient partout." You will like to hear something of
Edgeworth's friend, St. Jean d'Angély;[46] he came up to the barrier
where our landlord (who had been formerly an imperial guardsman and
fought in the battle of Marengo) was posted; here he called loudly for
some brandy, for which he got laughed at by the whole line of guard; he
then sallied forth and proceeded a short distance, when his horse took
fright, and as St. Jean was, as our landlord told us, "entiérement du
même avis avec son cheval," they both set off as fast as they could, and
were in a few minutes far beyond all danger, nor did they appear again
amid the din of arms. The fate of Paris was decided with a rapidity and
sang-froid quite astonishing. By 5 o'clock in the Evening all was
entirely at an end, and the national guard and allies incorporated and
doing the usual duty of the town. They were, indeed, under arms a little
longer than usual, and a few more sentries were placed and the theatre
not open that Evening, but that single evening was the only exception,
and the next day the Palais Royal was as brilliant and more cheerful
than ever, with its motley groups of visitors. The Cossacks were not
quartered in the Palais Royal, they were in the Ch. Elysées, the trees
of which bear visible marks of their horses' teeth, but a good many came
in from curiosity and hung their horses in the open space of the
Palais.... The Russian discipline was most severe, and not an article
was taken from any individual with impunity, immediate death was the
punishment. The field of battle bore few marks of the event--a few
skeletons of horses and rags of uniforms; the more surprising thing is
that, notwithstanding all the trampling of horse and foot on the plains
below so late as the end of March, the corn has not suffered in the
slightest degree. I wish the Alderley crops were as good.

You have no idea of the severity of the conscription. That men can be
attached to a being who dragged them, with such violence to every
feeling, from their homes would be astonishing, but for the well-known
force of the "selfish principle" which amalgamates their glory with his.
A friend of our landlord's paid at various times 18,000 fr., about £900;
he thought himself safe, but Bonaparte wanted a Volunteer guard of
honour; he was told it would be prudent to enroll himself, which in
consideration of the great sums he had paid would be merely a nominal
business, and that he would never be called upon. He did put his name
down; was called out in a trice and shot in the next campaign. Our
waiter at Rouen assured me his friends had bought him off by giving in
the first instance £25 for a substitute, with an annuity to the said
substitute of an equal sum--pretty well this, for a poor lad of about
16.

Thanks to our landlord and not to Sir Charles Stuart, we might have been
introduced into the Thuilleries, but came too late. We lost nothing, as
after Mass the King marched through a beautiful sort of Glass gallery
facing the Thuilleries Gardens, and then came out into a Balcony to shew
himself to the crowd there assembled! he was received with universal and
loud applause. "Vive le Roi!" was heard as loud as heart could wish,
hats, sticks and handkerchiefs were flying in all directions. When he
entered Paris, in one of the Barriers a sort of Archway was made and so
contrived that as the carriage passed under a crown fell upon it, a band
at the same time striking up "Où peut on être mieux que dans le sein de
sa famille," which is, you know, one of their favourite airs.

Poor man, he has enough to do, and will, I fear, experience a turbulent
reign. Bonaparte has left his troops 3 years in arrears, the treasury
empty, two parties equally clamourous for places and pensions, both of
which must be satisfied. Their taxes are heavier than I thought they
were. Our landlord has an estate worth about 2,000 frcs., his father
paid 200 fr. a year for it, and he is now under the necessity of paying
1,200, having only a clear surplus of 800, and the finances are at too
low an ebb to allow of any immediate reduction in their taxes....

To take things in their course, I must now proceed to my dinner at Sir
Charles Stuart's. I was shewn into a room where I found three or four
Englishmen gaping at one another. Before many more had assembled, in
came Sir C., and I _believe_, or rather I am willing to flatter myself,
he made a sort of half bow towards us, and then we stood and gaped
again; a few more words between him and one or two who were to go to
Court the day after, but to me and some others not a syllable of any
description was uttered, and when some more English were shewn in who
were, I presume, as respectable as myself, his behaviour was quite
boorish, he did not condescend to look towards the door. These things
went on till a throng of Spaniards with Stars and orders came in; with
these he appeared tolerably intimate, and also with three Englishmen who
afterwards appeared. We were about 24 in number, and all I had to do in
the half-hour preceding dinner was to look out for the most intelligent,
gentleman-like-looking Englishman I could, to secure a place by him....

You will ask who I met. I protest to you that I went and returned
without being able to learn more than that the secretary's name was
Bidwell, and that one other person in company was a Mr. Martin, who had
been agent for prisoners; of the rest I knew nothing, not even of my
neighbour; birth, parentage, and education were alike involved in the
cloud of diplomatic mystery which seemed to impend heavily over this
mansion, and when my neighbour asked me, or I asked him, the names of
any person present the answer was mutual--"I don't know." Sir Charles
sat in the centre with a gold-coated Don on each side of him, with whom
he might have whispered, for though I sat within two of his Excellency,
I never heard the sound of his voice: however, my opinion may not
coincide with all that pass from Calais to Dover, as I heard one man
remark to another that his countenance was very pleasing, to which was
added in reply, "and he is a very sensible man." These things may be,
but I never met with one more perfect in the art of concealing his
talents.

Now for the Jardin des Plantes and its lectures. This same Jardin is a
large space appropriated to Botanical pursuits, public walks,
menageries, museums, &c. There you see Bears and Lions and, in fact, the
finest collection of Birds and Beasts alive, some in little paddocks,
others in clean and airy dens. But this is the least part of this
delightful establishment; its museums and cabinets are like the Louvre,
the finest collection in the world. Everything is arranged in such order
that it is almost impossible to see it without feeling a love of
science; here the mineralogist, geologist, naturalist, entomologist may
each pursue his favourite studies unmolested. Here, as everywhere else,
the utmost liberality is shewn to all, but to Englishmen particularly,
your country is your passport. Like the mysterious "Open Sesame" in the
Arabian nights, you have only to say, "Je suis Anglais" and you go in
and out at pleasure. I have seen Frenchmen begging in vain with ladies
and officers of the party and turned away because they had happened on
the wrong day or hour, and then we, without solicitation, have been
desired to walk in. But all these museums and living animals, curious
and interesting as they are, are surpassed by the still greater
liberality shewn in the daily lectures given by the members of the
Institute or Professors of the several sciences. I have attended
Haiiy,[47] Duméril,[48] l'Ettorel, du Mare, and others upon Mineralogy,
Nat. Hist., and Entomology, and Haiiy, you know, is the first
mineralogist in Europe, and I never looked upon a more interesting
being. When he entered the lecture room, every one rose out of respect,
and well they might. He is 80 years of age apparently, with a most
heavenly patriarchal countenance and silver hair; his teeth are gone, so
that I could not understand a word he said, though, indeed, had he been
possessed of all the teeth in Christendom I apprehend I should not have
been much wiser, as he lectured on the angular forms of the Amphiboles.
He looked like a man picked out of a crystal, and when he dies he ought
to be reincarnated and placed in his own museum.

Another Scene to which I found my way was equally interesting: I went to
a lecture on Iconographic drawing, or Science, as it was called, of
representing natural subjects. In other words, when I got there I found
it was a professorship of drawing, everything connected with Nat. Hist.,
such as flowers, animals, insects; and the Professor lectures one day
and practically instructs on another. I happened to be present at one
of the latter. Conceive my surprise at finding myself in a large library
filled with tables, drawing books, ladies and gentlemen all sketching
either from nature or excellent copies here. As it was not a public day
except to those who wished to attend for instruction, I ought not with
propriety to have intruded, but "J'étais Anglois" and every attention
was paid. You would have given a little finger to have seen the room; it
was a hot summer's day, but there all was cool and fragrant; the windows
opened on the gardens, the tables were covered with groupes of flowers
in vases; the company, about 40, were seated up and down where ever they
chose, each with a nice desk and drawing board--in short, it was a scene
which excited feelings of respect for a nation which thus patronised
everything which could add to the rational improvement of its members.
Were France the seat of religion and pure virtue it would be Utopia
verified; but, alas! there are spots which stain the picture and cast a
balance decidedly in favour of England: we are rough, we are
narrow-minded, but he who travels is brought to confess and say
"England! with all thy faults I love thee still." ...


LETTER V.

PARIS, _July 10th_.

Madame de Staëls party formed a fine contrast to the gloom and
ponderosity of Sir Charles Stuart's dinner the day before. We went a
quarter before nine, thinking, as it was the nominal hour, it would be
ill-bred to go too early, but the French are more punctual in these
matters, for we found the good people all assembled and Marmont[49]
walked out not five minutes before we walked in.

In his stead we had General Lafayette,[50] the cornerstone of the
Revolution. He is a tall, clumsy-made man, not much unlike Dr.
Nightingale, tho' rather thinner. His countenance discovers thought and
sound judgment, but by no means quickness or brilliancy; his manners
were quiet, unassuming, and gentleman-like. He spoke little, and then
said nothing particularly worth notice.

The next lion announced was a lioness, the celebrated Madame
Récamier,[51] and though she is not in her première jeunesse, I can
easily conceive how she could once dazzle the world. It would be too
much to give her credit for superior talents, but her manners were very
agreeable tho' rather like all other belles of France who have fallen in
my way, somewhat à la languissante. But I am all this while forgetting
the star of the evening, the Baroness herself. She sat in a line with
about six ladies, before whom were arranged as many gentlemen, all
listening to the oracular tongue of their political Sybil.

She was in high spirits because she had been warmed up by the decision
of the court and commons concerning the liberty of the press, which had
received an effectual check by limiting all liberty of speech and
opinion to works containing not less than 480 pages, thus excluding the
papers and pamphlets. The moment we were announced, before she asked me
how I did, she enquired whether I had heard this notable decision, and
then demanded what I thought of it. Of course, I assured her how much I
lamented the prospect of an inundation of dull, prolix books to which
France was thus inevitably exposed. This, as we spoke in English, she
immediately translated for the benefit of the company, adding "Ce
Monsieur Anglois dit cela, et c'est bien vrai il a raison," and then she
laughed and seemed to enjoy the catalogue of stupid books which might be
anticipated.

I must confess the party was a little formidable; in England I should
have said formal, but there is something in French manners wholly
foreign to any application of the word formal, and really after
exchanging a few remarks I was glad to be introduced to her son[52] and
daughter,[53] with both of whom I was much pleased. They are clever and
agreeable. She is not above eighteen or twenty, and if her complexion
was good would be very pretty. She was not shy, beginning conversation
in a trice upon interesting subjects. She compared the English and
French character, in which she (and I presume it was a maternal opinion)
would not allow an atom of merit to the latter. On finding that I was a
clergyman she immediately began upon Religion, talked of Hodgson,[54]
Andrews, Wilberforce,[55] and then in questioning me about the
Methodists (about whom she seemed to have heard much and entertained
confused notions) we slid into mysticism, which carried us, of course,
into the third vol. of "Allemagne"; she spoke in raptures of the mystic
school, said she was quite one in heart--"Cela se peut," thought I; but
somehow or other "Je ne le crois pas," for I have heard some little
anecdotes of her mother, in which, whatever may be her theoretical views
of mysticism, her practical opinions are rather more lax than Fénelon's.
Much against my will I took my leave, willing to hope that Mme. S. spoke
the truth when she said how glad she should be to see me if I visited
Paris during the winter; she is off to Switzerland in a few days. The
French say we have spoilt her--in fact, she occupies little of the
public attention in Paris.

The next event most interesting was our visit to the Corps Législatif,
or House of Commons. We went to a certain door, to which we were refused
admittance, and told it was too full or too late. But said I, "Nous
sommes Anglois"; in an instant a man came up and placed us in an inner
gallery in the body of the house. The House is something like the Royal
Institution--of course larger and beautifully fitted up. Considering it
as the Royal Institution for your better comprehension, the President
sits on a tribunal throne in a recess corresponding to the fire-place;
immediately below is a sort of Rostrum from whence the Members speak, in
situation like the lecturer of the R.I. In point of decoration and
external appearance both of house and members, it is far superior to our
House of Commons, as all the members wear uniforms of blue and gold, but
taking it all together I know not that anything can be more illustrative
of the French Character--externally all correct and delightful, but
within "a sad rottenness of the state of Denmark."

The president began the proceedings by ringing a bell; a paper was then
read detailing, I believe, the orders of the day. A member then arose
and went to the Rostrum. In the middle of his speech he was called to
order and told it was a very bad speech, so down he came and another
mounted. He was equally disliked, for they told him he spoke too low and
they could not hear him, so he disappeared; then half a dozen got up and
were so impatient that they began speaking altogether before they
reached the Tribune. In vain did the President ring his bell, and stand
up and gesticulate. Silence, however, was at length obtained, and he
addressed them, but with little better success than the rest. One man
then stept forward and did obtain a hearing, for he had good lungs and a
fair share of eloquence. His speech was short, but it was by far the
best; his name was Dumolard.[56] Soon afterwards the sitting broke up;
the whole took up little more than an hour. I know not whether the
perfect want of order was more ridiculous or disgusting; the sittings of
the Senate (Peers) are private....

We will now take you to Malmaison, the interesting retreat of the
interesting Joséphine. Her character was scarcely known in England. We
hear little more of her than as a discarded Empress or Mistress of
Buonaparte's, but she had much to recommend her to public as well as
private notice. The French all speak highly of her, and it is
impossible, on seeing Malmaison and hearing of her virtues, not to join
in their opinion. To be sure, as a Frenchman told me in running through
a list of virtues, "Elle avait été un peu libertine, mais ce n'est rien
cela," and, indeed, I could almost have added, "C'est bien vrai," for
every allowance should be made; consider the situation in which she was
placed, her education, her temptations; many a saint might have fallen
from the eminence on which she stood; I never dwelt with more
satisfaction or felt more inclined to coincide in that benevolent
verdict of the best of judges of human nature and human frailty,
"Neither do I condemn thee, go and sin no more," than in criticising the
character of Joséphine.

[Illustration: MALMAISON]

I am not sure whether you know exactly the history of Malmaison. The
house and land attached to it were purchased by Buonaparte when First
Consul, and given to Joséphine, who made it what it is, and bought more
land, so that it is now in fact a little Estate. On being divorced, she
retired thither with Eugène Beauharnais, her son, and younger children.
Her pursuits and occupations will be best understood by describing what
we saw. I should say, before I proceed, that it required some interest
to get in, and that we went with the Hibberts, who knew the secretary of
the Swedish Ambassador, in whose suite we were incorporated for
admission. The chief room in the house is what is called the Gallery A,
planned and finished according to her own designs; the floor is a mass
of dark inlaid marble, the ceiling arched and light admitted from it,
the whole not much unlike the Gallery at Winnington on a much larger
scale. It would be difficult to describe the fitting up of the interior.
The walls are hung with the most exquisite selections from ancient
Masters, not stolen, but many given to her, and the rest purchased by
herself; but I was more struck by the statues than with any thing else.
The dots represent them and their situations in the Gallery; they are
chiefly by two modern artists, Canova and Boher, though I fear the
reputation of my taste and judgment will suffer by the confession. I
still must confess that I felt far more pleasure than in looking either
upon Apollo or the Venus de Medicis. There was a Bust and Statue of
herself, the latter particularly beautiful, and if accurate, which I was
assured it was, the original must have been elegant and interesting to
the last degree. It reminded me much of Lady Charlemont, with a stronger
expression of sense. The rest of the room was furnished with tables
inlaid with marble, upon which were a variety of bronzes, pieces of
armour, &c., and her musical instruments were as she had left them, and
everything wore an appearance of comfort which is seldom seen in the
midst of such magnificence. Through folding doors you enter into a
smaller room hung with pictures. C. was her chapel; before a little
unostentatious altar, which had every appearance of having daily
witnessed her devotions, was a beautiful Raphael; the walls were hung
with seven small Scripture subjects by Poussin. I would have given a
great deal to have been her invisible observer in this sacred
retirement. She must have been alone, for it was scarcely large enough
to admit priest or attendant.

D. was a room in which she breakfasted, during which time music was
generally performed in B. From E. was a fine view of the Aqueduct of
Marly, and E. was the way to the Garden, which she had fitted up in the
English style. I have not time to enter into detail of these or her
greenhouses. She was fond of Society and patronised the Arts. She
allowed Artists to sit at leisure in her gallery to copy pictures, and
conversed with them a great deal. She did an infinity of good to all
within her reach and was beloved by all. Her death was very sudden; she
had complained of a sore throat, but not sufficiently to confine her to
her room. On a certain Wednesday or Thursday she was in her Park in high
spirits, showing it to the Emperor Alexander and King of Prussia; being
rather heated she drank some iced water; in the evening she was worse,
on Sunday she was dead, sensible to the last; talked of death, seemed
perfectly resigned--to use the words of a French lady, who told me many
interesting particulars, "sa mort était très chrétienne." They were
busied in packing pictures and making catalogues, but I believe there is
no fear of dismantling the house, as Eugène Beauharnais[57] and the
children are to have it in conformity to her will.[58] I have seen few
things since my departure from England which have interested me more
than Malmaison, and I could almost fancy that her statue, which is that
of a pensive female, with the chin resting on the hand, was her ghost
ruminating over the extraordinary events which had recently occurred,
and which she had quitted for ever. You will see Malmaison in my
sketch-book, as well as the Castle of Vincennes, which is as picturesque
and imposing as it is interesting, from the circumstances attending the
Duke d'Enghien's[59] death. It seems this event was known at Paris the
next day and spoken of with as much freedom as the despotic government
of Paris would admit....

I went yesterday to see the house of Peers in the Luxembourg. The Hall
of sittings is not unlike that of the Corps Législatif, but the
decorations are more interesting, each niche being filled with Austrian
standards and a few others. Under a gilt dome, supported by similar
pillars, was the spot where Napoleon's throne was _not_. The remnants I
saw lying in one of the Ante-rooms, all of which were ornamented with
immense pictures of the principal battles, but these, out of compliment
to the Emperor, &c., had been covered over with green baize, even the
very standards had been removed during the stay of the Emperor of
Austria in Paris. There is a sitting on Tuesday, and if I stand at the
door I may see the Marshals alight, but my curiosity would not be
satisfied, as no persons seem to know them; even the man who shewed us
the hall, who actually keeps the door thro' which they enter and sees
them all constantly, assured me he did not know one from the other. He
did not even know whether Marmont[60] had one arm or two.


LETTER VI.

PARIS, _July 11th_.

Thanks to our Landlord, and not to Sir Charles Stuart, we have just been
elbowing the Marshals, as a serjeant of the National Guard offered to
take us into the Thuilleries, and in we went with him in full uniform,
on the very best day we could have selected since our arrival in Paris,
as a corps of about 10 or 15,000 men were to be reviewed by the King "en
masse" in the Place de Carousel, immediately in front of the
Thuilleries.

We were stationed in a room of which I had heard much and wished above
all things to see--"la Salle des Maréchaux," so called from the
full-length portraits of 18 of these gentlemen with which it is hung;
the upper part of the room is surrounded by a gallery decorated with
pictures of the chief battles--Lodi, Passage of the Po, and one sea
piece descriptive of the capture of our Frigate, the _Ambuscade_, by a
smaller vessel. It is so good a picture that for the sake of the
painting I never thought of lamenting the subject.

After standing in this Hall for a few minutes in the midst of Generals
without number in full uniform, I had the satisfaction of being almost
knocked over by Marshal Jourdan,[61] a sharp, queer-looking fellow not
at all stamped with the features of a hero. I eyed him well, and had
scarcely satiated my curiosity when half a dozen more came by, walking
about without peculiar honors or attention, and only to be distinguished
from the Generals by a broad red ribbon, worn like those of our Knights
of the Bath.

I looked at each and all, but as few could tell their names I was at a
loss to distinguish one from another; my head and eyes were in a perfect
fidget, flying from Marshal to Marshal and from Picture to Picture.

Of the Ducs de Treviso,[62] de Conegliano,[63] Serurier,[64] and
Perignan[65] I had no doubt, as I saw them again several times, but I am
not sure that I should know the others except from a recollection of
their pictures.

I will describe a few while their countenances are fresh upon my memory.

Ney[66] is a fine, handsome man, but remarkably fair with light curling
hair, and struck us very like Mrs. Parker, of Astle.

Duc d'Istria[67] was reckoned by Robert Hibbert like me--that is to say,
he had dark arched eyebrows, a fox-like sort of countenance, very dark,
almost swarthy, and from his extreme bilious appearance, I should
imagine might be troubled, like myself, with bad headaches.

Davoust![68] I can scarcely recall his portrait without shuddering. If
ever an evil spirit peeped thro' the visage of a human being, it was in
Davoust. Every bad passion seemed to have set its mark on his face:
nothing grand, warlike, or dignified. It was all dark, cruel, cunning,
and malevolent. His body, too, seemed to partake of his character. I
should fancy he was rather deformed. I never saw so good a Richard III.
Let him pass and make way for one of a different description,
Victor,[69] a fine, open, gentlemanly countenance, tho' not like a
military hero. Marmont, a dark haired, sharp-looking man of military
stature. Duc de Dantzig,[70] very ugly and squinting. Berthier,[71]
remarkably quiet and intelligent. Murat,[72] an effeminate coxcomb with
no characteristic but that of self-satisfaction. Moncey, a respectable
veteran. Massèna,[73] the most military of all, dark hair and
countenance, fine figure. Soult,[74] a stern soldier, vulgar but
energetic; his mouth and lower part of his face like Edridge,[75] though
not so large a man.

The King was to me a very secondary person; however, I was close to him
as he tottered, like a good old well-meaning man, to Mass. On his return
he appeared, as I described last Sunday, in the balcony facing the
gardens for a few minutes and was loudly cheered, and then he came back
to the Salle des Maréchaux and sat down in a fine chair of Bonaparte's,
covered all over with his Bees, in a Balcony facing the Place de
Carousel, from whence he looked down on the 10,000 troops who were there
assembled. The shouts here were not what they ought to have been.
Comparatively few cried "God bless him!" and I much fear the number who
thought it was still less. The Duc de Berri,[76] on horseback with
Marshal Moncey on one side and Du Pont[77] on the other, reviewed the
troops, who passed in companies and troops before them. As each company
passed the officer held up his sword and cried "Vive le Roi!" and some
of the soldiers did the same, but not more than one out of ten.

I heard an anecdote of the Duc de Berri which is, I hope, true. A few
days ago in reviewing some troops on the Champs Elysées an officer in
passing chose to cry out, "Vive Napoléon!" upon which the Duc rode up
to him, tore his Epaulette from his shoulder and order from his breast,
threw them on the ground, and instantly dismissed him the service; this
spirit pleased the soldiers, and they all shouted "Vive le Roi!"

On Saturday we went to St. Cloud, Versailles, and the great and little
Trianon. St. Cloud and the great Trianon were the especial residences of
Buonaparte, and I looked at his bed and tables and chairs with some
curiosity. I have not time to describe all these. I saw one public place
yesterday which should be mentioned, a museum of models in every
department of art and science, with all the machines, &c., connected
with them. I would willingly conclude my observations on Paris with some
remarks on its manners, principles, &c., and I would begin with Religion
first if I could, but the fact is there appears to be none. If any does
exist it must approximate to Mysticism and lie concealed in the recesses
of the heart, for truly "the right hand knoweth not what the left hand
doeth." But with all this non-appearance I should be cautious in passing
too severe a censure. It must be remembered that the nation is military,
that from the earliest years they "sing of arms," and Buonaparte carried
this to such a degree that even children not much older than Owen[78]
are to be seen in full Uniforms. He wished to incorporate the two terms
of man and soldier. We laughed, you remember, at the account of the
little King of Rome appearing in Uniform; in Paris this would not appear
ridiculous. He had uniforms of all the favourite regiments horse and
foot....

[Illustration: PARISIAN AMUSEMENTS.

_to face p. 141._]

But yet there appears to be less vice than in England, I should rather
say less organised vice; I have not heard of a single Robbery, public or
private--I walk without fear of pickpockets; I should be inclined to say
they seemed rather against themselves than against each other. Their
principles may be more relaxed on some points than ours, but I doubt
much whether a Frenchman would not be as much disgusted in England as an
Englishman could possibly be in France; we call them a profligate race
and condemn them in toto--something like Hudibras' John Bull--

    "Compounds for sin he is inclined to
     By damning those he has no mind to."

Their public walks and Theatres are less offensive to decency than ours.
Drunkenness is scarcely known; at first sight I should pronounce them an
idle, indolent people; the streets are almost always full; the gardens,
public walks, &c., swarm at all hours with saunterers. According to my
ideas a Frenchman's life must be wretched, for he does not seem at all
to enter into the charms of home--their houses are not calculated for
it; they huddle together in nooks and corners, and the male part
(judging from the multitudes I daily see) leave the women and children
to get through the day as they can.

Their coffee-houses are some of them quite extraordinary; most of them
are ornamented with Mirrors in abundance, but some shine with more
splendour. In the Palais Royal there is one called "Le Café de mille
Colonnes," which merits some description. It consists of three or four
rooms--the largest is almost one mass of plate-glass Mirrors, beautiful
clocks at each end, and magnificent chandeliers; behind a raised Table
of most superb structure, composed of slabs of marble and plate-glass,
sat a lady dressed in the richest manner, Diamonds on head and hand,
Lace, Muslin, &c. This is the Landlady; by her a little boy, about 4
years old, stood in charge of a drawer from whence the small change was
issued; this, if it happened to be copper, was delicately touched by the
fair hand, which was immediately washed in a glass of water as if
contaminated by the vulgar metal. She never spoke to the waiters, but
rung a golden bell; her inkstands, flower jars--in short, every article
on the table was of the same metal or of silver gilt. The tables for the
company were fine marble slabs; the room was from the reflection of all
the mirrors, as you may suppose, a perfect blaze of light, and yet
altogether the place looked dirty, from the undress and shabby coats of
the company. The French never dress for the evening unless going out to
parties, and they always look dirty and unlike gentlemen; the former is
not the case, in fact for they are constantly washing and bathing. An
hour or two before I was in this extraordinary coffee-house I had
traversed a spot as opposite to it as could well be--the Catacombs!--a
range of vaults nearly half a mile long, about 80 feet under ground, in
which are deposited all the bones from all the cemeteries in Paris. I
suppose we were in company with some millions of skeletons, whose skulls
are so arranged as to form regular patterns, and here and there was an
altar made of bones fancifully piled up, on the sides an inscription in
Latin, French, &c. Behind one wall the bodies of all who perished in the
massacres in Paris were immured. They were brought in carts at night and
thrown in, and there they rest, festering not in their shrouds but in
clothes. Such a mass of corrupt flesh would soon have infested all the
vaults, so they were bricked up.

[Illustration: Catacombs Paris, July 8, 1814]

I wish to recommend our hotel to any people you may hear of coming to
Paris--Hôtel des Estrangers, Rue du Hazard, kept by Mr. Meriel. Its
situation is both quiet and convenient; it is really not five minutes'
walk from the leading objects of Paris, and the people have been civil
to us beyond measure.



CHAPTER IV

ON THE TRACK OF NAPOLEON'S ARMY

The Ex-Imperial Guard--Anecdotes of the last days at
Fontainebleau--Invalided Cossacks--"Trahison"--Ruin and
desolation--Roast dog--An English soldier--A Trappist veteran--Jack
boots--Polytechnic cadets--A Russian officer--Cossacks, Kalmucks,
and sparrows--Prussians and British lions--Rhine Castles--Rival
inscriptions--Diligence atmosphere--Brisemaison--Sociable English.


On leaving Paris, Edward Stanley planned to follow the traces of the
desperate campaign which Napoleon had fought in the early months of that
year (1814) against the Allies, and in which he so nearly succeeded in
saving his crown for a time.

As, however, the English travellers did not intend to return again to
Paris, they reversed Napoleon's line of march and started to
Fontainebleau by the road along which the Emperor rode back in hot haste
on the night of March 30th, to take up the command of the force which
should have been defending his capital, and where the sight of Mortier's
flying troops convinced him that all hope was at an end.

When they had visited Fontainebleau, where the final abdication had
taken place on April 11th, they turned north-east to Melun and posted on
through towns which had been the scenes of some of the most desperate
fighting in that wonderful campaign, when Napoleon had seemed to be
everywhere at once, dealing blows right and left against the three
armies which, in the beginning of January, had advanced to threaten his
Empire--Bülow in the north, Blücher on the east, and Schwarzenberg on
the south.

They passed through Guignes and Meaux, by which Napoleon's army had
marched after his victory over Blücher at Vauchamps on February 14th, in
the rapid movement to reinforce Marshal Victor, and to drive back
Schwarzenberg from the Seine.

Through Château Thierry, where on the 12th of February the Emperor and
Marshal Mortier had pursued Russians and Prussians from street to street
till they were driven over the Marne, and whence the French leader
dashed after Blücher to Vauchamps.

Through Soissons, which the Russians under Winzengerode had bombarded on
March 3rd, and forced to surrender, whereby Blücher and Bülow were
enabled to join hands.

Through Laon, where Blücher retreated after Craonne, and where he
finally shattered Marmont's forces in a night attack.

By Berry au Bac, where the Emperor crossed the Aisne on his way to fight
Blücher at Craonne, the scene on March 7th of one of the bloodiest
battles of the war.

On to Rheims where, after Marmont's disaster at Laon, Napoleon beat the
Russians just before he was forced to rush southwards again to contend
with Schwarzenberg and his Austrians.

Finally they reached Châlons, which had been Napoleon's starting-point
for the whole campaign, and where he had arrived in the closing days of
January after having taken his last farewell of Marie Louise and of the
King of Rome.

After Châlons they turned eastwards, following the line of fortresses
for which Napoleon had staked and lost his crown, and reached the Rhine
by Verdun, Metz, and Mayence; thence to Aix-la-Chapelle, Lille, and
Brussels, which had by the Treaty of Paris, in May, been ceded with the
whole of Belgium to the Netherlands.


_Edward Stanley to his Wife._

MELUN, _July 14th_.

We quitted our Hotel yesterday morning at six for Fontainebleau.

There is nothing particularly interesting about the road, which is
almost an incessant avenue. About half-way we passed a fine Château of
Marshal Jourdan's.

The forest of Fontainebleau commences about four miles from the town and
extends some nine or ten miles in all directions. At first I was in
hopes of being gratified with the sight of fine woods, but, with the
exception of a few patches of good oaks, the remainder is little better
than underwood and dwarflings.

We went into the heart of the forest to see an old Hermitage now
inhabited by a keeper and his family. They had been visited by Cossacks,
but had received no injury whatever; on the contrary the poor woman
related with all the eloquence of Truth and the French animation that
from their own soldiers they had suffered all that cruelty and rapacity
could devise--indeed, the house and gardens bore evidence to the
facts--window shutters pierced with bullets, broken doors, furniture
gone, and above 800 francs' worth of honey destroyed out of pure
wantonness--in short the poor people seemed quite ruined. I received a
similar account in the town. Fontainebleau is a dull, melancholy-looking
place, with a very extensive ugly palace--interesting only from the late
events. Scarcely a soul appeared about; we crossed the large court in
which Buonaparte took his last farewell and embraced the Imperial
Eagles, called by some loyal French "The vile Cuckoos." Our hostess was,
I presume, a staunch imperialist, who thought she could not shew her
zeal for the Emperor in a stronger manner than by imposing on
Englishmen. She began by asking 16s. for a plate of 8 little wretched
mutton chops; we resented the imposition, although the sudden appearance
of 4 or 5 officers of the imperial guard almost rendered it doubtful
whether we ought to act too warmly on the defensive, as they seemed to
patronise our hostess; however, we refused to pay and retired unimposed
upon.

The imperial guard here are supposed to be particularly attached to the
Emperor, and of course averse to Englishmen, but I was agreeably
surprised to find three out of the four really something like gentlemen
in their manners; we entered into conversation, which I managed as
dexterously as I could, manœuvering between the evil of sacrificing my
own opinions on one side, and of giving them offence on the other; it
was a nice point, as I perceived a word beyond the line of demarcation
would have inflamed them in a trice. One happened to differ with another
on a political point, which produced a loud and rapid stamping with the
feet, accompanied by a course of pirouets on the heel with the velocity
of a dervish, which fully proved what might be effected on their tempers
had I been disposed to try the experiment. They called themselves the
Ex-Imperial Guard. On retiring I shook hands with them, and with as low
a bow as the little King of Rome, said "Messieurs les Gardes d'Honneur,
Je vous salue." ...


LETTER VII.

_Monday, July 19th._

...The history of Buonaparte immediately preceding, and subsequent to
the surrender of Paris, was never actually known--I will give it you.

The capitulation took place on the 30th (March). In the evening of that
day he arrived at Fontainebleau without his army. Rumours of fighting
near Paris had reached him. He almost immediately set off with Berthier
in his carriage for Paris, and actually arrived at Villejuif, only 6
miles from the capital; when he heard the result he turned about and
appeared again at Fontainebleau at 9 the next morning. When he alighted,
the person who handed him out, a sort of head-porter of the Palace, who
was our guide, told me he looked "triste, bien triste"; he spoke to
nobody, went upstairs as fast as he could, and then called for his plans
and maps; his occupation during the whole time he staid consisted in
writing and looking over papers, but to what this writing and these
papers related the world may feel but will never know; his spirits were
by no means broken down; in a day or two he was pretty much as usual,
and it is said he signed the Abdication without the least apparent
emotion. We heard he was mad, but I can assure you from undoubted
authority that he was perfectly well in mind and body the whole time,
and, notwithstanding his excessive fatigues, as corpulent as ever;
indeed, said our guide, "War seems to agree with him better than with
any man I ever knew." Buonaparte laid out immense sums in furnishing and
beautifying the Palais here. I got into his library, the snuggest room
you ever saw, immediately below a little study in which he always sat
and settled his affairs; his arm-chair was a very comfortable, honest,
plain arm-chair, but I looked in vain for all the gashes and notches
which it was said he was wont to inflict upon it. I could not perceive
a scratch, he was too busily employed in that said chair in forming
plans for cutting up Europe; within three yards of his table was a
little door, or rather trap door, by which you descended down the oddest
spiral staircase you ever beheld into the Library, which was low and
small; the books were few of them new, almost all standard works upon
history--at least I am sure 4 out of 5 were historical--all of his own
selection, and each stamped, as in fact was everything else from high to
low, far and wide, with his N., or his Bees or his Eagle--all of which
Louis XVIII is as busily employed in effacing, which alone will give him
ample employment: but to return to the books. Amongst the rest I
found--Shakespeare ... and a whole range of Ecclesiastical History,
which, if ever read, might account in some degree for his shutting up
the Pope as the existing representative of the animals who have
occasioned half the feuds and divisions therein recorded. There was a
Chapel, which he regularly attended on Sundays and Saints' days. His
State bed was a sort of State business, very uncomfortable, consisting
of 5 or 6 mattresses under a royal canopy with 2 Satin Pillows at each
end.

During his residence he never stirred beyond the gates, though I could
not discover that he was at all under restraint, or in any way looked
upon as a prisoner; we were told in England (what are we not told
there?) that he feared the people, who would have torn him in pieces;
this is an idle story. I rather suspect the people liked him too well,
besides which his Guards were there, and by them he is idolised. He
generally took exercise in a long and beautiful Gallery, called the
Gallery of Francis I., on both sides of which were busts of his great
Generals on panels ornamented with the N., and some name above alluding
to a victory; thus above one N. was _Nazareth_, which puzzled me at
first, but I afterwards heard he had cut up some Turks there; besides
the Gallery, he walked every day up and down a Terrace; he dined every
day in a miserable (I speak comparatively) little passage room without
any shew of state; he was affable to his attendants and is liked by
them. His abdication room is not one of the state apartments--it is a
shabby ante-room; I could almost fancy that in performing this
humiliating deed he had retired as far as possible from the Halls and
Saloons which were decorated by his hand, and had witnessed his Imperial
magnificence. Most of the Marshals were in the room, and it would have
been a tour indeed to have glided through the hearts of each when such
an extraordinary performance was transacting. It was in the great Court
before the Palace that he took his leave, not above 1,500 troops were
present. At such a moment to have heard such a speech, delivered with
the dignity and stage effect Buonaparte well knew how to give, must have
produced a strong effect--how great (how sad I had almost said) the
contrast!

The stones were overgrown with grass; nobody appeared, no voice was
heard except the clacking of half a dozen old women who were weeding on
their knees, and all the windows were closed. The dreary, deserted
present compared with the magnificent past excited nearly the same
feelings as if I had been looking on Tadmor in the wilderness. After
passing the Imperial prison we were ushered into the apartments of the
Imperial prisoners, the poor Pope and his 16 Cardinals. I had quite
forgotten the place of their confinement, and was a little surprised
when the man said, "Here, Sir, dwelt for 19 months the holy Conclave of
St. Peter." He must have led a miserable life, for though he was allowed
two carriages, with 6 and 8 horses to each, he neither stirred out
himself nor allowed any of the Cardinals to so do, saying he did not
think it right for prisoners. Buonaparte saw him in January, I think the
man said, for the last time. So much for Fontainebleau. Few have
followed their master to Elba. Roustan the Mameluke and Constant his
Valet were certainly very ungrateful; one of them--I forget which--to
whom Buonaparte had given 25,000 fr. (about £1,200) the day before he
left Fontainebleau, applied to the Duc de Berri for admission into his
service; in reply the Duc told him his gratitude ought to have carried
him to Elba, but though it had not, if he (the Duke) ever heard that
Buonaparte wished to have him there, he would bind him hand and foot and
send him immediately. None of the Royal allies have been to
Fontainebleau at the time or since, except the King of Prussia, who
came incog. a few days ago. This the guide said he had heard since; he
had, indeed, seen three persons walking about, but he had not shewn them
the Palace nor spoken to them. That it was the King of Prussia was
confirmed by a curious little memorandum I found wafered over a high
glass on the top of the room in which we dined, and which caught my eye
immediately; I shewed it to the people of the house, who said they had
not observed it before, but remembered three gentlemen dining there on
that day. "Sa Majesté le Roi de Prusse accompagné du Prince Guillaume
son fils a diné en cette appartement avec son premier Chambellan Mr.
Baron D'Ambolle, le 8 Juillet, 1814." ... This is the way the King of
Prussia always went about in Paris, nobody knew him or saw him....

From Fontainebleau we went to Melun and kept proceeding through Guignes
to Meaux. At Guignes we began to hear of the effects of war: 15,000
Russians had been bivouacked above the town for a week. Buonaparte
advanced with his troops, on which they retired, but troops do not walk
up and down the earth like lambs, but rather like roaring lions, seeking
whom they may devour; however, here let us insert once for all the
account I have invariably received from sufferers throughout the whole
Theatre of war--that the conduct of the Russians and French was widely
different; the former generally behaving as well as could possibly be
expected, and pillaging only from necessity; the latter seem to have
made havoc and devastation their delight. They might perhaps act on
principle, conceiving that it was better for the treasure and good
things of the land to fall into their hands than the enemy's.

At a little shabby inn at Guignes where we breakfasted Buonaparte had
slept. The people described him dressed "comme un perruquier" in a grey
great-coat; he clattered into the house, bustled about, went to his room
early, and appeared again at 9 the next morning, but "J'en reponds bien"
that he was not sleeping all that time. If from Guignes we traversed a
country where we heard of war, at Meaux we began to see the
effects--before a picturesque gateway we descended to cross the bridge
over a stone arch which had been blown up. Shot-holes marked the wall,
and within the houses were well bespattered with musket balls. It was
the first visible field of battle we had crossed, and to heighten the
interest, while we were looking about and asking particulars of the
people, up came bands of Russian troops of all descriptions, Cossacks
included, 1,500 having just entered the town invalided from Paris on
their return home. To be sure, a more filthy set I never beheld. The
country is pretty well stocked with Cossack horses; they were purchased
at a very cheap rate--from 25 shillings to 50 a piece. We have had
several of them in our carriage, and find them far more active and rapid
than the French, though smaller and more miserable in appearance. My
conversation with the Russians (for I made it a point to speak to
everybody) was rather laconic, and generally ran thus, "Vous Russe, moi
Inglis"--the answer, "You Inglis, moi Russe, we brothers"--and then I
generally got a tap on the shoulder and a broad grin of approbation
which terminated the conference.

You know the chief event which occurred at Meaux was the explosion of
the powder magazines by the French on their retreat, for which they were
most severely, and, I think, unjustly, censured in our
despatches--indeed, after seeing and hearing with my own eyes and ears,
I feel less than ever inclined to put implicit faith in these public
documents. The Magazine was in a large house where wines had been stored
in the cellar--about half a mile to the west of the town upon a hill.
About 3 o'clock in the morning the explosion took place with an
"_ébranlement_" which shook the town to its very foundation. In an
instant every pane of glass was shattered to atoms, but the cathedral
windows, which were composed of small squares in lead, escaped tolerably
well, only here and there some patches being forced out. The tiles also
partook of the general crash. Many, of course, were broken by the shower
of shot, stones, &c., which fell, but the actual concussion destroyed
the greater part. Numbers of houses were remaining in their dilapidated
state, and presented a curious scene. We went to see the spot where the
house stood, for the house itself, like the temple of Loretto,
disappeared altogether. Some others near it were on their last
legs--top, beams, doors, all blown away. Even the trees in a garden were
in part thrown down, and the larger ones much excoriated. Only one
person was killed on the spot, supposed to have been a marauder who was
pillaging near the place. Another person about half a mile off, driving
away his furniture to a place of safety, was wounded, and died soon
afterwards.

From Meaux, I may say almost all the way to Châlons, a distance of above
150 miles, the country bore lamentable marks of the scourge with which
it has been afflicted. I will allow you--I would allow myself perhaps,
when I look back to the circumstances connected with the war--to wish
that all the country, Paris included, had been sacked and pillaged as a
just punishment, or rather as the sole mode of convincing these
infatuated people that they are the conquered and not the Conqueror of
the Allies. Wherever I go, whatever field of battle I see--be it Craon,
Laon, Soissons, or elsewhere--victory is never accorded to the Russians.
"Oh non, les Russes étaient toujours vaincus." One fellow who had been
one of Buonaparte's guides at Craon had the impudence to assure me that
the moment he appeared the Allies ran away. "Aye, but," said I, "how
came the French to retreat and leave them alone?" "Oh, because just then
the _trahison_ which had been all arranged 19 months before began to
appear."

Again, at Laon I was assured that the French drove all before them, and
gained the heights. "Then," said I, "why did not they stay there?" "Oh,
then reappeared '_la petite trahison_,'" and so they go on, and well do
they deserve, and heartily do I wish, to have their pride and impudence
lowered. But when I see what war is, when I see the devastation this
comet bears in its sweeping tail, its dreadful impartiality involving
alike the innocent and the guilty, I should be very sorry if it depended
on me to pronounce sentence, or cry "havoc and let loose." ...

On the 14th we slept at Château Thierry--such an Inn, and such insolent
pigs of people! Spain was scarcely worse ... added to the filthiness of
the place, a diligence happened at the same time to pour forth its
contents in the shape of a crew of the most vulgar, dirty French
officers I ever saw. It was well we had no communication with them, for
by the conversation I overheard in the next room there would have been
little mutual satisfaction: "Oh! voici un regiment (alluding to us 5) de
ces Anglois dans la maison! où vont-ils les Coquins?" "Moi je ne sais
pas, les vilains!" Luckily they all tumbled upstairs to bed very soon,
each with a cigar smoking and puffing from beneath the penthouse of
their huge moustachios, during their ascent, by the by, keeping the
Landlady in hot water lest they should break into her best bedroom, of
which she carefully kept the key, telling me at the same time she was
afraid of their insisting upon having clean sheets. By their appearance,
however, I did not conceive her to be in much danger of so unfair a
demand. We had the clean sheets, damp enough, but no matter--she
remembered them in the Bill most handsomely, and when I remonstrated
against some of her charges, for I must observe that we dined in a
wretched hole with our postillions, she checked me by saying, "Comment,
Monsieur, c'est trop! Cela ne se peut pas; comme tout ici est si
charmant." ... There was no reply to be made to such an appeal, so I
bowed, paid, and retired. Then the bridge was blown up, the streets
speckled with bullets. Near the bridge, which had been smartly
contested, the houses were actually riddled, yet here the Emperor stood
exposed as quiet and unconcerned amidst the balls as if (to use their
own expression) he had been "chez lui."

As we advanced the marks of war became stronger and stronger, every
village wore a rueful aspect, and every individual told a tale more and
more harrowing to the feelings. The Postmasters seem to have been the
greatest sufferers, as their situation demanded a large supply of corn,
horses and forage, all of which, even to the chickens, were carried off.
One poor woman, wife of a postmaster, a very well-behaved,
gentlewoman-like sort of person, told me that when 80,000 Russians came
to their town she escaped into the woods (you will remember the snow was
then deep on the ground and the cold excessive) where for two days she
and her family had nothing to eat. The Cossacks then found her, but did
no harm, only asking for food. I mention her case not as singular, for
it was the lot of thousands, but merely to shew what people must expect
when Enemies approach.

Soissons was the next place, and compared with the scene of desolation
there presented all that we had hitherto seen was trifling.

I little thought last February that in July I should witness such
superlatively interesting scenes. With the exception of Elba alone, ours
has been the very best tour that could have been taken, and exactly at
the right time, for I apprehend that a month ago we could not have
passed the country....


LETTER VIII.

MAYENCE, _July 22nd_.

Our speed outstrips my pen. I am to retrace our steps to Soissons,
whereas here we are upon the banks of the Rhine, which is hurrying
majestically by to terminate its course amongst the dykes of Holland.

The nearer we came to Soissons[79] the nearer we perceived we were to
the field of some terrible contest, and the suburbs, where the thickest
of the fight took place, presented a frightful picture of war, not a
house entire. It seems they were unroofed for the convenience of the
attacking party, or set on fire, an operation which took up a very short
space of time, thanks to the energetic labours of about 50 or 60,000
men. Indeed, fire and sword had done their utmost--burnt beams,
battered doors, not a vestige of furniture or window frames. I cannot
give you a better idea of the quantity of shot, and consequent number of
beings who must have perished, than by assuring you that on one front of
a house about the extent of our home, and which was not more favoured
than its neighbours, I counted between 2 and 300 bullet marks. I was
leaning against a bit of broken wall in a garden, which appeared to be
the doorway to a sort of cellar, taking a sketch, when the gardener came
up and gave me some particulars of the fight. He pointed to this cave or
cellar as the place of shelter in which he and 44 others had been
concealed, every moment dreading a discovery which, whether by friend or
foe, they looked upon as equally fatal. Fortunately the foe were the
discoverers. Upon the termination of the battle, which had been
favourable to the Allies, in came a parcel of Russians upon the
trembling peasants. Conceiving it to be a hiding-place for French
soldiers, they rushed upon them, but finding none, satisfied themselves
with asking what business they had there, and turning them out to find
their way through blood and slaughter to some more secure place of
shelter. A small mill pool had been so completely choked with dead that
they were obliged to let off the water and clean it out. With Sir
Charles Stuart's dispatches cut out of the Macclesfield Paper we
ascended the Cathedral, and from thence, as upon a map, traced out the
operations of both armies. Soissons is half surrounded by the Aisne,
and stands on a fine plain, upon which the Russians displayed.
Buonaparte, in one of his Bulletins, abuses a governor who allowed the
Allies to take possession of the town when he was in pursuit, thus
giving them a passage over the river, adding that had that governor done
his duty the Russians might have been cut off. In England this was all
voted "leather and prunello" and a mere vapouring opinion of the
Emperor's, but as far as I could observe he was perfectly right, and had
the governor been acting under my orders I question much whether I
should not have hanged him. In looking about we were shewn a sort of
town hall, with windows ornamented with the most beautiful painted glass
you ever saw--nice little figures, trophies, landscapes, &c.--but a
party of Russians had unfortunately been lodged there, and the glass was
almost all smashed. I procured a specimen, but alas! portmanteaus are
not the best packing-cases for glass, and in my possession it fared
little better than with the Cossacks. However, if it is pulverised, I
will bring it home as a Souvenir....

[Illustration: HOUSES AND TOWER, LAON, 1814.]

_To face p. 161._

From Soissons to Laon the country is uninteresting except from the late
events. With the exception of the first view of the plain and town of
Laon, we passed village after village in the same state of ruin and
dilapidation. Chavignon, about 4 miles from Laon, seemed, however, to
have been more particularly the object of vengeance; it was throughout
nearly a repetition of the suburbs of Soissons. Laon rises like a sort
of Gibraltar from a rich and beautiful plain covered with little woods,
vineyards, villages, and cornfields; the summit is crowned with an old
castle, the town with its Cathedral towers and a parcel of windmills.
Buonaparte had been extremely anxious to dislodge the allies; for two
days made a furious and almost incessant attack, which was fortunately
unsuccessful owing, to speak in French terms, to _la petite trahison_,
in plain English, the bravery of the Russians, who not only withstood
the repeated shocks, but pursued the enemy all the way to Soissons,
every little copse and wood becoming a scene of contest, and the whole
plain was strewed with dead. Since quitting Rouen I do not recollect any
town at all to be compared with Laon either in point of scenery without
or picturesque beauty within; it is one of the most curious old places I
ever saw--Round Towers, Gateways, &c. We took up our quarters at an
odd-looking Inn, with the nicest people we had met with for some time.
They spoke with horror of the miseries they had undergone in this Inn,
not much larger than Cutts' at Wilmslow; they had daily to feed and
accommodate for upwards of two months 150 Russians of all descriptions,
and this at a moment when provisions were, of course, extremely dear.
The landlord's daughter with two friends were imprisoned, actually
afraid of putting their noses beyond the keyhole; luckily they could
make artificial flowers, and two of them drew remarkably well; a
favourite dog of the landlord's was their companion. A Cossack had one
day taken him by the tail with the firm intent to put him on the kitchen
fire, the bare recollection of which kindled all our host's anger, and
he declared that had his poor dog been roasted, though he well knew the
consequence, he should have shot the Cossack; fortunately the dog
escaped, but as his Master assured me, never smelt or heard a Cossack's
name mentioned afterwards without popping his tail between his legs and
making off with the utmost speed. Both at this place and at Soissons we
met with people with whom Davenport[80] had lodged, and in both places
he has established a character which reflects the highest credit on his
activity, humanity, and generosity. He was no idle spectator; he went
about endeavouring by every means in his power to alleviate the miseries
of war by protecting persons and property, and by administering to the
wants of the sick and wounded of every description....

On the 16th we quitted Laon for Berry au Bac, passing through Corbeny
and close to the heights of Craon, upon which a battle was fought which
might be considered as the coup de grâce to the French. The Emperor
commanded in person; he talked nearly half an hour with the Postmaster,
whom he summoned before him; if the man spoke truth, his conversation
appears to have been rather childish. After asking many questions about
the roads and country, he vented a torrent of abuse against the
Russians, upon whom he assured the Postmaster it was his intention to
inflict summary punishment, and, indeed, according to the French
translation of the business, he actually did so, tho' I never could find
out that any other of the Imperial troops remained to enjoy the victory
on these said heights, saving and except the wounded and killed; one
spot was pointed out where in one grave were deposited the remains of
3,000....

In this village of Corbeny there had been sad devastation; but it was at
Berry au Bac that we were to see the superlative degree of misery. This
unfortunate little town had been captured 7 times--4 times by the
Russians, 3 times by the French; their bridge, a beautiful work of 3
arches, only completed in December, was blown up March 19. The houses
fared no better; whole streets were annihilated--chiefly for the sake of
burning the beams for fire-wood by the Russians--but the walls were in
great measure knocked over by the French, for what other purpose than
wanton cruelty I could not learn. Pillage and violence of every
description had been excessive. Some of the inhabitants died of pure
fright; a gentleman-like-looking man assured me his own father was of
the number. Even here the Cossacks were complimented for their
comparative good behaviour, while the French and the Emperor were justly
execrated--"Plait à Dieu" said a poor man who stood moaning over the
ruins of his cottage, "Plait à Dieu, qu'il soit mort, et qu'on
n'entendît plus de Napoléon";--the old woman, his wife, told me they
only feared the Cossacks when they were drunk. An old Cossack had taken
up his quarters with them--"Ah c'était un bon Viellard; un bon Papa."

[Illustration: BERRY AU BAC.

_To face p. 164._]

One day a party of 20 or 30 drunken Cossacks broke into their yard, and
insisted on entering the house; the old woman said she had nothing to
fear and would have opened the door, but the Cossack seized her, saying,
"There is but one way to save you," and taking her by the arm, shewed
her to his companions as his prize and threatened the man who should
touch his property with instant death. They did not dispute the matter
with him and retired quietly. When they were out of sight he told her to
follow him, and led her 3 or 4 miles up the country amongst the woods
and left her in a place of safety, taking a kind leave of her and
saying, "I have done all I could for you, now farewell"--and she saw no
more of him....

We arrived at Rheims on the evening of the 16th, a large, fine, regular,
dull-looking city in a dull-looking plain. The Cathedral is grand
enough, but I felt no wish to remain till the Coronation. Hitherto we
had seen inanimate vestiges of war, at Rheims we were to see the living
effects. By accident we passed the door of a large Church or Hall which
had been converted into an Hospital for 400 Russian prisoners, and on
benches near the porch were seated some convalescent patients without
arms or legs. We stopped to speak to them as well as we could, and upon
saying we were Englanders, one of the Russians with evident rapture and
unfeigned delight made signs that there was a British soldier amongst
their number, and immediately 4 or 5 of them ran to bring him out; and
such a poor object did appear dragged along, his legs withered away and
emaciated to the last degree. He had been wounded at St. Jean de Luz in
the thigh, and subsequently afflicted with a fever which had thus
deprived him of the use of his limbs. We gave something to those who
were nearest, and on my asking if any Prussian was there to whom I could
speak in French, as I wished to express our desire but inability to
relieve all, I was conducted through the wards to a miserable being who
was seated with his head suspended in a sling from the top of the bed,
both legs dreadfully shattered, and unable to support himself upright
through extreme weakness.

During the whole of supper-time the Hospital and this Englishman hung
heavy on my mind; I felt as if I had not done enough, and that I might
be of use in writing to his friends. Accordingly about 10 o'clock I went
again to the Gate and begged admittance. On mentioning my wish to see
the Englishman, I was immediately allowed to enter, and conducted up the
wards. On each side were small beds, clean, and in admirable order;
there was nothing to interrupt the silence but our own echoing footsteps
and the groans of the poor patients all round. The Nurses were in the
costume of Nuns, and from religious principles undertake the care of
the sick--there was something very awful in marching up the aisles with
these conductors at this time. My poor countryman was asleep when I came
to his bedside. I took down memorandums of his case, and promised to
write to his friends, and left him money to assist him on his road home,
should he (of which I much doubt) ever recover.

I staid with him some time; in the course of the conversation some
wounded Prussians came up on their crutches, and it was quite gratifying
to see their kindness and goodwill to this poor fellow who, sole of his
nation and kindred, was wasting away amongst strangers. They patted him
on his head, called him their _cher_ and _bon garçon_, lifted him up
that he might see and hear better, and he assured me that by them and by
all the attendants he was treated with the utmost kindness and
attention. Amongst 400 wounded soldiers whose deep groans and ghastly
countenances announced that many were almost passing the barrier which
separates the mortal from the immortal, with their nurses by my side
holding their glimmering tapers, each arrayed in the order of their
religion and wearing the Cross as the badge of their profession, was a
situation in which I had never before been placed. In offering
ministerial advice, and, I trust, affording religious consolation under
circumstances so solemn and peculiar, you may conceive that I did speak
with all the earnestness and fervour in my power. I told the nurses who
and what I was, and so far from entertaining any illiberal ideas as to
the propriety of my interfering in what might be called their clerical
department, they expressed the greatest pleasure and seemed to rejoice
that their patient was visited by one of his own ministers.... Thus
ended my visit to the Hospital at Rheims, which I never can forget.

We travelled the next day to Verdun, bidding adieu to the Hibberts at
Châlons.

You will ask if we have seen any vestiges of war on the soil such as
bodies. We have met with a tolerable quantity of dead horses by the
road-side and in ditches, but only one human being, half scratched up by
a dog, has appeared; a few rags of uniform dangling upon the skeleton
bones called our attention to it.

Verdun is a very comfortable town of considerable extent decently
fortified; the number of English there was from 1,000 to 1,100; they
were all sent off in a hurry. At 5 in the evening they received the
order, at 7 the next morning the greater part were off, and 24 hours
afterward the Allies hovered round the town. The French boast, and
nobody can contradict the assertion, that the Allies were never able to
take their fortresses; certainly not; for they never attempted. Instead
of losing their time in besieging, they left a few to mark the place and
went on.... The English prisoners seem to have enjoyed every comfort
they could expect--in fact, their imprisonment was in great measure
nominal; with little difficulty they were allowed to go as far as they
wished; they were noticed by the inhabitants, and many have married and
settled in France. I think the prisoners in England have not been so
well off, and complain with reason.

[Illustration: VERDUN BRIDGE.

_To face p. 168._]

We went to the English church and Theatre, and saw as much as we could
for half a day. For the honor of my country I lament to say that many
here contracted heavy debts which are not likely to be paid. Some
instances were mentioned, the truth of which were proved by letters I
read from the parties themselves, little creditable to our national
character, and by persons, too, who ought to have known better. On the
18th we left Verdun for Metz. I had always winked at and generally
encouraged the addition of another passenger behind our Cabriolet. The
road was quite crowded with straggling soldiers going or returning to
their several homes or regiments. We rarely passed in a day less than 2
or 300, and really sometimes in situations so very favorable to robbing
that I am surprised we were never attacked, their appearance being
generally stamped with a character perfectly congenial to the Banditti
Trade--dark, whiskered, sunburnt visages, with ragged uniform and naked
feet. Sometimes we were more fortunate than at others; for instance,
stragglers from the Hamburg garrison, whose wan faces bore testimony to
the fact they related of having lived for the last 4 or 5 months on
horseflesh; but our charitable assistance was to be this day most
abundantly rewarded. We overtook a poor fellow, more wretched than most
we had seen, toiling away with his bivouacking cloak tied round him. He,
too, solicited, and misunderstanding my answer, said in the most
pitiable but submissive tone, "Alors, Monsieur ne permettra pas que je
monte?" "Tout au contraire," said I, "Montez tout de suite." After
proceeding a little way I thought I might as well see who we had got
behind us, and guess my astonishment when I received the answer. Who do
you imagine, of all the people in the world, Buonaparte had raked forth
to secure the Imperial Diadem upon his brow, to fight his battles, and
deal in blood, but--A monk of La Trappe. For three years had he resided
in Silence and solitude in this most severe society when Buonaparte
suppressed it, and insisted that all the Noviciate Monks in No. 36
should sally forth and henceforth wield both their swords and their
tongues; with lingering steps and slow our poor companion went. In the
battle of Lutzen[81] he fought and conquered. In Leipsic[82] he fought
and fell--the _wind_ of a shot tore his eye out and struck him down, and
the shot killed his next neighbour upon the spot; he was taken prisoner
by the Swedes, and was now returning from Stockholm to his brethren near
Fribourg. The simplicity with which he told his tale bore ample
testimony to the Truth, but in addition he shewed me his Rosary and
credentials. After having talked over the battle I changed the subject,
and determined to see if he could wield the sword of controversy as
well as of war; and accordingly telling him who I was, asked his opinion
of the Protestant Faith and the chief points of difference between us.
He hesitated a little at first: "Attendez, Monsieur, il faut que je
pense un peu." In about a minute he tapped at the carriage. "Eh bien,
Monsieur, j'ai pensé," and then entered upon the subject, which he
discussed with much good sense and ability, sometimes in Latin,
sometimes in French; and though he supported his argument well and
manfully, he displayed a liberality of sentiment and a spirit of true
Christianity which quite attached me to him. I asked him his opinion of
the _salvability_ of protestants and infallibility of Catholics.
"Ecoutez moi," was his reply. "Je pense que ceux qui savent que la
Religion Catholique est la vraie Religion et ne la pratiquent pas,
seront damnés, mais pour ceux qui ne pensent pas comme nous. Oh non,
Señor, ne le croyez pas. Oh mon Dieu! non, non! jamais, jamais!" "Are
you _quite sure_ a minister ought not to marry? You will recollect St.
Peter was a married man." "Oh que, oui, c'est vrai, mais le moment qu'il
suivit notre Seigneur on n'entend plus de sa femme." From this we
proceeded to various other topics, amongst others to the propriety of
renouncing a religion in which we conceived there were erroneous
opinions. "Señor, écoutez," said he, "can that religion be good which
springs from a bad principle? Les Anglois étaient une fois des bons
Catholiques; le Divorce d'un Roi capricieux fut la cause de leur
changement. Ah, cela n'était pas bon." ...

When we were on the point of parting he turned to me: "Señor, j'espère
que je ne vous ai pas faché, si je me suis exprimé trop fortement devant
vous qui m'avez tant rendu service, il faut me pardonner, je suis pauvre
et malheureux, mais je pensois que c'était mon devoir."

It was as lucky a meeting for him as for me. I assisted him with money
to expedite him homewards, and he entertained and interested me all the
way to Metz, when, much against my will, we parted, for had he been
going to Pekin I should have accommodated him with a seat....


LETTER IX.

COLOGNE, _July 25th_.

If you could see what I now see, or form any ideas adequate to the
scenery around me, you would indeed prize a letter which, though
commenced at 4 in the morning, cannot be valued at a less price than 2
or 3 old Castles; but it is not yet the moment to sing the praises of
the Rhine. I shall only say that we slept at Bacharach, and that I am
now looking at 4 old Castles whenever I raise my eyes from the paper,
and that a fine old Abbey is only eclipsed by the gable end of a Church,
equally curious, which is almost thrusting itself into the window as if
to look at the strangers.

Little enlivened our day after parting with our Monk, unless I should
except a good scene from a picture which happened at one of the Post
houses. No Postillions were at home, so the Landlord himself was to
drive--an enormous man, rather infirm, with a night-cap on his head,
from whence emerged a long pigtail. It was necessary he should be put
into his Jack boots. By Jack boots you are to understand two large
things as big as portmanteaus, always reminding me of boots fit for the
leg which appears in the Castle of Otranto. Accordingly no less than 4
or 5 persons actually lifted the Landlord into his boots, an operation
which, from the weight and infirmities of the one and the extreme
clumsiness of the others, took up nearly a quarter of an hour; and, of
course, when fairly deposited in them he was unable to move, and further
help was necessary to place him on the saddle.... The first view of
Metz, after traversing an uninteresting country, is remarkably fine. It
stands in a fine rich plain, near though beyond the reach of an
eminence--for it does not deserve the name of a mountain--the sides of
which are covered with woods, villages, and vineyards. There is
something very grand in entering a fortified Town--the clattering of
drawbridges, appearance of moats, guns, sentinels, and all the other
etceteras of war. Our passports were demanded for the first time. At
length we were allowed to pass, and found ourselves in a large, clean
town, chiefly remarkable for its Cathedral, the painted window of which
was equal to any I ever saw. The first thing we invariably do in these
towns is to ascend the highest spire, from whence the general plan and
position are at once explained. You need not be alarmed. There is no
fever at present at Metz, or on the Rhine; but there has been. From the
close of 1813 and until the last two months not less than 69,000 sick or
wounded have been in the hospitals of Metz--a large Church contained
about 3,000 at a time, the remainder were scattered about wherever they
could find room, and many breathed their last in the streets. Of course,
such a concourse of dead and dying infested the air to a certain degree,
and a fever was the result. However, not above 2 or 300 inhabitants
suffered. Of the sick troops from 12 to 1,500 per day were buried
without the town, and quicklime thrown in. We supped with three or four
Frenchmen and a Genoese officer, one of Buonaparte's Imperial _Elites_
of the Guard. His form and countenance were quite Vandyck--I never
looked upon a face so well calculated for a picture; his dark whiskers
and black curling hair composed an admirable frame for a couple of the
most expressive eyes; his manners were extremely gentleman-like, and you
may conceive I did not talk and look at him with any diminution of
interest when I found he was on his way home from Moscow. He had gone
through the whole of the retreat, had almost reached the boundaries of
Poland, when at Calick he was wounded, taken prisoner, and marched back
to Moscow. His description of the miseries of that horrible retreat was
petrifying--when a horse fell it was instantly surrounded by famished
Frenchmen, who devoured the carcase; not merely those who slept were
frozen, but even sentries upon their posts. Yet with all this he imputed
no blame to Buonaparte. The Russians, he said, had reason to thank the
severity of their climate, without which they must have been completely
conquered. I will say this, indeed, that the Russians themselves seem to
consider their own efforts as rather secondary to the weather. Besides
this officer we had a Citizen of Metz, a young officer of the
Polytechnique School who had fought at Montmartre, and a youth who was
silent; the other 3, however, made ample amends, talking incessantly,
and all equally vehement in praise of Buonaparte. The officer blessed
his stars that he had enough to live upon, and that he was now quitting
a service which, having lost its brightest ornament, was no longer
interesting or supportable. The young Polytechnique was equally violent,
with less of the gentleman to soften it down. He, too, was disgusted,
and had retired for the same reason (these Frenchmen are sad liars after
all). Of course, as he had been engaged with his school companions I
thought I could not have a better opportunity of ascertaining the number
killed at Montmartre, as it was invariably circulated and believed at
Paris that this defence was noble to a degree and that the greater part
perished by their guns. You will recollect that the Polytechnique cadets
I met on the heights of Montmartre said the same, and yet the youth
asserted that they had not lost a single individual, that only 30 were
wounded, whereas they knocked over the Russians in countless
multitudes.[83] The Citizen took the best ground for his Panegyric. He
referred us to the roads, the public buildings, the national
improvements which France had gained under the dynasty of Napoleon; and
when I hinted the intolerable weight of the taxes (being 1/5 on all
rents and property) he made light of them, assuring me that Frenchmen
had quite enough left for the comforts of life. When they all filled
their glasses to drink to the health of their hero I turned to the
Genoese officer and begged first to drink to the restoration of Genoa to
that independence of which Napoleon had in great measure deprived her,
adding that her present degradation was a cruel contrast to the
dignified station she once held in Europe. His national superseded his
Imperial feelings, and he drank my toast with great good humour and
satisfaction; nor did he think it necessary in return to press me to
drink success to the Emperor, though the Citizen on my refusal, half in
joke, half in earnest, said he wished I might be ill off for the rest of
my journey.

My good fortune has not quitted me, however. The next morning on getting
into the Diligence we found only one passenger--Major Kleist, nephew to
the celebrated Prussian General and to General Tousein--a Russian
equally famous here though not so well known in England. His appearance
was much in his favor; he talked a great deal; had commanded a regiment
of the Russian Imperial Elites of the Guard (in which he still was) at
the battle of Leipsic and throughout the campaign; been engaged in every
action from the Borodino to the capture of Paris; wounded two or three
times; fought a French Officer in the Bois de Boulogne, and got his
finger cut abominably; visited London and Portsmouth with his Emperor,
dined with the Regent, &c. He told me many interesting anecdotes and
particulars, although, from a certain random way of speaking and the
loose, unconnected manner in which his words dropped from him, I could
not place implicit confidence in what he said, nor vouch for the
accuracy of his accounts. He said decidedly that Alexander had visited
the Princess of Wales in London incog.; he mentioned an anecdote which I
cannot quite believe, because had it occurred in Paris we must have
heard of it. One day when Eugène Beauharnais was with Louis XVIII.
Marmont came in. Eugène, on seeing him, turned to the King, said, "Sire,
here is a Traitor; do not trust in him; he has betrayed one master, he
may betray you."

Marmont, of course, challenged him; they fought the next day and Marmont
was wounded in the arm. He spoke highly of the King of Prussia as a
military, unassuming, amiable, sensible man, and that he _does_ visit
the tomb of his wife.[84] Alexander, he said, was fond of diplomacy, an
amiable man, very brave, but not much of a general. I asked him what he
thought of the Duchess of Oldenburg. When I said she had excellent sense
and great information, he simply replied, "Oui, et peut-être un pen
trop." Of Constantine[85] he spoke with indignation, and his whiskers
vibrated as he described his detestable character--debauched, depraved,
cruel, dishonest, and a coward. Constantine was abusing a Colonel in
very gross tones, a short time ago, for misconduct and incompetency in
battle. "Indeed!" said the officer; "you must have been misinformed;
this cannot arise from your own observation, as I do not recollect
having ever seen you near me upon these occasions."

No wonder the Russians were moderate towards the inhabitants during the
campaign--their discipline was severe enough. Our friend the Major
caught 7 Cossacks plundering a cottage; he had them all tied up and
knouted them to death by the moderate infliction of 1,000 blows each. In
truth he seemed to hold the lives of these gentlemen, including the
Calmucs, rather cheap. "Pour moi," said he, "Je considere un Cossac, un
Calmuc et un Moineau à peu près comme la même chose."

At St. Avold we again fell in with a regiment of Russians, or rather
detachments from many regiments. Whoever they were they did not appear
to be in high favour with the Major. "Our army," said he, "is divided
into three classes--the first we can trust for discipline and ability;
the second consists of Cossacks and other irregulars, whose business is
reconnoitring, plundering, and running away when they see the Enemy; the
men before you compose the third--fellows who know nothing and do
nothing, but can stand quietly in the place assigned them and get killed
one after another without ever thinking of turning their backs"; and
their appearance was very like their character--patient, heavy,
slumbering, hard-featured countenance; sitting or standing without any
appearance of animation.

At St. Avold we began to lose the French language, and from this my
fluency was reduced to signs, or at most to a very laconic speech--"Ich
Englander, Ich woll haben Brod mitt Café," &c. At Dendrich, a little
village near Forbach, we crossed the new line of demarcation between
France and Austria, and found the towns chiefly occupied by Bavarians.
Unless I am much mistaken, this country will soon be a bone of
contention; the people (as far as I can judge in three days) are
dissatisfied, and the leaders of France look with a jealous eye on the
encroachment, and an imaginary line of separation will not easily be
respected. Here I saw what is meant by a German forest--as far as the
eye could reach all was wood. Austria may, if she pleases, by her new
accession of territory become charcoal vendor to the whole world. The
road is excellent, carried on in a fine, broad, straight line. Till
Buonaparte spoke the word, there was no regular communication between
Metz and Mayence, now there is not a more noble road for travelling. We
were now in the Hock country; in the Villages we bought what I should
have called wine of the same sort for 6d. a bottle....

On Thursday, the 21st, we entered Mayence, over and through similar
drawbridges, bastions, hornworks, counterscarps as at Metz; here we met
a curious assemblage. By the first Gate were stationed a guard of
Prussians with the British Lions on their caps, John Bull having
supplied some Prussian Regiments with Uniforms. At the next gate a band
of white Austrians, with their caps shaded with boughs of Acacia (you
will remember that their custom of wearing green boughs in their Hats
was interpreted by the French into a premeditated insult). These, with
Saxons in red, Bavarians in light blue, and Russians in green, made out
the remainder of the motley crew. We found an excellent Inn, and dined
at a Table d'Hôte with about 30 people. The striking contrast we already
perceived between the French and Austrians was very amusing, the former
all bustle and loquacity with dark hair, the latter grave and sedate
with light hair; the Inns, accommodation, eating, &c., much cleaner; a
band played to us during dinner, and I was pleased to see the Austrian
moustachios recede with a smile of satisfaction as they listened to the
"Chasse de Henri Quatre."

There is little to be seen in the town. I found a most intelligent
bookseller, and was tantalised with the number of fine Engravings, &c.,
I might have purchased for a trifle....

I have heard a curious political report repeated here, which is current
all over the Continent--that Austria has sold the Netherlands and
Brabant to England; the report gains credit probably because the towns
in that part of the country are still garrisoned with British troops.
Poor England is certainly not much beloved; we are admired, feared,
respected, and courted; but these people will have, and perhaps with
some reason, that upon all occasions our own Interest is the sole object
of consideration; that our Treaties have the good of ourselves and not
the peace of Europe at heart; and so far they carry this opinion, that I
was very near getting into a quarrel with a fat man in the Diligence who
spoke it as a common idea that we fought with our money and not with our
blood, for that we were too rich to risk our lives, and had there been a
bridge that Napoleon would have been in London long ago. I told him he
knew nothing at all about the matter (to which, by the bye, he
afterwards virtually assented), and as a Frenchman's choler does not
last long, we were good friends the rest of the journey, and he
apologised for his behaviour, saying, it was a failing of his--"de
s'échauffer bientôt." Upon one point we agreed, too, in politics, viz.,
being Anti-Napoleonites.

Now for the Rhine. At 10 o'clock on Friday, July 22nd, in a little
rotten, picturesque-looking boat and two men (preferring a private
conveyance to the public passage boats for the convenience of stopping
at pleasure) we left Mayence; the river here is about half a mile
across, traversable by a bridge of boats. The Maine falls into it just
above the town, and there appears nothing on the Frankfort or Strasburgh
side to interest a traveller's eye, the country being flat vine or corn
land. The Stream runs with a steady rapidity of about three and a half
or 4 miles an hour, so that in a boat, with the addition of oars, you
may proceed at the rate of about 6 miles an hour. The distance to
Cologne is about 120 miles. On the bank of the River we saw some of
those immense floats preparing which are composed of timbers for the
Holland markets. We glided with an imperceptible motion down the stream,
expecting as we proceeded to behold the magnificent ruins of which we
had heard so much. But, alas! village succeeded village, town followed
town, and yet not a single turret made its appearance. We sat with our
sketch books in battle array, but our pencils were asleep; we began to
regret the uninteresting, even country we had passed from Metz to
Mayence, and the time which might be called lost in coming so far for so
useless a purpose, and to make vow after vow that we would never in
future believe the account given by others respecting people and places.
By this time our appetites began to grow keen, luckily, just at the time
when our spirits began to flag, and, accordingly, we went on shore at
Rudesheim, famous for its excellent hock, and having dispatched a dinner
and bottle of hock we ventured forth to explore, and, luckily, fell in
with a little Gothic round tower, which, with the dinner, rather raised
our spirits and enabled us to proceed 4 or 5 miles further to Bingen
when we turned a Corner....

I verily believe such another corner does not exist in the world. From
the corner of Bingen must be dated the beauties of the Rhine, and from
the corner of Bingen I commence my next letter; suffice it now to say
that the moment we turned the Corner we both, with one impulse, called
out, "Oh!" and sat in the boat with our hands uplifted in speechless
astonishment....


LETTER X.

AIX LA CHAPELLE, _July 27, 1814_.

I left you turning the corner of Bingen, now let me describe what there
presented itself. On the left a beautiful picturesque town, with tower
and picturesque-looking steeples placed each exactly on the spot an
artist would have selected, with hills and woods on each side and a
bridge running over a small river which emptied itself in the Rhine.
Immediately before us, on a small islet, stood the Tower of Mausthurm,
or the Mouse turret, so called from a tradition that a Baron once locked
up a number of his Vassals in a tower and then set fire to it and
consumed it and its inhabitants, in consequence of which certain mice
haunted him by day and by night to such a degree that he fled his
Country and built this solitary Tower on its island. But all this would
not do. The Mice pursued him to his Island, and the tale ends in his
being devoured by them there.

On both sides the river hills covered with vines and woods rose
abruptly, and on the right, tottering on a pinnacle that frowns over the
flood, stood the Castle of Ehrenfels....

It would be quite impossible, and indeed unnecessary (as my sketch-book
can best unfold the tale), to describe all we saw. For above 100 miles,
with little interruption, the same scenery presented itself, attaining
its superlative point of grandeur in the neighbourhood of Lorich and
Bacharach. It might be called a perfect Louvre of old Castles, each
being a chef d'œuvre of its species. I could almost doubt the
interference of a human hand in their creation. Placed upon elevated and
apparently impossible crags, they look more like the fortresses of the
Giants when they warred against the Gods than any thing else. But the
Castles were not the only points of attraction. Every mile presented a
village as interesting as the battlements which threatened to crush
them to death from above. Each vied with its neighbour in picturesque
beauty, and the people as well as the buildings in these remote nooks
and corners partook of the wild character of the scenery. A shower of
rain and close of the day induced us to make Bacharach our
sleeping-place. The Landlord, with his night-cap on his head and pipe in
his mouth, expressed no surprise at our appearance. The coffee and the
milk and the hock came in due season when he had nodded acquiescence to
my demand, and he puffed away with as much indifference as if two
strange Englishmen had not been in his house. We found good clean beds,
and should have slept very well but for the deep-toned Bell of the
Church within a few yards of us, which tolled the time of night every
half-hour, and for a watchman who, by way of murdering the little sleep
which had survived the sound of the Bell, sounded with all his might a
cow-horn, and then, as if perfectly satisfied that he had awaked every
soul in the village, bawled out the hour and retired, leaving them just
time to fall asleep again before the half-hour called for a repetition
of his exertions.

Every evening about dusk, in our course down the river, a curious
Phenomenon presented itself which to me, as an Entomologist, had
peculiar charms. We were surrounded as far as the eye could reach with
what appeared to be a fall of snow, but which, in fact, was a cloud of
beautiful white Ephemera just emerged from their Chrysalis state to
flutter away in their perfection for one or two hours before their
death. I mention this circumstance now, whilst it is fresh in my memory,
for I really should hesitate in relating it before company for fear of
being accused of traveller's stories. I had heard of them before, and
was therefore not so much surprised, though the infinite number was
truly astonishing.

On Saturday, 23rd, we dined and spent an hour or two in Coblentz, which,
situated at the junction of the Moselle with the Rhine, is strongly
fortified towards the land. There is little worth notice in the town
except a Stone fountain erected by Napoleon, from the pipes of which run
the united streams of the two rivers. Upon these are carved in large
letters the two following inscriptions, the one immediately below the
other in characters precisely similar:--

           A.N. MDCCCXII.
     Mémorable par la Campagne
         Contre les Russes
  Sous la Préfecture de Jules Dragon.

     *       *       *       *       *

      Vu et approuvé par nous
 Commandant Russe de la ville de Coblentz
       Le Ier. Janvier 1814.

At Coblentz as well as at Cologne the Rhine is passed by a flying
bridge--_i.e._, a large boat moored to several other smaller ones, whose
only use is to keep the large one steady. It swings from bank to bank,
according as the mooring line is placed on one side or the other, merely
by the action of the current producing a sort of compound motion.
Coblentz is completely commanded by the heights of Ehrenbreitstein, a
rock as high as Dover, the summit and side covered with the ruins of the
fortress which the French blew up. The people in this country are pretty
well satisfied with the change of affairs. They led a life of
unsupportable tyranny under the rod of Napoleon. The river was crowded
with custom house officers. Not a man could pass without being
personally searched for Coffee and sugar in every part of his dress. All
they lament now is the uncertainty of their fate. Many expressed a hope
that the report of their being sold to England might be true. All they
want is certainty, and then their commerce will revive. As it is,
nothing can be more uninteresting in a commercial point of view than
this noble river. We did not see above a dozen Merchants' barks in the
course of 120 miles, and yet they say trade is tenfold greater than when
Napoleon governed. Below Coblentz we passed some of the Châteaux of the
German Princes, which are generally large, uncomfortable-looking houses,
fitted up, as far as external examination allowed us to judge, without
taste. The river became rather dull, but at Andernach, where we slept,
it began to improve and to promise better for the next morning, and for
some miles we were not disappointed.

We were under the necessity of travelling on the Sunday, which in our
situation I certainly held to be no crime. What I could do I did in
inducing our Boatmen to attend their Mass. Religion, which appears to be
nearly extinct in France, is by no means so in Germany. We find the
churches all well attended and plentifully scattered over the whole
country. In the course of the morning we passed a large Chapel dedicated
to St. Apollonius, and noted for its Miracles, all of which were
recorded by our Boatmen with the air of implicit reverence and belief.
It happened to be the festival of the Saint, and from a distance of 10
or 20 miles even the road was crowded with persons going or coming to
their favourite shrine. You will recollect what Mme. de Staël says of
the Germans' taste for religious music. Of this we had a specimen
to-day. As we passed the height upon which the Chapel stood a boat
containing 40 or 50 people put off from the shore and preceded us for
several miles chaunting almost the whole way hymns and psalms. In the
Evening, soon after leaving Bonn, we came up with another containing
about 120, who every quarter of an hour delighted us with the same
strains. They glided with the stream, and gave us time to row alongside,
and we continued in their company the remainder of the day.

Could I have heard and not have seen all would have been perfect, but
the charm was almost broken by the heterogeneous mixture of piety and
indifference, outward practice and inward negligence. Some were telling
their beads and chattering Pater Nosters, some were at one moment on
their knees, in the next quarrelling with their neighbour; but, after
all, the general effect was so solemn and imposing that I was willing to
spare my criticisms, and give them credit for perhaps more than they
deserved. Conceive such a concourse of persons, on one of the finest
Evenings imaginable, floating silently with the stream, and then at a
signal given bursting forth into songs of praise to God--all perfect in
their respective parts, now loud, now low, the softer tones of the women
at one time singing alone. If the value of a Sabbath depends on the
religious feelings excited, I may safely say I have passed few so
valuable. They had no Priest amongst them, the hymns were the
spontaneous flow of the moment. Whenever one began the rest were sure to
follow.

When upon the subject of music I must be the advocate of Mme. de Staël.
She has been accused of falsehood in stating that in the Cottages in
Germany a Piano Forte was a necessary piece of furniture. I cannot from
my own knowledge go quite so far, but from my short experience of German
manners I may safely say there is no nation in which Music is so
popular. We have heard the notes of pianos and harpsichords issuing from
holes and corners where they might least be expected, and as for flutes
and other instruments, there is scarcely a village in which, in the
course of an hour, you will not hear a dozen.

At Cologne we were lodged at a French Inn kept by the landlord and his
wife alone--no waiters, no other attendance--and yet the house was
spacious, clean, and excellent. I never met with more attention and wish
to accommodate, and not only in the house; the exertions of our host
were exerted still further in our behalf. He introduced us to a Club
chiefly composed of French Germans, who were as hospitably inclined as
himself. One gentleman invited us to his house, would give us some
excellent hock, introduced us to his family, amongst the rest a little
fellow with a sabre by his side, with curling locks and countenance and
manner interesting as Owen's. Hearing I was fond of pictures and painted
glass, he carried me to a fine old Connoisseur, his father-in-law, whose
fears and temper were a good deal roused by the "peste," as he termed
it, of still having half a dozen Cossacks in his house. However, they
were officers, and by his own account did him no harm whatever; but for
fear of accidents he had unpanelled his great dining-room. Our friend
had a large and excellent house, in a style very unlike and far more
magnificent than is usually met with in England. In return for his
civility I was delighted to have it in my power to give him a few ounces
of our Pecco Tea which remained of our original stock. Travelling in
Germany is certainly neither luxurious nor rapid; the custom of hiring
a carriage for a certain distance and taking post horses does not extend
here, and you are therefore reduced to the following dilemma, either
taking a Carriage and the same horses for your journey or the "Post
Waggon," or Diligence, which is of the two rather more rapid. Of two
evils we preferred the last, and at half-past 8 this morning were landed
at Aix la Chapelle, having performed the journey of 45 miles in 12 and a
half hours shaken to death, choked with dust, and poisoned with tobacco,
for here a great hooked pipe is as necessary an appendage to the mouth
as the tongue itself. Under the circumstances above mentioned, with the
Thermometer at about 98 into the bargain, you may conceive we were
heartily glad to run from the coach office to the Baths as instinctively
as young ducks. On looking over the list of persons visiting the place,
we were delighted to find the names of Lord and Lady Glenbervie[86] and
Mr. North.[87] Accordingly, having first ascended the highest steeple in
the town, and been more disgusted than in any place I have seen since
Spain, with virgins and dolls in beads and muslins, and pomatum and
relics of saints' beards, and napkins from our Saviour's tomb, and
mummeries quite disgraceful, we went to call upon them....

We find this, like every other town and village, swarming with Prussian
troops. General Kleist commands, and has no less an army than 170,000.
This seems very like a determination of the King of Prussia not to give
up the slice he has gained in the grand continental scramble. Every
uniform we saw was of British manufacture. An officer told me we had
furnished sufficient for 70,000 Infantry and 20,000 Cavalry.

There is little to be seen in this place. The country about reminded me
most of England; for the first time on the continent we saw hedges and
trees of tolerable size growing amongst them. We were directed above all
other things to pay our respects to the great gambling table. It is,
indeed, one of the Lions of the Town; the room is splendid in size, and
everybody goes to see it. It is open 3 times a day for about 2 or 3
hours each time. About 50 or 60 people were winning or losing round a
large table at a game apparently something like vingt un; not a word was
said, but money was shovelled to the right and left very plentifully....
I forgot to mention that near Linz on the Rhine we passed a headland
fronted and inlaid with as fine a range of Basaltic columns as the
Giant's Causeway, some bent, some leaning, some upright. They are
plentiful throughout that part of the country, and are remarkably
regular; all the stone posts are formed of them, and even here I still
see them....

[Illustration: FRENCH DILIGENCE.]


LETTER XI.


BRUXELLES, _29th_.

After a night and greater part of two days passed in a species of oven
called a French Diligence, with Réaumur Thermometer at 23--hotter, you
will observe, than is necessary to hatch silkworms, and very nearly
sufficient to annihilate your unfortunate brother and husband--did we
arrive at Bruxelles.... I must give you a few details that you may fully
understand the extent of our misery. We arrived at Liège all well, with
only two other passengers; conceive our sorrow when on re-entering the
Diligence after dinner we found besides ourselves and a lady the places
occupied by a Dutch officer, who sat gasping without his coat, and so
far exhausted by the heat, though he had been ten years in Batavia, that
his pipe hung dangling as if he had not breath sufficient to keep its
vestal fire alive, and a lady with two children besides living
intruders. A net from the top was filled with bags, baskets, and
band-boxes. Our night was sad indeed, and the groans of our
fellow-travellers and the ineffectual fluttering of a fan which the
Officer used proved how little they were satisfied with the order of
things. The children were crammed with a succession of French Plums,
almonds, garlicked mutton, liqueurs, and hock, all of which ingredients
the kind mother endeavoured to cement on their Stomachs by Basons of
milk at sunrise, but no sooner had a few additional jolts brought these
bons-bons into close contact than the windows were occupied the rest of
the journey by the stretched-out heads of the poor children.

The heat has been more excessive for the last 4 or 5 days than has been
experienced for many years in this country; and, in short, when _I_
think it worth while to mention heat as the cause of real inconvenience,
you may consider it such as would have thrown you into a fever. Enough
of our personal sufferings, which you may easily conceive have been few
indeed if the above is worth recording....

I left Aix la Chapelle with no great regret. The Country round it is
pretty, much resembling Kent, but as a town or watering-place it has
nothing to recommend but its gambling-table. I expected to have found a
museum of human nature and national character.--Tables d'hôtes crowded
with the best bred of all countries, but just the reverse. There were
Tables d'hôte's at the minor Inns tolerably frequented, but none at the
most fashionable; there the guests lived by themselves. There is no
point of rendezvous, no promenade, no Assembly room, where the
concentrated world may be seen. Like Swedenborgh's theory of living in
the midst of invisible spirits, so at Aix la Chapelle (unless time and
opportunity may have thrown him into private circles) a traveller may be
surrounded by Princes and Potentates without knowing or benefiting by
their illustrious presence; the Glenbervies made the same complaint.
From Aix to Liège we had the company of a very pleasant, well-informed
citizen of Liège (indeed, all the military classes in Germany seem well
informed), who in pathetic terms lamented his lot. In the cutting up of
this grand continental dish Prussia has had Benjamin's mess in this part
of the country. We have his troops, with few exceptions, forming a
cordon within the Rhine from Saarbruck to Liège, and they are by no
means popular. We have clothed them, and all the people feed them,
besides having been called upon for contributions. It is flattering to
see the high respect shown to the British character, which increases as
opportunities occur of observing its effects. If we were like the people
of Bruxelles (said our Liègeois) all would be well; we should rejoice in
having a garrison. British troops, so far from exacting contributions or
demanding free quarters, pay for everything, are beloved by the people,
and money circulates, whereas under the Prussian government we pay all,
are put to all manner of inconvenience, and receive neither thanks nor
satisfaction. They appear to have been peculiarly unfortunate in all
wars. Poor Liège has received a thump from one, a kick from another, and
been robbed by a third. The Austrians have burnt their Suburbs, the
Republicans sold their national and ecclesiastical Estates, and lately
they have had the pleasure of being pillaged by French Marshals and
satisfying the voracious appetite of the Crown Prince, who put them to
an expense of 150,000 frs. in providing his table for 7 weeks, and when
they hinted that they thought it but fair their Royal visitor should pay
for his own dinners, he departed, leaving his bills unpaid. He seems to
have been secreting himself here like a Cat in a barn watching the
motions of the mice, acting solely from interested motives, and ready to
pounce upon whatever might be safely turned to his own advantage. When
the French retreated out of Holland the Duke of Tarentum[88] did the
poor people at Liège the honour of making their town a point in the line
of his march. He stopped one night, and because the inhabitants did not
illuminate and express great joy at his illustrious presence he demanded
an immediate contribution of 300,000 frs., 150,000 of which were paid
the next morning. Luckily the Allies appeared towards Noon, and I hope
his Grace will not get the remainder.

In the character of almost all these French military leaders there are
such blots and stains that one sickens at the thought of being of the
same species. It would be endless to recount the acts of rapacity
committed by all these engines of Imperial France; conscious that their
throne might one day fall, they lost no time in amassing wealth, and
pillage was the watchword from the Cathedral to the Cottage. Lisle is in
the hands of the French, and by their own account the people have
suffered every species of misery, yet they are strong for Napoleon,
Garrison and Citizen, and I cannot find that they ever vented their
feelings in any other way than in nicknaming their General Maison[89] (a
cruel Tyrant who destroyed all their suburbs under pretence they might
be in the way in case of a siege, which might have been done in a day
had the Allies ever thought of such a thing); he is in consequence
called General Brise Maison, and then the foolish people laugh and cry,
"Que c'est bon cela," think they have done a great feat and submit like
lambs. The country from Liège to Brussels wears the same Anglicised
face--hedgerows and trees without any leading features. Bruxelles is a
nice town--and really it was a gratification in passing the gate to see
a fat John Bull keeping guard with his red coat. The Garrison consists
of about 3,000, amongst the rest a regiment of Highlanders whose dress
is the marvel of the people. A French Lady who came with us from Liège
had seen some and expressed her utter surprise, and as if she was
speaking to one who doubted the fact, she repeated, "C'est vrai!
actuellement rien qu'un petit Jupon--mais comment!" and then she lifted
her eyes and hands and reiterated, "petit jupon--et comment,"
concluding, as if she almost doubted the evidence of her own senses, "Je
les ai vus moi-même."

At Bruxelles at least we expected to see a numerous and genteel Table
d'hôte, and in this hope took up our quarters at a magnificent Hotel in
the Place Royale--very fine indeed, and very full of English, much too
full, for though we saw a few in the passages, or eyed them as they
peeped out of their doors, and sat down with about 15 or 20 at table,
"They spoke not, they moved not, they looked not around." By dint of
asking for salt and mustard, and giving my next neighbour as much
trouble as I could to show I had a tongue which I should be happy to
use, we towards the 3rd Act of the Entertainment began to talk, and
ascended gradually from the meats to the wines (here, it is true, there
was some prolixity), and then to other subjects pretty well, though the
burthen of my companion's song was that "the French were all d---- d
rascals and ought to be well licked." We tried the Play; there we found
a few English officers and one English lady, few of any other nation,
not 50 altogether, in a house dismal and dirty. There is a delightful
sort of wood and promenade called the Park....

[Illustration: DUTCH SHIPS.]



CHAPTER V

THE LOW COUNTRIES

Dutch arks--Walcheren memories--Earth-covered ships--Cossacks and
keys--Brother alleys--Bergen op Zoom--Cossack shopping--Goat
curricles--Treckschuyt travelling--Booksellers' shops.

After Brussels the travellers proceeded to Holland, and saw Antwerp on
their way. They had now gone beyond the country which Napoleon's
victories had made famous, and the chief military interest of the
country through which they passed, just eleven months before Waterloo,
was derived from two very melancholy events for an Englishman to
record--the Walcheren Expedition and the storming of Bergen op Zoom.


LETTER XII

BERGEN OP ZOOM, _July 31st_.

...On leaving Bruxelles the country immediately loses its character, and
becomes entirely Dutch, by which we exchange for the better, leaving
dirty floors, houses, and coaches for as much cleanliness as soap and
water can produce; I only regret from my experience of last night that
they should be so much occupied in washing as to forget that drying is
also a luxury, but there is no such novelty in this country, and so much
to be seen that I have no time to catch cold. Our Diligence from
Bruxelles held 10 people inside and 3 in front, and we had all ample
elbow room; it was large, as you may suppose, as everything else in
Holland is from top to bottom. Hats, Coats, breeches, pipes, horns,
cows--are all gigantic, and so are the dogs, and because the poor things
happen to be so, they harness a parcel of them together and breed them
up to draw fish-carts. I yesterday met a man driving four-in-hand; in
turning a corner and meeting three of these open-mouthed Mastiffs
panting and pulling, you might almost fancy it was Cerberus drawing the
Chariot of Proserpine--but I am wandering from the Diligence, which
deserves some description. It resembled a little Theatre more than a
coach, with front boxes, pit, &c., lined with common velvet. We had a
curious collection of passengers. Opposite to me sat a prize
thoroughbred Dutch woman as clean and tidy as she was ugly and
phlegmatic, with a close-plaited cap, unruffled white shawl, and golden
cross suspended from her neck. I took a sketch while she stared me in
the face unconscious of the honor conferred. By her side sat a French
woman crowned with the lofty towers of an Oldenburg Bonnet. By my side a
spruce, pretty, Englishwoman, whom I somehow or other suspected had
been serving with his Britannic Majesty's troops now occupying Belgium.
She had on her right hand a huge Brabanter who spoke English, and had
acquired, I have no doubt, a few additional pounds of fat by living in
London. Edward sat behind me in a line with the Brabanter's wife and a
Dutch peasant. These, with two or three minor characters, completed our
cargo, and away we went on the finest road in the world towards Antwerp
between a triple row of Abeles and poplars, and skirting the bank of a
fine canal upon which floated a fleet of Kuyp's barks, and by which
grazed Paul Potter's oxen--the whole road was, in truth, a gallery of
the Flemish school. By the door of every ale-house a living group from
Teniers and Ostade, with here and there bits from Berghem and Hobbema,
&c. Halfway between Bruxelles and Antwerp is Malines. I had began to
fear that I had lost my powers of observation, and was, therefore, no
longer struck with the external appearance of the towns--in fact, that
the novelty was gone, and that my eyes were too much familiarised with
such objects to notice them. Happily Malines undeceived me, and
convinced me I was still fully alive to whatever had any real
peculiarity of character to entitle it to notice. With the exception of
the villages on the Rhine, all the towns and houses I had seen lately
had little to recommend them, and were like half the people in the
world, possessed of no character of their own, their doors and windows
like all other doors and windows, but Malines had doors and windows of
its own, and seemed to take a pride in exhibiting its own little queer
originalities; in every house was a different idea. The people were of a
piece with their dwellings; I could almost fancy I was permitted to
inspect the toys of some Brobdignag baby who washed, cleaned, and combed
the beings before me every morning and locked them up in their separate
boxes every evening. When the nice green doors of the nice painted
houses opened, I bethought me of the Dutch ark you bought for Owen, and
was prepared to make my best bow to Noah and his wife, who I expected to
step forth with Ham and Japhet, and all the birds and beasts behind
them.

We approached Antwerp as the sun was setting behind its beautiful
Cathedral and shining upon the pennants of the fleet which Bonaparte has
kindly built for the accommodation of the allied powers. The Antwerpers
had a well-arranged promenade and tea garden, &c., about a mile from the
house, well wooded. These, with all the houses in the suburbs, the
French entirely destroyed, leaving not a wreck behind. I must acquit
them of wanton cruelty here, however, as in sieges these devastations
are necessary. We passed thro' a complete course of fortifications, and
then entered what, from all I can perceive, is the best town I have seen
on the continent.

It is a mass of fine streets, fine houses, and fine churches; the Tower
of the Cathedral is quite a Bijou 620 steps in height! but the ascent
was well rewarded; from thence a very respectable tour of about 30 miles
in every direction may be accomplished. Walcheren and Lillo (the
celebrated fort which prevented our ascending the Scheld) were visible
without any difficulty, with Cadsand and all the well-known names of
that silly expedition,[90] rendered apparently more silly by seeing how
impossible it would have been to have taken Antwerp unless by a regular
siege, which might have been of endless duration; we might have
bombarded the basons in which the men-of-war were deposited, and with
about as much success as Sir Thos. Graham,[91] who, after expending a
mint of money in bombs and powders, in the course of two days contrived
to send about half a dozen shells on board the line of battleships. I
was on board the _Albania_, which had suffered the most. The extent of
her damage was two shells which passed thro' the decks, exploding
without much mischief, and a round-shot which shivered a quarter gallery
and then fell on the ice--indeed, bombarding vessels, which are objects
so comparatively small, is something like attempting to shoot wild ducks
on Radnor Mere by firing over their heads with ball in hopes that in its
descent it may come in contact with the bird's head.

About a dozen Gun Brigs were sunk, all of which we saw with their masts
above the water; a few houses near the Bason were shattered, and about
20 Townsmen killed. The country round Antwerp is quite flat, and
appears, with the exception of 2 or 3 miles round the town, a perfect
wood; fancy such a wood with the Scheldt winding through it, several
roads radiating in lines straight as arrows, with here and there a
steeple breaking the horizontal line, and you may suppose yourself at
the top of the Cathedral. The Town is large, with the river washing the
whole of one side; on the south are the dockyards, with rope walks and
everything in fine style; the destruction of these might have been
practicable, as they are rather beyond the line of immediate
fortifications, but probably they have works for their express
protection, and the advantage gained must have been in proportion to the
stores and vessels building. I counted 16 or 17 ships of the line on the
Stocks, 2 or 3 of 120 Guns. In the Scheldt floated 13 in a state of
apparent equipment; in the basons 9--all of the line--thus completing a
fleet of 39 fine Ships, besides a few frigates and Gun Brigs
innumerable--of these only two were Dutch.

It was curious to see such a fleet, and some of them were actually worn
out, the utmost extent of whose naval career had been an expedition to
Flushing. On descending the Spire, we examined the Carillons, which are
a Gamut of chiming bells of all sizes--the total number for them and
the Church is 82; by a clock work they play every 7 minutes, so that the
neighbourhood of the Cathedral is a scene of perpetual harmony; they can
also be played by hand. Most of the churches in this country have them.
Our Guards in marching into Alkmaar were surprised and gratified in
hearing the church bells strike up "God Save the King." There are
several good churches in the town, and once all were decorated with the
works of Rubens, which Napoleon carried off. I should, however, be
perfectly satisfied with a selection from the remainder. I saw a Vandyck
on the subject of our Saviour recommending the Virgin Mary to St. John,
which was incomparable; it quite haunts me at this moment, and, however
horrible the effect of the bleeding figure on the Cross, I do not wish
to lose the impression. The Dutch have carried the art of carving in
wood to a most extraordinary pitch of perfection. I am surprised it has
not been more spoken of; some of their pulpits are really quite
marvellous. Religion increases and, I think, improves. There is less
mummery here than at Aix and some other places I have lately seen, with
the exception of a few little Saviours in powdered wigs and gilt satin
and muslin frocks, and a very singular figure as large as life, supposed
to represent the deposition in the holy sepulchre, which was covered by
a shroud of worsted gauze, studded over with enormous artificial flowers
and tinsel like a Lady's court dress.

Wherever we went, at whatever hour, Mass was performing to good
congregations. The women here all dress in long black shawls, or,
rather, hooded wrappers, which, as they knelt before their confessional
boxes, were extremely appropriate and solemn. The English have a church
here for the garrison; it is simplicity itself. They have even removed
several fine pictures, the rooms having been a sort of museum--the
Vandyck I alluded to among the rest....

In our morning's tour we, of course, visited the celebrated basons for
the men-of-war. "Still harping upon these ships," I can fancy you
exclaiming; "when will he have done with them?" You must bear it
patiently. It was on account of these said basons, in a great measure,
that I came to Antwerp, so you must endure their birth, parentage, and
education.

There are two Basons, one calculated for 16, the other for 30 sail of
the line; they are simple excavations. Nature never thought of such a
thing, and gave no helping hand. It was Napoleon's work from first to
last; the labour and expense must have been enormous. They open by dock
gates immediately into the Scheldt, from whence each ship can proceed
armed and fitted cap à pie (if she dares) to fight the English. They
were begun and finished in two years, but improvements were suggested,
and there is no knowing what more the Emperor intended to do.
Precautions had been taken during the bombardment to preserve the
Ships. For instance, all the decks were propped up by a number of spars,
by which means if a bomb fell it did no other mischief than forcing its
way through and carrying all before its immediate course, whereas
without the props it might have shaken the timbers and weakened the
access considerably. In every ship also were 2 cartloads of earth, to
throw over any inflammable substance which might have fallen on board.
From this mole hill of a truth was engendered a mountainous falsehood
for home consumption. I read in the English Papers of the time that the
French had scuttled their ships to the level of the water, and then
covered them over with earth, which was carefully sodded!! Sir Thos.
Graham's batteries were very near the basons, half-way between the
village of Muxham, about 2 miles from the town and the nearest French
battery. From one of the latter we had a perfect conception of the whole
business. Without saying a word about my extreme partiality and fears
for the safety of No. 1, and probable inconvenience which might ensue
from loss of said No. 1 to Nos. 2, 3 and 4, I wonder much whether my
curiosity would have allowed me to sleep quite in the back ground. The
sight must from this point have been superb, as it was the intention to
throw the bombs over this battery so as to make them fall in the bason
amongst the ducks. The top of the Cathedral would have been perfection,
but the Governor most vexatiously kept the keys....

We found abundance of British troops here, remnants of all the regiments
who had survived the storming of Bergen op Zoom, about 3 or 4,000....
They have no reason to complain of their quarters, though it is possible
many of them may be of the same opinion with a soldier of the Guards,
who, in reply to my question of "How do you like Antwerp?" said with
great earnestness, "I like St. James's Park a great deal better." I
observed several ladies with their "petits chapeaux," and I must do them
the justice to say they are much handsomer than the French, German, or
Dutch.... English Curricles, coaches, and Chariots are to be seen, and
some few English horses, which are certainly better calculated for speed
and pleasant driving than the heavy breed of this country. Flanders
Mares--as Henry VIII. tells us by comparing his queen to one--have never
been remarkable for elegance and activity, and I was much entertained in
seeing an Englishman break in a couple of these for a Tandem.

...At our Table d'hôte, where we met nothing but English merchants, I
heard the report of the day that Belgium was to be a sort of independent
state, under the Prince of Orange's government, according to its old
laws and customs, and that he was to hold a court at Bruxelles.... The
Prince of Orange is now in fact gone to make his public entrance into
Bruxelles....

There is a custom that the key of the town should be presented to the
possessor or Governor of the Town on a magnificent silver-gilt plate.
When the Cossack chief came, as usual, the key was offered, which the
good, simple man quietly took, put into his pocket, and forgot to
return. When I saw the dish, the man told me this anecdote, and lamented
wofully the loss of his key, which may possibly in future turn the lock
of some dirty cupboard or other on the banks of the Don. It seems these
Cossacks were immensely rich. Latterly I have been assured they could
not fight had they been inclined, from the excessive height of their
saddles and weight of their clothes; on the one they could scarcely sit,
and with the others they could scarcely walk. They had always 3 or 4
Coats or coverings, and in the folds of these were unkennelled 1,330
Napoleons on one of them who happened to die at Bruxelles.

We quitted Antwerp after dinner yesterday for Bergen op Zoom by a new
sort of conveyance; by way of variety we "voitured" it, viz., hired a
carriage, driver, and horses for Breda on our way to Amsterdam. It was a
nice sort of Gig Phaeton, with comfortable seats for 4, the Driver on
the front bench. I fear I must retract what I said in the beginning of
this letter, as to the decided change in houses and people here. It was
most conspicuous about Malines, but on this road there was nothing
remarkable one way or the other.

Our road was, however, Dutch throughout. Upon a sort of raised dyke,
between a monotonous avenue of stunted willows, did we jog gently on,
with nothing to relieve the eye but here and there a windmill or a farm.
On our left we saw, as far as eye could reach, the Swamp (or I scarcely
know what to call it), which fills up the spaces between the Main and
South Beveland, and it almost gave me the Walcheren fever to look at it.
The Evening Gun of Flushing saluted the Sun as he sank to rest behind
these muddy isles, and we begun to fear, as night drew on, that we
should have to take up our night's lodging in the Gig, for though he
knew that the gates of the Fortress were closed at 9, our sturdy
Dutchman moved not a peg the faster. However, we escaped the evil, and
10 minutes before 9 we passed the drawbridge of the ditch leading to the
Antwerp gate, which had been the grave of the 1st Column of Guards, led
by General Cooke, on the 8th March....


                                     NOTE.

     _Storming of Bergen op Zoom, March 8, 1814._--Sir Thomas Graham had
     landed 6,000 men on October 7, 1813, in S. Beveland, in order to
     combine with the Prussians to drive the French from Holland.

     On March 8, 1814, he led 4,000 British troops against Bergen op
     Zoom. They were formed into four columns, of which two were to
     attack the fortifications at different points; the third to make a
     false attack; the fourth to attack the entrance of the harbour,
     which is fordable at low water.

     The first, led by Major-General Cooke, incurred some delay in
     passing the ditch on the ice, but at length established itself on
     the rampart.

     The right column, under Major-General Skerret and Brigadier-General
     Gore, had forced their way into the body of the place, but the fall
     of General Gore and the dangerous wounds of Skerret caused the
     column to fall into disorder and suffer great loss in killed,
     wounded, and prisoners. The centre column was driven back by the
     heavy fire of the place, but re-formed and marched round to join
     General Cooke. At daybreak the enemy turned the guns of the place
     on the unprotected rampart and much loss and confusion ensued.
     General Cooke, despairing of success, directed the retreat of the
     Guards, and, finding it impossible to withdraw his weak battalions,
     he saved the lives of his remaining men by surrender.

     The Governor of Bergen op Zoom agreed to a suspension of
     hostilities for an exchange of prisoners. The killed were computed
     at 300, prisoners, 1,800.--ED.


LETTER XIII.

HAGUE, _August 4, 1814._

Sterne pities the man who could go from Dan to Beersheba and say that
all was barren, and I must pity the man who travels from Bergen op Zoom
to Amsterdam and says that Holland, with all its flatness, is not worth
visiting.

    "Oh Willow, Willow, Willow, here
     Each stands bowing to another,
     And every Alley finds its brother."

Nature never abhorred a vacuum more than she herself is abhorred by
these Dutchmen; here rivers run above their levels and cattle feed where
fishes were by nature intended to swim. Hogarth's line of beauty is
unknown in Holland. No line can be either beautiful or palatable except
that which (defined mathematically) is the shortest that can be drawn
between two given points. But I have yet a great deal to say before I
come to these roads. I left you at Bergen op Zoom, just arrived. On
Sunday morning, after a little enquiry, we were glad to find there was a
Protestant French Church in the town, and thither we went. I cannot say
much for the sermon; it was on I Cor. vii. 20, in which a great deal of
French display of vehemence and action made up in some degree for a
feeble prolixity of words; in one part, however, he made an appeal,
which has at least had the effect of eloquence and certainly came home
to the heart. He described the miseries the country had so long endured
and the happy change which had now taken place. But while he blest the
change he lamented the tears which must be shed from the fatal effects
of the war which produced it; and then turning to us, whom he perceived
to be Englishmen, he proceeded: "It is for us to lament the sad disaster
which this town was doomed to witness in the loss of our friends (our
Compatriots, I may say), who shed their blood for the restoration of our
liberties." After church I went into the vestry to tell him who and what
I was. As an Englishman he shook me by the hand, and when he understood
I was a Protestant minister he shook it again. Had he asked me to dine I
should have accepted his invitation, but unluckily he lost my company by
paying what he conceived to be a greater compliment. Like an Indian
warrior, he offered the calumet of peace and begged I would go home and
_smoke_ with him. Now, I would have gone through a good deal to have had
some conversation with him, but really on one of the hottest days of
July, when I was anxious, moreover, to inspect the fortification,
smoking would not do, and taking our leave he sent his schoolmaster, an
intelligent man who had a brother a Captain in one of our assaulting
regiments, to be our guide and tell the melancholy tale.... And now let
me see if I can make that clear to you which has never been made clear
to anybody yet. "At 10 o'clock," said our guide, "I was at supper with a
little party, some French officers being present; about half after 10
some musket shots were heard; this was no uncommon sound and we took no
notice; however, it rather increased, and the French sent a sergeant to
know the cause, and remained chatting quietly. In about ten minutes in
burst the sergeant, 'Vite, vite, à vos portes! Les Anglais sont dans la
ville.'" I need not add the party broke up in a hurry; our Guide sallied
forth with the rest, and went on the Ramparts for _curiosity_, but
whilst he was gratifying this passion, on a pitch dark night, down drops
a man who stood near him, and whiz flew some bullets, upon which he took
to his heels, got home, and saw no more; indeed, had he been inclined it
would have been impossible, for Patrols paraded the streets and shot
every one who was not a French soldier. Thus far our schoolmaster was an
eye-witness; for the remainder you must trust to my account from as
minute an enquiry as I could make upon the spot with Sir T. Graham's
dispatches in my hand, which threw very little light upon the subject.

[Illustration: BERGEN OP ZOOM.

    A. The Steenbergen Gate.
    B. Breda Gate.
    C. Antwerp Gate.
    D. Water Gate.
    E. Picket of veteran French Soldiers.
    F. River or creek running into the town.
    G. Side from whence the English approach.
    H. Bastion near Breda Gate.

Under the guidance of some inhabitants who had fled to the English, soon
after 10 o'clock, March 8th, the ground covered with snow and ice, our
troops marched in silence to their respective posts. The Guards, led by
General Cooke, were to go round towards B and C, at A a false attack was
to be made; another column was to force open the gates at B, and the
4th column, led by Generals Skerret and Gore, proceeded by the dotted
line, crossed the river up to their middle, and skirting round between
the works were the first to enter the town behind some houses which
fronted the Quay. Hitherto all went on well, and the object of all the
Columns was to concentrate at G, but no sooner had the 4th Column gained
its point (from what cause nobody knows, for I cannot conceive that the
immediate loss of its two Generals was the sole cause) than all
subordination seems to have been at an end, and the men, instead of
going on, occupied themselves with revelling and drinking and getting
warm in the houses by the Quay, and though many prisoners were taken,
they were imprudently left unguarded with arms in their hands, which
they very soon turned against their captors with fatal success. The
doors and windows in this part of the town bore evidence of the business
which for a short time was carried on. The Guards gained their point,
and so did the Column at B in part, for the French were killed in great
numbers on Bastion H, in fact, eleven Bastions were taken, and all
before midnight; but from this period till 7 in the morning, when the
affair closed, I can give you no clear account. Nobody seemed to know
what was doing, all appears to have been confusion--not a gun was
spiked, none were turned towards the Town. In the meantime the French
were no inactive observers of what was passing; they came forward most
manfully, fighting hand to hand, and though I could not find out that
there was the slightest reason for suspecting they were at all prepared
beyond what was usual, or aware of the attack, they contrived to be
instantly at the right point, and though with barely 3,000 men to defend
works, the inner circle of which is at least 2 miles in circumference,
and with 3,900 men attacking, they remained master of the field, killing
near 400 and taking 1,500 prisoners. The French General was an elderly
man who left all to his Aide de Camp. He was, in fact, the head, and has
been rewarded most deservedly in the ribbon of the Legion of Honor. The
French, it is supposed, lost 5 or 600 men. The number was certainly
great, and they were aware of it, for they buried their dead directly,
to prevent the possibility of counting. The Bergen op Zoom people say it
is utterly impossible to account for the failure of the assault but on
the supposition that the English were led to conclude that the French
would make no resistance or that they were badly officered. I should be
sorry to believe the latter, and yet I heard from good authority that
many of these, instead of encouraging their men at the Water post gate,
were actually busied in collecting braziers and fires to warm themselves
and rest upon their arms.

It may be supposed that wading on such a night upwards of 50 yards in
mud and water must have been dreadfully cold, but I can scarcely
conceive that upon a service so important cold could have any influence;
however, never having led an assault under such circumstances I can be
no judge. Were I to give my own opinion, it would be this: That the
affair was entrusted to certain General officers who were unfortunately
killed in the beginning of the action; that no precautions appear to
have been provided against such accidents, and no remedy applied to the
confusion thereby created--the Columns knew not what to do, each on
gaining its point possibly waiting for orders to proceed; that the
darkness increased the confusion--in short, that "the right hand knew
not what the left hand did," and that the French acted with incomparable
bravery and skill. It should be added that most of their troops were
conscripts. It is an ugly story altogether, and I shall say no more. A
sketch of the works in and near the Antwerp gate will give you some idea
of the spot which has proved the grave of so many fine officers and men.
At 4 o'clock we quitted the town for Breda--the greatest part of the
road inexorably flat and uninteresting; but what is lost in the country
is gained in the Towns, villages, and people--they are _sui generis_.
For 3 hours did we toil through a deep sand between parallel lines of
willows of the same size, shape, and dimensions; then for 3 hours more
did we proceed at a foot pace over a common; this brought us to Breda
just in time for the gates, through which we trotted to the usual rattle
of drawbridges, chains, &c. By the bright light of the moon at night and
earliest dawn of the following morning we rambled through the streets.
Breda was one of the last towns which got rid of its French garrison
without a siege; it departed one night without beat of drum, and the
Cossacks came in to breakfast, leaving the trembling inhabitants to
doubt whether in escaping Scylla they were not approaching Charybdis.
However, they behaved tolerably well. "Did they pillage?" said I to a
Breda lady who travelled with us in the Diligence. "Oh non," she
replied; "seulement quelque fois ils prenaient des choses sans payer."
Thus a Cossack comes into a Shop, makes signs he wants some Cloth. The
Dutchman, delighted with the idea of accommodating a new purchaser,
takes down his best pieces. The Cossack looks them over, fixes on one,
takes it up, pops it under his arm, and walks off, leaving the
astonished vendor gaping behind his counter to meditate on the Profits
of this new verbal ceremony.

After the Cossacks came the Prussians, who remained a long time and were
little better than the French--they lodged in free quarters, domineered
without mercy, and paid for nothing. All the Prussian officers I have
seen appeared gentleman-like men, but they are nowhere popular. The
English succeeded the Prussians, they were all "charmants"; then came
the Dutch who were "comme ça," but then "n'importe" they were their own
countrymen. I rather begin to like the Dutch women. The next day in the
Diligence we had my present informant, a lively, talkative damsel of
Breda, a very pretty girl of the same town who talked nothing but
Dutch, and an old Lady who would have been perfect if everything had
been as charming as her Dress.

[Illustration: DUTCH DILIGENCE ON BOARD A BOAT.]

The Ladies are elegant and apparently well-behaved, with all the
liveliness of the French. We met with no adventures till we came to a
river; here a regiment of Dutch cavalry impeded our progress and luckily
gave us time to get our breakfast; the next river brought us in contact
with a detachment of Artillery waggons. Our Diligence consisted of a
Machine with 6 seats inside, a cabriolet in which sat Edward and myself,
on a little seat before us the driver with his legs dangling for want of
a footboard. His patience had been rather put to the test by the
cavalry, but the Artillery quite upset him, and on getting entangled
amongst their train, uttering two of the French words he had learnt from
his servitude under the Emperor, viz., "sacré bleu," he popped his pipe
into his pocket, threw the reins into my hands, and jumped down to
request the Officer's permission to pass. Under existing circumstances I
confess I did not much like the responsibility of the charge committed
to me, but fortunately our conductor soon returned with permission to
pass. We got out while he drove his 4 in hand quietly into the boat,
every cranny of which was filled up by soldiers and artillery horses,
which, as if to shew off the pomp of war, capered and reared before our
sedate steeds, who only wanted pipes in their mouths to rival the
impenetrable gravity of their driver. It is necessary to cross the Waal
before you get to Gorum. When we got to the bank not a boat was to be
had. With some difficulty at last our Coachman procured a miserable punt
with a boy. What with our Trunks and passengers we were quite enough for
it; indeed, the female part of our crew hesitated for some time; and
well they might, for no sooner had we shoved from the shore than a leak
was discovered which threatened serious consequences. It gained rapidly;
the old Lady above mentioned was in despair, and sat with her thumb
crammed over the spouting orifice the whole time, while a young man
baled with his shoes as fast as possible. This was not all. The Stream
carried us down, and our driver--no great sailor--caught crabs at every
other pull; then we got upon a bank. Really I begun to think it would be
quite as well to be safe now, but as for _fear_, it was out of the
question, the lamentations of the women, and terrors of the old lady in
particular, kept us quite in Spirits. The last event was the total
overthrow of the driver by a sudden bump against the bank. Poor fellow!
he was not only well drenched, but his head cut by falling against the
seat of the boat in his overturn. Though every nerve vibrated with
compassion, it was quite impossible to avoid laughing. Luckily a glass
of vinegar well rubbed upon the wound soon set him to rights and good
humor. Gorum and Naard were the last two towns which the French
retained, and poor Gorum suffered sadly. The Suburbs, Tea gardens,
avenues, walks, &c., were all destroyed by the French to prevent the
Prussians coming in, and their houses and heads knocked about with shot
and shells to drive the French out. Luckily the French listened to the
entreaties of the people and capitulated.

I wish they would bombard Knutsford or Macclesfield or some of our Towns
for an hour or two, just to shew them what war is. Bang, whiz, down
comes a shell and away goes a house. War and slavery have quite
reconciled the Dutch to the abdication of Napoleon. In answer to the
question, "Êtes vous content de ces changements?" you meet with no
doubtful shrug of the shoulders, no ambiguous "mais que, oui"; an
instantaneous extra whiff of satisfaction is puffed forth, accompanied
with the synonimous terms, "Napoleon et Diable." On leaving Gorum we
acquired an accession of passengers--a protestant clergyman and a fat
man, who looked much like a conjurer or alchymist. A protestant
clergyman in Holland may be known by his dress--a cocked hat of a
peculiar model covers a lank head of unpowdered hair. Nothing white
appears throughout but the pipe in his mouth and cravat round his neck,
a long black coat down to his ancles, with black worsted stockings and
gold-headed cane. I must say they do not look over and above agreeable,
and as they hate all innovations few have learnt French, so that I have
been foiled in most of my attempts at conversation.

From Gorum to Utrecht the country improves; we had hitherto travelled
sometimes on Dyke tops, sometimes in Dyke bottoms which only required
the efforts of a few able-bodied rats to let the water in upon us. It is
quite surprising to see on what a precarious tenure Holland is held.
Take but a Dyke away, overturn one dam, and see what discord
follows--and this does sometimes happen. In 1809 the Ice broke through
near Gorum and carried away countless houses, men, cattle, &c. I have
said the country improved, _i.e._, we got into a land of villas and
Trees, some of them beautifully laid out, and all, stable included,
bright and clean as possible. Each, too, has its Summer house perched by
the Canal side and (the Evening being fine) well filled with parties of
ladies and gentlemen. The road for many miles was ornamented with wooden
triumphal arches and hung with festoons of flowers, &c., as a compliment
to the Emperor Alexander, who passed about a month ago....

...We arrived at Amsterdam on Monday night; here, again, all was new.
Hitherto we had rode in Carriages of various descriptions _with_ wheels,
but in Amsterdam you have them without wheels, drawn by a fine horse and
driven by a man who walks by the side with his long reins....

[Illustration: GOAT CARRIAGE FOR THE LITTLE KING OF ROME.]

But what delighted me more than anything else was the prospect of
suiting Owen and Mary exactly. What think you of a Goat Curricle? Goats
are regularly trained for draught, and are the prettiest things in the
world, trotting in neat harness with two or three children. I shall,
if I have time at Rotterdam, see if I can get a pair. Buonaparte was so
delighted with them that he ordered 4 for the King of Rome. Amsterdam is
a very large, gloomy town, intersected in all directions by water,
monotonous in the extreme. Had I not been convinced by the evidence of
my senses in looking down from a house top on several objects I had
visited in different parts of the town, I should have suspected that our
Laquais de place had amused himself by walking up and down the same
street where Canals with trees on each side do not keep the houses
asunder; high buildings and narrow streets of dark, small brown brick
constitute the character of the town, and, having seen one, you have
seen the whole. In the course of my walk I heard that two or three
Englishmen were settled in the town. I called on one, the Revd. Mr.
Lowe, with little of the Englishman left but the language. He had been
there 30 years and held a Presbyterian Church. I asked him if Napoleon
troubled the English settlers during the war. He said that, provided
they conformed quickly to the laws and regulations, they experienced no
persecution. Upon my asking if it was at all necessary to conceal his
extraction, he exclaimed, "What, conceal my extraction, deny my country?
Not for all the Emperors in the world. No, I have too much conscience
and independence. To be sure, I was obliged by law to pray for the
health and prosperity of Buonaparte every Sunday. But what signified
that? God Almighty understood very well what I meant, and that I
heartily wished his death all the time." By long residence in Holland,
he had adopted a good portion of Dutch impenetrability and slowness. He
assured us nothing short of a week could give us the least chance of
seeing the curiosities of Amsterdam, and when I told him that we were
(according to our common custom of early rising) to be in North Holland
by 6 o'clock in the morning, and had seen all by 11 o'clock which
occupies a Dutchman's whole day, and gave him a few instances of our
mode of operation, he threw himself back, raised his cocked hat to
examine us more thoroughly, put his arms akimbo and exclaimed, "How do
you support human nature. It must expire under such fatigue," and I
found it quite impossible to convince him that my health for the last
month had been infinitely better than usual. But, after all, I fear you
will find me growing old. I had a compliment paid to my grey hairs, in
coming from Utrecht, which must be mentioned. The fat Alchymist, above
mentioned, squeezed himself into Edward's place in the Diligence; on
remonstrating to a young Dutch gentleman who spoke French, he replied,
"Que c'était vraiment impoli mais que c'était un viellard à qui on
devait céder quelque chose, et je vous assure, Monsieur, comme vous êtes
aussi un peu agé si vous aviez pris ma place je vous l'aurais cédé." In
Amsterdam there is little to be seen but the Palais, in which there is a
splendid collection of Flemish pictures--two or three of the finest of
Rembrandt--and without exception the most splendid room I have seen in
Europe. It is the great Hall of audience; King Louis[92] has fitted up
everything in grand style. We went over what the Dutchmen cry up as an
object which it would be unpardonable not to see--the Felix meritus, a
sort of Lecture room with some wretched museums attached. I found
nothing to interest me but a capital figure of a Dutchman, who came also
to see the wonders. Nothing could exceed his attitudes as he looked with
an eye of incredulity whilst they explained a planetarium, examined with
an air of conscious safety a snake corked up in a bottle, and ogled with
terror a skeleton which grinned at him out of his case. I walked round
and tried his perspective in all directions, and rather blushed when,
with treacherous condescension, I requested him to use my Glass that I
might see how he looked peeping thro' a Telescope. This is such a Museum
as will furnish me with samples of oddities for the rest of my life.


LETTER XIV.

_August_ 6, 1814.

Luckily we have a commodious cabin in the _Trechschuyt_, and no smoke or
other intruders, so where I finished my last I will begin another.

[Illustration: TABLE D'HOTE, AMSTERDAM.

_To face page 226._]

As to the country, a peep once an hour will be sufficient; I will look
out of the window and give you the result--five plover, a few fat cows,
a good many rushes, and a canal bridge. At Amsterdam we dined at a
regular Dutch table d'hôte; about 20 people, all of them eaters, few
talkers; the quantity of vegetables consumed was quite surprising. With
the last dish a boy came round with pipes and hot coals, which were soon
followed by a tremendous explosion of Tobacco from a double line of
smokers, and as if the simple operation of puffing in and puffing out
was too much for these drowsy operators, many of them leaned back in
their chairs, put their hands in their breeches pockets, shut their
eyes, and carried on the war with one end of the pipe in their mouths
and the other leaning on their plates. On Wednesday, Aug. 3rd, we
crossed the Gulf by sun rise on a little tour into North Holland, to see
the Village of Brock and Saardam, where the house in which the Czar
Peter worked still exists. We landed at Buiksloot, from whence carriages
are hired to different parts of the country. From Breda to Amsterdam
they varied the Diligences according to the number of travellers;
sometimes we had a coach and four, and then a machine and three, and as
our number diminished we were forwarded the last stage or two in a
vehicle perfectly nondescript with two horses; it was a sort of cart
painted white, hung upon springs, with an awning, but it was reserved
for this morning to see us in a carriage far beyond anything before seen
or heard of. I am inclined to think it must have been the identical
equipage (for it was a little the worse for wear) which the fairy
produced from the gourd for the service of Cinderella--a sort of Phaeton
lined with red flowered velvet, the whole moulding beautifully carved
and gilt, the panels well painted with flowers, birds, urns, &c., the
wheels red and gold. It contained two seats for four persons, and a
coach box painted, carved, and gilt like the body of the carriage; the
whole was in a Lilliput style drawn by two gigantic black horses, whose
tails reached above the level of our heads. It was exactly suited to the
place where we were going, the village of Brock, which, like our
vehicle, was unlike anything I had seen before. I have, in former
letters, talked of Dutch cleanliness and neatness, but what is all I
have said compared with Brock? Even the people have their jokes upon its
superiority in this particular, and assert that the inhabitants actually
wash and scrub their wood before they put it on the fire. Lady Penrhyn's
cottages must yield the palm, they are only internally washed and
painted, but in Brock, Tops and bottoms, Outside and in, bricks and all,
are constantly under the discipline of the paint brush, and as if Nature
was not sufficiently clean in her operations, the stems of several of
their trees were white washed too! In fact, nothing seemed to
escape--the Milk pails were either burnished brass or painted buckets,
and the little straw baskets the women carried in their hands came in
for their share of blue, red, or green. They have such a dread of dirt,
that entrance is limited to the back door only, the opening of the
front door being reserved for grand occasions, such as weddings,
funerals, &c. It is not accessible by carriages and horses, on account
of several canals which intersect it; these sometimes widen, and in one
part the houses stand round a pretty little lake. I can give you no
better idea of the scene than a Chinese paper, whose neat summer houses
and painted boats are all mixed together. Most houses have each a
separate garden, kept in style equally clean. I really believe my own
dusty shoes were the most impure things in the whole village.

We returned to Buiksloot and then proceeded to Saardam, on the top of a
Dyke, which keeps the sea from inundating the vast levels of North
Holland. Saardam might be held up as the pattern of neatness had I not
visited Brock first; as it is, I can only say that, though four times as
large, it seems to be its rival in cleanliness and paint. The number of
windmills is quite astonishing; it would require an army of Don
Quixotes. I counted myself upwards of 130 in and close to the town; they
say there are 1,200. Windmills seem great favourites with the Dutch. In
the Diligence near Utrecht my neighbour roused me by a sudden
exclamation, "Oh la vue superbe!" I looked, and beheld 14 of them in a
Dyke! and yesterday, on asking the Laquais de place if we should see
anything curious at Saardam besides the Czar's house, he replied, "Oh
que, oui--beaucoup de Moulins!" Peter the Great's house is a small
wooden cottage close to the town, remarkable for nothing but having been
his.

[Illustration: SAARDAM.

_To face page 228._]

Alexander had put up two little marble Tablets over the fireplace,
commemorating his visit to the Imperial residence, on which something
good and pointed might have been inscribed; as they are, it is merely
stated that Alexander placed them on, and that Mrs. Von Tets Von Groudam
stood by, delighted to see him so employed. We returned to Amsterdam by
3 o'clock and left it at 4 for Haarlem. In Protestant countries
Cathedrals are not always open; we found that at Haarlem open and a
numerous congregation listening to a very respectable, venerable-looking
preacher, whose voice and manner, style and action approached
perfection. His eloquence, however, seemed to be in vain, for I observed
many sleepers; and what had an odd effect, though customary in their
country, the men with their hats on; they take them off, I believe,
during prayers, but put them down during the sermon; we ascended the
tower and enjoyed as extensive a view as heart could wish. The sea of
Haarlem is an immense lake separated from the Gulf by a flood gate and
narrow dam. The French had a block house and batteries here. In truth,
Holland does not require above 20 guns to keep out all the enemies in
the world. Different, indeed, are the Dutch from the French in the
facility and liberality of access to their curiosities. It required some
eloquence and more money to induce the key-keeper to let us go up; and
on asking whether the Organ was to play, he assured us it was not, but
that if we wished it, the performer would sound the notes for 16
_shillings_; this was a gross imposition to which we were little
inclined to submit; but luckily, as we were coming down, we heard it
opening its great bellows and re-echoing through the body of the church.
We almost broke our necks in running downstairs, and leaving the Dutch
guide to take care of himself, we found our way into the Organ loft, to
the visible annoyance of the performer, who, seeing we were strangers,
thought himself sure of his eight florins, but his duty and the Church
service compelled him to go on, and he shook his head and growled in
vain at our guide, who at this time appeared, intimating that he should
take us away, as having no business there, but in vain. I heard the
Organ, counted the 68 stops, examined at my leisure the stupendous
instrument, while he was under the necessity of continuing his
involuntary voluntary, till my curiosity was satisfied. We took up our
residence at an Hotel _in the Wood_, so-called from being the place of
promenade and site of the new palace, but _ci-devant_ residence of Mrs.
Hope, and, in fact, from being also a respectable wood of tolerably
sized trees.

[Illustration: PETER THE GREAT'S HOUSE, SAARDAM.

_To face p. 230._]

By the best chance in the world here, too, we fell in with a fête on the
river. Some great Burgomaster had married himself, and all the world of
Haarlem came forth in boats, decorated with colors, and bands of music
in procession up the river to pass in review before the Princess of
Orange, an elderly-looking woman. She sat in the window of a summer
house overlooking the river, and the festive procession assembled before
her. It was a lovely evening, and nothing could be more gay and
animating than the scene. We this morning at 6 quitted Haarlem in the
boat in which I am now writing as comfortably as in my own room, the
motion scarcely perceptible, about 5 miles an hour; by good luck few
passengers, and those above looking at a man who is at this incessant
Dutch employment of painting. The boat is as clean as a china dish, but
possibly it may not have been painted since last week. Edward has just
daubed his hand by looking out of the window. I am rather puzzled in
getting on here. Very little French is spoken; among the common people
none, and we converse by signs.

...Their money, too, is puzzling beyond measure. My stock consists of 5
franc pieces (French), upon which, exclusive of their not always
understanding what they are, there is a discount; this, of course, adds
to the confusion, and now I despair of understanding the infinite
variety of square, hexagon, round coins of copper and silver and base
metal which pass through my hands.

We passed two hours at Leyden as actively employed as a Foxhunter. We
found a man who spoke French, told him our wishes, gave him a list of
what was to be seen in the town, and then desired him to start,
following him on the full trot up and down churches, colleges,
Townhalls, &c. These towns are so much alike, that having seen one the
interest is considerably lessened. Leyden, however, has the honour of
possessing one of the finest streets in Holland; though capable of
accommodating 65,000 souls, there are not more than 20,000, which gives
it a melancholy appearance. In one part there is an area of about 3 or 4
Cheshire acres planted with trees and divided with walls, which in 1807
was covered, like the rest of the town, with good houses, but it
happened that a barge full of gunpowder passing through the canal, blew
up, killed 200 people, including a very clever Professor Lugai, and
destroyed all the houses. It was a sad catastrophe, to be sure; but now,
as it is all over, and all the good people's mourning laid aside, I
think the Town may be congratulated as a gainer. I could fill up my
letter with the anatomical preparations of the celebrated Albinus; but
though I am very partial to these sights, I doubt whether you would be
amused by a description of dried men, with their hearts, lungs, and
brains suspended in different bottles. The town is full of booksellers'
shops, in which capital Classics might be procured and divers others old
books. The windows were also well filled with new works translated into
Dutch; few, I think, original; amongst others, I saw "Ida of
Athens!"[93] ...

[Illustration: DUTCH FISHERMEN.]

It is not easy to trace the sieges of Philip 2nd in these towns, as the
fortifications are most of them extinct, fortresses of more modern
construction being now the keys of the country. Neat villas and gardens
by the canal side marked our approach to the seat of government--and a
very first-rate Town the Hague is, though I cannot conceive how the
people escape agues and colds in Autumn. Stagnant canals and pools, with
all circulation of air checked by rows of trees, cannot be healthy.
Unfortunately for us, Lord Clancarty is at Bruxelles with the Prince of
Orange. The Hague appears, from what I have seen, to be a better town
for permanent residence than Bruxelles or Antwerp. The houses are all
good, which implies a superior quality of inhabitants. In the evening we
took a drive to Scheveningen, a fishing village about 2 or 3 miles
distant, through a delightful avenue. It is one of the fashionable
resorts of the town, and is absolute perfection on a hot day, though
pregnant with damp and dew in the evening. I told you of dog carts at
Bruxelles, but here seems to be the region of despotic sway of the poor
beasts. I believe that I am not wrong in stating that nearly all the
fish is carried by them from Scheveningen to the Hague; and the weight
they draw is surprising. We passed many canine equipages; in one sat a
fisherman and his wife drawn by three dogs not much bigger than
Pompey--he with his pipe in his mouth, she with an enormous Umbrella
Hat, as grave as Pluto and Proserpine. I saw several nice goat gigs;
moreover, I am determined to have one for Owen....

...It is quite extraordinary with what excessive silence and gravity
these people carry on their affairs. On returning from Scheveningen at a
good round trot, we came in contact with another carriage. Luckily no
other accident happened than breaking their traces and grinding their
wheels. But though disabled by our driver, not a syllable of complaint
or commiseration was uttered by one party or the other. Our driver
proceeded, leaving them to take care of themselves. I observed, too,
that in manœuvering the Vessel in passing the Gulf yesterday, where some
tacks were necessary, all was performed in perfect silence; no
halloo-ing--a nod or a puff was alone sufficient....

And so are we coming to the close of our Tour--our next stage will be
Rotterdam, from whence I shall bear my own dispatches.... In the course
of my life this last month will bear a conspicuous place from the
interesting and delightful scenes it has afforded me. I must confess I
left England with some waverings and misgivings; the accounts of others
led me to expect that disappointments, difficulties, and great expense
would be the inevitable accompaniments of my course. But in no instance
have I been disappointed, the difficulties too trifling to deserve the
name, the expense nothing compared with the profits derived, and I have
seen enough of men and manners, of things animate and inanimate, to make
me quite at home in some of the great scenes which have just been
performed....

[Illustration: DUTCH CARRIAGE.]



CHAPTER VI

THE WATERLOO YEAR

Lord Sheffield's forebodings--Talleyrand and the Senate--Vagabond
Royalty--Mr. North and Napoleon--The rout of the Bourbon
Government.


1814-1816.

The two years which intervened between Edward Stanley's second and third
visits to France saw the Empire regained and lost by Napoleon, and the
French Crown lost and regained by Louis XVIII.

In spite of the rose-coloured description of the comforts and pleasures
of his journey with which the correspondence of 1814 closes, neither the
Rector nor his brother found it possible to travel on the Continent in
1815, which Lady Maria had foretold would be "a much more favourable
time."

Such hopes must soon have been dashed by the proceedings of the Congress
of Vienna, which, as was said, "danse mais n'avance pas," and gloomy
forebodings are shewn in two letters from Lord Sheffield to his
son-in-law, which were received at Alderley in the autumn of 1814 and
the spring of 1815.

The first gives Lord Sheffield's view of the situation, and the second
describes Napoleon's own remarks upon it to Lord Sheffield's nephew, Mr.
Frederick Douglas.


_Lord Sheffield to Sir John Stanley_.

SHEFFIELD PLACE, _October 30, 1814_.

It is time I should provoke some symptom of your existence. I have no
letters from Frederick North,[94] but I can acquaint you that we had
himself here, which is still better, and that he has been infinitely
entertaining, after three or four months' tour on the Continent, from
whence he arrived about three weeks ago, and where he proposes to return
next week, to pass the winter at Nice with the Glenbervies and Lady
Charlotte Lindsay, who are gone there, and, I might add, with many other
English families. I begin to think I shall have more acquaintances on
the Continent than in England; the migration there is beyond
calculation.

The present is an anxious period. Perhaps there isn't in the History of
the world a more complete instance of political imbecility than was
exhibited in the late Peace at Paris, especially in the Allies not
availing themselves of the very extraordinary opportunity of securing
the tranquillity of Europe for a long time.

I conceive that the most selfish ambition will not have been more
hurtful than liberality run mad. And as I am not without apprehension of
that fanaticism, which for some time has interfered even with
Parliament, and to which there has been too much concession, I incline
to the opinion that enthusiasm, as fanaticism, is generally more hurtful
to society than scepticism. The fanatic measures are evidently
systematic and combined.

Everybody now looks eagerly towards the Congress of Vienna. Talleyrand
displays the cloven foot, by refusing to recognise the junction of all
the Netherlands. However, the Bourbons, France, and all Europe may be
thankful to Talleyrand.

You have often heard of Barthélemy.[95] His brother, a banker at Paris,
first moved in the Senate the déchéance of the Buonaparte family.
Alexander was treating respecting a Regency. The King of Prussia did not
attempt to take a lead, but was well disposed to put down the dynasty.
The Emperor of Austria had always declared that he would treat with
Buonaparte for Peace, under restrictions, still co-operating with the
Allies.

While matters were in this state Talleyrand took the opportunity of
sending a message to the Senate, saying that the family was deposed, and
by this step decided the business.

Buonaparte never showed a disposition to treat and to agree to terms;
but when he had seemingly agreed, he denied or broke off the next day.
The failure or desertion of the Marshals completed his overthrow.

It is surprising that he did not attempt to join Augereau's Army,[96]
and retire into Italy, where he had forty thousand very good troops. At
all events we must rest upon the pinnacle of glory and honour, although
we have not secured a permanency of them. By premature concession we
have yielded the means of securing the advantages we had gained.

The affair at Lake Champlain[97] has been most unlucky, as it will
encourage the Yankies, under the present inveterate and execrable
Government, to persevere in a ruinous warfare--ruinous to the American
States, and galling to this country, liable to be distracted by the
efforts of an interested and mischievous faction, which, through lack of
firmness in Government, often paralyses measures of the utmost
consequence.

I have seen several letters from Madrid, and I have one from thence now
before me of the 3rd inst.

A degree of infatuation prevails there which you could hardly conceive
possible. The account comes from a very respectable and rational
quarter. The most respectable characters are most violently persecuted,
and the persons arraigned are confined in dungeons, no communication
permitted; and persons convicted of the most atrocious acts are not even
in disgrace.

While officers and soldiers invalided by wounds are starving, the
King[98] is profuse to persons of no merit, and has given a pension of
1,000 dollars to a young lady who sang before him, &c., &c.

The Spanish Funds, which on the King's arrival were at 85, are now at
50. The Revenue is less than 20 millions of Dollars, the expenditure
nearly 50.

Spain is likely to be in as bad a state as ever, excepting the presence
of a French Army; consequently I conceive their Transatlantic Dominions
will be lost to them.

Nothing, however, could be more favourable to our Commerce than their
emancipation. Such an event, and a proper Boundary between us and the
American States, would be the most favourable result of the war to this
country.

There is an uncommonly good Pamphlet published on this subject entitled
"A completed View of the points to be discussed in treating with the
American States." I cannot do less than admire it, because it seems
taken from my shop, or at least it adopts all the principles, with a
considerable amelioration, by taking the Line of Mountains into the
Lakes, and all the Lakes within our Boundary.

I am very much entertained with an Anecdote in a letter of the 8th inst.
now before me, from Switzerland, which states that the Princess of Wales
dined a few days before with the Empress Maria Louisa and the
Archduchess Constantine,[99] at Berne, and after dinner the Empress and
Princess sang Duets, and the Archduchess accompanied them. Two years ago
nobody would have believed such an event possible.

All this vagabond Royalty is found extremely troublesome by travellers,
filling up all the beds, and carrying away all the horses. The above
dinner party reminds me of Candide meeting at the Table d'Hôte during
the Carnival at Venice, with two ex-emperors, and a few ex-kings.

The Princess of Wales could not be prevailed on to remain more than ten
days at Brunswick. She left Lady Charlotte Lindsay[100] and Serinyer
behind her, and proceeded with Lady Elizabeth Forbes to Strasburg, where
she found Talma, the renowned Actor, and halted there ten days.


_Lord Sheffield to Sir John Stanley._

SHEFFIELD PLACE, _February 1, 1815_.

We are much entertained with Fred Douglas's[101] account of his visit of
four days to the Isle of Elba.

On the third evening he had an interview with Buonaparte for an hour and
a half--the conversation very curious. He says that Buonaparte is not at
all like any of his Prints; that he is a stout, thick-set figure, which
makes him look short; his features rather coarse and his eyes very
light, and particularly dull; but his mouth, when he smiles, is full of
a very sweet, good-humoured expression; that at first he strikes you as
being a very common-looking man, but upon observing him and conversing
with him, you perceive that his countenance is full of deep thought and
decision.

He says he received him with much good humour, and talked to him of the
English Constitution, with which he seemed well acquainted; said that
France never could have the same, because it wanted one of the principal
parts of it, "Les Nobles de Campagne." He talked also much about our
church Laws, of which he appeared to be well informed, but said he heard
there was much ill humour in Scotland on account of the _Union_!
Frederick thought he meant Ireland, but found he really did mean
Scotland, and had no idea that the Union had taken place above a hundred
years ago.

He said he did not think the Peace would last; that the French Nation
would never submit long to give up Belgium, and that he would have
yielded all except that; that he would have given up the Slave Trade, as
it was a Brigandage of very little use to France. He had a most
extraordinary idea of how it should be abolished, viz., he said he
would allow Polygamy among the Whites in the West Indies, that they
might inter-marry with the Blacks, and all become Brothers and Sisters.
He said that he had consulted a Bishop upon this, who had objected to it
as contrary to the Christian Religion.

He seemed very anxious to know concerning the quarrels of the Regent and
his wife, upon which subject F., of course, evaded giving him any
answers. He said, "On dit qu'il aime la Mère de ce Yarmouth--mais vous
Anglais, vous aimez les vielles Femmes," and he laughed very much. He
avoided speaking of Maria Louisa, but spoke of Joséphine with affection,
saying, "Elle étoit une excellente Femme." He said that the motive of
his expedition into Russia was, first, that it was necessary to lead the
French Army somewhere, and then that he wished to establish Poland as an
independent kingdom; for that he had always loved the Poles, and had
many obligations to them. He talked of all his battles as you would of a
show, saying "C'étoit un Spectacle magnifique."

       *       *       *       *       *

When Napoleon had fulfilled his own prophecies of the prompt disturbance
of the Peace of Europe by landing at Cannes, just six days from the date
of this last letter, Lord Sheffield writes again, after war had been
declared by the Allies.


_Lord Sheffield to Sir John Stanley._

SHEFFIELD PLACE, _March 24, 1815_.

I was greatly oppressed by the first intelligence of Napoleon's
Invasion. I was afterwards re-elevated, and now I am tumbled down again.

To be sure, there never was such an execrable nation as the French. The
much more respectable Hindoos could not more meekly submit to any
conqueror that chooses to run through their country at the head of a set
of miscreant soldiers. The Pretorian band that in the time of Imperial
Rome used to dispose of Empires is perfectly re-established. Immediate
notice was sent me from Newhaven of the Duke of Feltre's[102] (Minister
of War) arrival there, and of poor Louis's flight from Paris.

I immediately set out, with the intention of rendering service to the
variety of wretches that were pouring in upon our coast, English and
French, but on my way called at Stanmer, where I found that this famous
Minister of War was gone forward to London, that the few ship-loads that
had got over to Newhaven were disposed of, and an embargo having been
laid on the Ports of France, of course there was nothing more to be done
on our coast.

I returned home at night, and just as I was going out of Stanmer Park I
met the Duke of Taranto[103] entering, for whom Lord Chichester had sent
his carriage. The Duke of Feltre brought the intelligence that the King
was at Abbeville.

I was considerably annoyed, because it seemed like inclining to England,
and relinquishing all hopes of France. At Abbeville he certainly might
turn off to Lisle, where I hope he is gone, and there, if there be any
loyal Frenchmen, they may flock round his standard.

All accounts, and letters, that I have seen from France agree that the
country is almost universally against Buonaparte, and it is very clear
all the Army is for him, and that all the Marshals adhere to Louis,
except two. If so, and Napoleon has not the aid of his old Generals, he
may find it difficult to manage the many Armies that he must keep on
foot to repel the attacks that will be made on him from all sides.

I cannot help thinking he is in a bad situation still. When all the
Russians, Cossacks, Croats, Hungarians, Austrians, and all Germany
clatter round him, and our very respectable army from the Netherlands
advances, if he has nothing but the army in his favour, he will be
considerably bothered, and I hope the sentimental, silly Alexander will
never be suffered to interfere with his "beaux sentimens" in favour of
the monster. If he should be taken and I had the command I should never
trouble Alexander nor anybody else, but take him by the Drum head,
giving something like the sort of trial the Duc d'Enghien had and
immediately extinguish him by exactly the same process, ceremony, &c.,
as he practised on the Duc d'Enghien.

After all, and the worst of all, is that I apprehend we must pay the
piper to enable the above-mentioned Hordes to take possession of France,
and when there I flatter myself they will live upon the country. If we
do not make some effort of the kind, all the money we have shed may be
in a great degree thrown away. One great difficulty occurs to me, how
will it be possible to dispose of the present French Army if it should
be conquered, and how raise a French Army to maintain Louis's dominion?

If Napoleon should be utterly extinguished, it may be possible to do
something, but if he escapes (yet I know not where he can go) a large
foreign Army must remain a long time in France.

I must conclude by observing what a very extraordinary, strange creature
a Frenchman is! Instead of attending the King, or suppressing Navy
Depôts where there are only fifty loyal men, the Minister of War flies
to England, and, as he represented, in order to join the King in
Flanders. At Paris he was certainly nearer Flanders than he was at
Dieppe....

Yours ever,

SHEFFIELD.

The Victory of Waterloo ended all fears of a fresh Imperial Despotism,
and also all the hopes of those who, like Lord Sheffield and the Stanley
family, were no great admirers of the Bourbon Dynasty.

Edward Stanley's desire to revisit France was now coupled with a wish to
realise the scene of the late Campaign, and he planned his journey so as
to arrive there on the first anniversary of the battle, June 18, 1816.

He was accompanied by Mrs. Stanley, by his brother-in-law, Edward
Leycester Penrhyn,[104] who had travelled with him in 1814, and by their
mutual friend, Donald Crawford.

Mrs. Stanley's bright and graphic letters contribute to the story of
their adventures, and are added to make it complete.

[Illustration: _Corn Mills at Vernon, July 11 1816._

_To face p. 247._]



CHAPTER VII

AFTER WATERLOO

A long Channel passage--Bruges--The battlefield--A posting
journey--Compiègne--Paris--Michael Bruce.


_Mrs. E. Stanley to Lady Maria Stanley._

_Spring, 1816._

...Edward has long talked of a week at Waterloo, and all the rest of the
plan came tumbling after one day in talking it over with Edward
Leycester, as naturally as possible, and I expect almost as much
pleasure in seeing Cambridge and being introduced to the looks and
manners at least of E. L.'s friends, and in seeing him there as in
anything else. We are to pay a visit to Sir George and Lady Scovell at
Cambray, and perhaps to Sheffield Place, on our return....


ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,
_June, 1816_.

I am very glad to have this opportunity of seeing what a college life
is, as well as seeing Cambridge itself and its contents animate and
inanimate. I like both very much.

We had a very pleasant journey. The road is not only prettier by
Ashbourne and Derby, but better, and, provided your nerves can stand
cantering down hill sometimes, you get on faster than on the other road.
We drank tea at Nottingham on Monday and went up to the Castle.

We arrived at Cambridge by 6 o'clock on Tuesday evening, and found
Edward deep in his studies....

This morning we breakfasted with George,[105] and, after seeing
libraries and people and buildings till I am tired, here I am, snug and
comfortable, in Edward's room....

We are off to-morrow for London.


_Mrs. E. Stanley to Lady Maria Josepha Stanley._

BLENHEIM HOTEL, LONDON,
_Saturday_.

As we were coming yesterday Edward looked at the wind and decided that
if Donald was not in the Thames then, he would have no chance of being
here this week. We had not been here an hour when in he walked in high
feather and gave me more reasons than I can remember for leaving his
sisters and going with us....

I have been to Waterloo[106] and in Buonaparte's carriage. He has given
an alarm by writing to France in spite of all their precautions.... We
have got our passports and arranged our going. Edward came back from the
city with three plans--the steamboat, the packet, or a coach to
ourselves to Ramsgate. We debated the three some time, at last, on the
strength of hearing that the steamboat had been out two nights on its
passage once, we decided on the coach, and the places were just secured
when Mr. Foljambe came in and told us he was going to Ramsgate on
Tuesday with some other friends of Edward's, and that it was the nicest
vessel ever seen and more punctual than any coach, which made us all
very angry as you may guess.... We set out to-morrow morning and get
into the packet at Ramsgate at 7 in the evening. Let me find a nice
folio at Paris, care of Perrigaux, Banquier, and I shall not feel your
handwriting the least interesting thing I have to see there.


_Rev. E. Stanley to his niece, Louisa Dorothea Stanley._

RAMSGATE, _June 11th_.

Rapidly went the coach from Canterbury, 17 miles in an hour and a half.
Fair blows the wind over the azure blue billow. "You will breakfast at
Ostend," says the Captain, "to-morrow." "Oh, that Louisa were here!"
says Donald. "She would die of delight," says Uncle, "and does not Uncle
say true?" Conceive the view from Nottingham Castle on the evening we
left Alderley ... a noble precipice, frowning over a magnificent plain,
from the terraces of which we beheld immediately at our feet almost
numberless--for I counted in a second 54--little pets of gardens, each
adorned with a love of a summerhouse to suit; in the corners of the
rocks many excavations and caverns fancifully cut out and carved, into
which each of the proprietors of the above-mentioned gardens might at
leisure retire and become his own hermit. Then how shall I touch upon
the delights of Cambridge? How shall I speak of Edward's beauty in his
cap, all covered with little bows, and a smart black gown? And how shall
I speak of his dinner and his party? Such merriment! Such hospitality!
Only think, Louisa, of dining, breakfasting and supping day after day
with 14 or 15 most accomplished, beautiful, and entertaining young
gentlemen! But no more, lest you expire at the thought! As for London, I
cannot well tell you what I did or saw, such a confused multiplicity of
sights and succession of business have seldom been experienced. At 6
this morning we started in the stage coach, the interior of which we
took, excluding all intruders, and from hence at 3 o'clock on a lovely
night, with an elegant moon, we embarked for Ostend.


(_Continued by Mrs. Stanley._)

I have persuaded Uncle to carry his letter over the water that you may
not have the anxiety of thinking for 2 days about the passage, which a
gentleman who dined with us to-day informed us was the most precarious,
dangerous, and uncertain known.

But I consoled myself with not believing the gentleman in the first
place, and by thinking with Aunt Clinton that as Mrs. Carleton was
drowned so lately at Ostend, it is not likely another accident should
happen at present.

Here we are, waiting for the awful moment of embarkation, which I
consider something like having a tooth out, but I live in hopes that,
having been up early this morning and had 10 hours' jumbling, I may be
sleepy enough to forget that I am on a shelf instead of a bed; so I have
been just to admire the moon as we sail out of harbour, and then go to
bed and find myself in sight of Ostend when I awake.


(_E. Stanley resumes next day._)

A dead calm succeeded to a gentle breeze, and on the soft, sleepy
billows we have reposed in the Downs, rolling ever since. To comfort us
we have a beautiful Packet and a limited number of passengers.

The discomfort consists in a rapid diminution of all our provisions and
the consequent prospect of no Tea, supper, or breakfast, or dinner
to-morrow. One sailor said to another as he was skinning some miserable
fish, "Aye, aye, they" (meaning the passengers) "will be glad enough of
these in a day or two, and I was eleven days becalmed last year."

Kitty, to fill up an hour of vacuity, said she would draw, and to fill
up my time this testifies that I have been thinking of you and wishing
for your presence, for the Novelty alone would keep you in full
effervesence and banish all Tediosity.

I have, moreover, been playing with a sweet little French dog brought by
one of the sailors from Boulogne. The sailors have daily given him two
glasses of gin to check his growth, and a marvellous dog of Lilliput he
is! Pray, my dear Lou, drink no gin, for you see the consequences.

I had retired to bed, when Edward Leycester called me up to admire a
beautiful display of Neptune's fireworks; wherever the surface of the
waves was agitated, the circles of silver flashed and the drops were
scattered far and wide.

The morning dawned upon us nearly in the same position, not a breath
troubled the surface, smooth and still as Radnor Mere on the sweetest
evening.

Famine began to stare us in the face; our provisions were nearly
exhausted; two or more days might elapse before we reached Ostend.

We breakfasted on tea, fried skate and cheese. Breakfast at an end, it
was proposed to board the nearest vessel and beg or borrow a dinner. In
the tide course appeared a sail, about five miles distant.

The boat was lowered, volunteers stepped forward--Uncle, Edward, Donald,
and a gentleman-like Belgian.

Away we went and by hard rowing we came alongside the strange sail in an
hour. Three leaden figures, motionless as the unwieldly bark they
manned, gazed curiously upon our approaching boat. Our Belgian friend
hailed, but hailed in vain. They looked but spoke not. Again he spoke,
and at length a monotonous "yaw" proclaimed that they were not dumb.

We went on board and found a perfect Dutch family on their way from
Antwerp to Rouen. Out stepped from her cabin the Captain's wife in
appropriate costume, her close little cap, large gold necklace and
ear-rings; and behind the Captain's spouse stepped forth two genuine
descendants of the nautical couple. Large round heads with large round
(what shall I say?) Hottentots to match and keep up the due balance
between head and tail.

Having explained our wants to the Captain, he produced as the chief
restorative an incomparable bottle of Schiedam, _i.e._, gin. To each he
offered a good large glass, and then in answer to our request for beef,
four bottles of excellent claret, two square loaves. For this he asked a
guinea, upon receiving which his features relaxed and he declared we
should have two more bottles of claret. Upon hearing we had a lady in
the packet he begged her acceptance of half a neat's tongue, some
butter, and a bag of rusks. Loaded with them, we took a joyful leave of
these sombre sailors and returned, with the orange cravat of our Belgian
friend for a flag, in triumph to the packet.

But a truce to my pen. Ostend is in sight, and now we are all rubbing
our hands and congratulating each other that wind and tide are in our
favour and that we shall be in in a couple of hours.


_Rev. E. Stanley to his niece, Isabella Stanley._[107]

BRUGES, _June 14, 1816_.

On our return from the Dutch vessel from which we recruited our
exhausted store, we found our poor Captain in sad tribulation, his
patience exhausted, but his temper luckily preserved. Having paced his
deck with a fidgeting velocity a due number of times, peeped thro' his
glass at every distant sail or cloud to observe whether they were in any
degree movable, and invoked Boreas in the most pitiable terms such as
"Oh Borus! Now do, good Borus just give us a blow," we had the
satisfaction at length, the supreme satisfaction, of perceiving a gentle
curl upon the water which soon settled into a steady breeze, before
which we glided away, delightfully enjoying our dinner upon the deck,
during which our party manifested their respective characters in most
charming style. One Farmer Dinmont[108] and Dousterswivel, a Dutchman,
were perfect specimens. A merry Belgian Equerry to the Prince of Orange,
laughed, joked, and amused us with sleight-of-hand tricks. Our Dutch
beef, tho' doubtless salt far beyond due proportion, was relished by
all, Dinmont excepted, who pronounced it, together with the
dark-coloured bread, unfit for English hogs, and shook his head with a
most significant expression of doubt at my assertion that I never
enjoyed a better dinner in my life. At five o'clock the low sand hills
appeared to view in little nodules upon the horizon, and the Steeple of
Ostend with its Lighthouse were visible from deck. At 6 we were close in
upon land, and in half an hour were boarded by a Dutch boat, but alas!
there was nothing in its appearance to excite curiosity, and with the
exception of large earrings you might have fancied yourself in Holyhead
Harbour. Four stout, tall fellows, hard and resolute in feature and
decided in action, proclaimed their near alliance to British Jack Tars.
They remained a little while and tried to cheat the passengers as much
as possible, to take us on shore, but finding us determined to remain
till the Captain could get his own boat ready, they shrugged their
shoulders, abused us in Dutch, and sailed away. We were too many for one
boat, so taking Kitty and the best of our English passengers and honest
Farmer Dinmont, with all the luggage, we pushed off from the vessel.
People of all descriptions, pilots, sailors, customs officers, soldiers,
waiters soliciting customs for their respective turns. Porters regular
and irregular, the latter consisting of a sort of light Infantry corps
of ragged boys. All these people, I say, were crowded together on a
little peninsular jetty against which our boat was shoved, and no sooner
had the oars ceased to play and our keel cleared the sand than all these
people set up their pipes in every dialect of every tongue, French and
English both bad of their sort, Dutch high and low, Flemish and German.
All burst upon us at one and the same moment, and the Cossack corps of
ragged porters all stept forward, arm, leg and foot, to claim the honour
of carrying up (most probably of carrying off) our baggage. By dint of
words fair and foul, a shove here and a push there, I contrived to get
Kitty under my arm and superintend, tho' with no small trouble and
inconceivable watchfulness, the adjustment of our small portmanteaux,
writing case, &c., in a wheelbarrow, which, from its formidable length
of handle, bespoke its foreign manufacturer. On we jogged, but jogged
not long; for before this accumulating procession could disperse we were
arrested by a whiskered soldier, who in unintelligible terms announced
himself a searcher of baggage. So to the custom house we went, when each
trunk was opened and submitted to a slight inspection; the chief
difficulty consisting in putting myself in 2 places at once--one close
to the depôt of our goods in the barrow, the other before the officer
with the keys. Kitty was wedged in a corner with a writing case and, I
think, Donald's sword. My English companion was equally on the alert,
but Farmer Dinmont would have excited all your compassion, or rather
admiration; for here amidst the din of tongues and arms, unable to move
hand or foot, he stood with a smile of mingled resignation and wonder;
at length, the search being concluded to the satisfaction of both
parties, we re-commenced our course, and in a few minutes Kitty found
herself in a new world. Women and children unlike any women and children
you ever saw; close caps with butterfly wings for the former, little
black skull bonnets for the latter, in shape both alike, much resembling
those toys which, if placed on their heads, by their superior specific
gravity and extensive sacrifice of their lower projections instantly
revolve and settle upon their tails.

"Voici, Messieurs et Madame, entrons dans la Cour Impériale," and
another moment hoisted us within the covered gateway of this Hotel of
Imperial appellation. Our arrangements for sleeping and eating being
complete, we sat down on a bench before the door to gaze, but not to be
gazed upon, for the good people never cast an eye upon us. On retiring
to tea, good Farmer Dinmont's countenance relaxed as he flung himself
into a chair; he put his hands upon the table and exclaimed, "Well,
well, here I am sitting down for the first time out of Old England!" ...
A cup of tea, or rather a kettle full, for our salt beef had kindled an
insatiable thirst, put him in good humour again, and, but for a sort of
sigh or a look or a jerk which proved Old England to be uppermost in his
thoughts, he appeared quite satisfied. With some trouble Kitty secured
the fly cap chambermaid and had taken possession of her room; having
seen her safe, I descended to give orders for a warming-pan, leaving her
(after having been 2 nights in her clothes) to the luxury of an entire
change of linen and course of ablutions. On re-crossing the court 10
minutes afterwards I ran against a waiter running off with a
warming-pan, glowing with red-hot embers. "Mais donc" said I, "Madame
wants a warming-pan. Allons, where is the chambermaid to carry it?" "Oh,
n'importe," replied this flying Mercury; "c'est moi qui fera cela pour
la dame!" Only guess Kitty's escape! Another moment and he would have
been in her presence, warming-pan and all. By dint of remonstrating I
checked his course and prevailed upon the Maid to go herself with vast
ill humour, innumerable shrugs, and some few "Mon Dieu's" and other
suitable expressions. Kitty must herself be the interpreter of her own
feelings in these lands of novelty. I am almost glad you were, none of
you, here to witness what she will have such pleasure in describing. Our
morning passed away in strolling over the town. Kitty and I dined at the
table d'hôte with about 20 people. Farmer Dinmont sent for a bottle of
the best wine to try it and offered me a glass. I begged to propose a
toast, "Prosperity to Old England." His features brightened up, he
grasped the bottle, filled a bumper, and replied, "Aye, aye, with all my
heart; that Toast I would drink in ditch water." We left Ostend at 3
o'clock to take passage in the Bruges canal, and I do assure you we all
felt quite sorry to leave our dear, good, honest John Bull.

At Saas we fell in with a specimen of Lord Wellington's operations.
There is a formidable battery erected last year by way of guarding
Ostend from a "coup de main"; it is singular that the English have
placed a Battery for the defence close to the celebrated sluice gates of
this canal, which gates were blown up by Sir Evelyn Coote to prevent the
French from inundating the country, when he invaded it some years
before.

Behold us seated in a spacious room, for it does not deserve the
diminutive name of "Cabin," decorated with hangings of green cloth and
gold border, on board a most commodious barge. Behold us on a lovely
evening starting from the Quay with full sail and 3 horses, a man
mounted on one and cracking a great long whip to drive on the other two,
which trotted away abreast at the rate of 4-1/2 miles an hour. Behold us
seated on this easy chair of Neptune! our ears deafened and our spirits
enlivened by a band of music--trumpet, violin, and bass--admirably
playing Waltzes and other national tunes. When they had amused us on
deck they went below to another class of auditors. Our fellow traveller,
Mr. Trueman, followed them, and perceiving him to be English they struck
up "God save the King." A Frenchman called out "Ba, ba," a very
expressive mode of communicating disapprobation, but seeing Trueman was
of a different opinion, he ceased from his "Ba, ba," and stepping
towards him made him a low bow. About 6 o'clock we arrived at Bruges, or
rather to the wharf from whence passengers betake themselves and
portmanteaux to barrows and sledges. As we approached our Band resumed
their musical exertions. A crowd assembled to welcome our arrival, Gigs,
coaches (such coaches!!), Horsemen (such Horsemen!!), were parading.
Such a light with such a rainbow shone upon such an avenue and such
picturesque gate!! Our baggage filled a car drawn by 3 stout men; and we
all followed in the rear.... Bruges is a town affording five or six
volumes of sketches; towers, roofs, gable ends, bridges--all in
succession called for exclusive admiration. It was decided that we
should rise at 4, breakfast at 6, and see all that was possible before
9, when we were to continue our route to Ghent. At 3 o'clock I was
prepared, but a steady rain forced me reluctantly to bed again, but we
did breakfast at 6, and did pick up two or three sketches.


_Mrs. E. Stanley to Lady Maria J. Stanley._

BRUSSELS, _June 18, 1816_.


[Illustration: FRENCH CABRIOLET.

_To face p. 260._]

On the 18th of June, how can I begin with any other subject than
Waterloo?... At 8 this morning we mounted our Cabriolets for Waterloo.
Donald put on his Waterloo medal for the first time, and a French shirt
he got in the spoils, and a cravat of an officer who was killed, and I
wrapped myself in his Waterloo cloak, and we all felt the additional
sensation which the anniversary of the day produced on everybody. It
brought the comparison of the past and present day more perfectly home.
Donald was ready with his recollections every minute of the day, what
had been his occupation or his feeling. The forest of Soignies is a fine
approach to the field of battle--dark, damp, and melancholy. If you had
heard nothing about it, you could hardly help feeling, in passing
through it, that you would not like to cross it alone. There are no fine
trees, but the extent and depth of wood gives it all the effect of a
fine one, and an effect particularly suited to the associations
connected with it. The road--a narrow pavement in the middle with black
mud on each side--looks as if it had never felt a ray of sun, and from
its state to-day gave me a good idea of what it must have been.
Sometimes the road is raised thro' a deep hollow, and it was not
possible to look down without shuddering at the idea of the horses and
carriages and men which had been overturned one upon another; in some
parts the trees are _à la_ Ralph Leycester, and you see the dark black
of shade of the distant wood through them; but in other parts it is so
choked with brushwood and inequalities of ground, that you could not see
two yards before you, and no gorge was ever so good a cover for foxes as
this for all evil-disposed persons. At Waterloo we stopped to see the
Church, or rather the monuments in it, put up by the different regiments
over their fallen officers. They are all badly designed and executed but
one Latin one--not half so good as the epitaph on Lord Anglesey's leg
which the man had buried with the utmost veneration in his garden and
planted a tree over it; and he shows as a relic almost as precious as a
Catholic bit of bone or blood, the blood upon a chair in the room when
the leg was cut off, which he had promised my lord "_de ne jamais
effacer_".

At Mont St. Jean Donald began to know where he was. Here he found the
well where he had got some water for his horse; here the green pond he
had fixed upon as the last resource for his troop; here the cottage
where he had slept on the 17th; here the breach he had made in the hedge
for his horses to get into the field to bivouac; here the spot where he
had fired the first gun; here the hole in which he sat for the surgeon
to dress his wound. He had never been on the field since the day of the
battle, and his interest in seeing it again and discovering every spot
under its altered circumstances was fully as great as ours.

After all that John Scott[109] or Walter Scott or anybody can describe
or even draw, how much more clear and satisfactory is the conception
which one single glance over the reality gives you in an instant, than
any you can form from the best and most elaborate description that can
be given! To see it in perfection would be to have an officer of every
regiment to give you an account just of everything he saw and did on the
particular spot where he was stationed.

Donald scarcely knew as much as Edward did or as the people about of
what passed anywhere but just at his own station. But at every place it
was sufficient to ask the inhabitants where they were and what they
saw, to obtain interesting information.

[Illustration: Hougoumont ... June 18th

_To face p. 263._]

Every plan I have seen makes it much too irregular, rough ground; it is
all undulating, smooth ups and downs, so gradual that you must look some
time before you discover all the irregularity there is. Hougoumont[110]
is the only interesting point, and that by having an air of peace and
retirement about it most opposite to what took place in it.

It is a respectable, picturesque farmhouse, with pretty trees and sweet
fields all around it; the ravages are not repaired and many of the trees
cut down. We left our carriages in the road and walked all over the
British position, and henceforward I shall have a clearer idea, not only
of Waterloo, but of what a military position and military plan is like.

At La Belle Alliance we sat upon a bench where Lord Wellington and
Blücher perhaps met, and drank to their healths in Vin de Bordeaux. In
spite of the corn, there are still bits of leather caps and bullets and
bones scattered about in the fields, and you are pestered with children
innumerable with relics of all sorts. We had heard magnificent accounts
on our road here of all that was to be done on the field, balls, fêtes,
sham fights, processions, and I do not know what, but they have all
dwindled to a dinner given here to the Belgian soldiers and a Mass to be
said for the souls of the dead to-morrow. However, we saw what we
wished as we wished, and the impression is perhaps clearer than if it
had been disturbed and mixed with other sights.

And now, being near 12, and I having walked about 8 miles, and been up
since 6, must go to bed, though I feel neither sleepy nor tired.


_To Lucy Stanley._

_June 24, 1816._

...Away with me to Waterloo!

We arrived at Brussels on the evening of the 17th, and at seven o'clock
started for the scene of action. From Brussels a paved road, with a
carriage track on each side, passes for nine miles to the village of
Waterloo.

The Forest (of Soignies) is, without exception, one of the most
cut-throat-looking spots I ever beheld, ... and for some days after the
battle deserters and stragglers, chiefly Prussians, took up their abode
in this appropriate place, and sallying forth, robbed, plundered, and
often shot those who were unfortunate enough to travel alone or in small
defenceless parties.

After traversing this gloomy avenue for about four miles, the first
symptoms of war met our eyes in the shape of a dead horse, whose ribs
glared like a cheval-de-frise from a tumulus of mud. If the ghosts of
the dead haunt these sepulchral groves, we must have passed through an
army of spirits, as our driver, who had visited the scene three days
after the battle, described the last four miles as a continued pavement
of men and horses dying and dead.

[Illustration: Interior of Hugomont June 18, 1816.

_To face p. 265._]

At length a dome appears at the termination of the avenue. It is the
church of Waterloo. They were preparing for a mass and procession, and
the houses were most of them adorned with festoons of flowers or
branches of trees....

...We turned to the right down the Nivelle road, for it was there
Donald's gun was placed, and some labourers who were ploughing on the
spot brought us some iron shot and fragments of shell which they had
just turned up. The hedges were still tolerably sprinkled with bits of
cartridge-paper, and remnants of hats, caps, straps, and shoes were
discernible all over the plains. Hougoumont was a heap of ruins, for it
had taken fire during the action, and presented a very perfect idea of
the fracas which had taken place that day year. How different now! A
large flock of sheep, with their shepherd, were browsing at the gate,
and the larks were singing over its ruins on one of the sweetest days we
could have chosen for the visit. As I was taking a sketch in a quiet
corner I heard a vociferation so loud, so vehement, and so varied, that
I really thought two or three people were quarrelling close to me. In a
moment the vociferator (for it was but one) appeared at my elbow with an
explosion of French oaths and gesticulations equal to any discharge of
grape-shot on the day of attack. "Comment, Monsieur," said I, "What is
the matter?" "Oh, les coquins! les sacrés coquins" and away he went,
abusing the coquins in so ambiguous a style that I doubted whether his
wrath was venting against Napoleon or against his opponents. "Oui,"
remarked I, "ils sont coquins; et Buonaparte, que pensez-vous de lui?"
This was a sort of opening which I trusted would bring him to the point
without a previous committal of myself. It certainly did bring him to
the point, for he gave a bounce and a jump and his tongue came out, and
his mouth foamed, and his eyes rolled, as with a jerk he ejaculated,
"Napoleon! qu'est-ce que je pense de lui?" It was well for poor Napoleon
that he was quiet and comfortable in St. Helena, for had he been at
Hougoumont, I am perfectly convinced that my communicant would have sent
him to moulder with his brethren in arms. Having vented his rage, I
asked him if the French had ever got within the walls. "Yes," he said,
"three times; but they were always repulsed"; he assured me he had been
there during the attack and that he saw them within; but added, "How
they came in at that door" (pointing to the gate by which we were
standing and which was drilled with bullets), "or when they came in, or
how or where they got out I cannot tell you, for what with the noise,
and the fire, and the smoke, I scarcely knew where I was myself."

[Illustration: LA BELLE ALLIANCE.

_To face p. 267._]

One of the farm servants begged me to observe the chapel, which he
hinted had been indebted to a miracle for its safety, and certainly as a
good Catholic he had a fair foundation for his belief, as the flames
had merely burnt about a yard of the floor, having been checked, as he
conceived, by the presence of the crucifix suspended over the door,
which had received no other injury than the loss of part of its feet. He
had remained there till morning, when, seeing the French advance and
guessing their drift, he contrived to make good his escape, but returned
the following day. What he then saw you may guess when I tell you that
at the very door I stood upon a mound composed of earth and ashes upon
which 800 bodies had been burnt. Every tree bore marks of death, and
every ditch was one continued grave.

From Hougoumont we walked to La Belle Alliance,[111] crossing the
neutral ground between the armies; a few days ago a couple of gold
watches had been found, and I daresay many a similar treasure yet
remains. At La Belle Alliance, a squalid farm house, we rested to take
some refreshment. For a few biscuits and a bottle of common wine the
woman asked us five francs, which being paid, I followed her into the
house. Not perceiving me at the door, she met her husband, and bursting
into a loud laugh, with a fly-up of arms and legs (for nothing in this
country is done without gesticulation), she exclaimed, "Only think! ces
gens-là m'ont donné cinq francs." In this miserable pot-house did the
possessor find 280 wounded wretches jammed together and weltering in
blood when he returned on Monday morning. If I proceed to more
particulars I foresee I should fill folios.

I must carry you at once to La Haye Sainte.[112] It was along a hedge
that the severest work took place; it made me shudder to think that upon
a space of fifty square yards 4,000 bodies were found dead. The ditches
and the field formed one great grave. The earth told in very visible
terms what occasioned its elasticity; upon forcing a stick down and
turning up a clod, human bodies in an offensive state of decay
immediately presented themselves. I found four Belgian peasants
commenting upon one figure which was scarcely interred, and on walking
under the outer wall of La Haye Sainte a hole was tenanted by myriads of
maggots feasting upon a corpse.

Here stands the Wellington tree,[113] peppered with shot and stripped as
high as a man can jump of its twigs and leaves, for every passenger
jumps up for a relic. We stood upon the road where Buonaparte (defended
by high banks) sent on, but _didn't_ lead, 6,000 of his old Imperial
Guard. They charged along the road up to La Haye Sainte, dwindling as
they went by the incessant fire of 80 pieces of Artillery, many of them
within a few yards, till their number did not exceed 300. Then Napoleon
turned round to Bertrand, lifted his hand, cried out, "C'est tout perdu,
c'est tout fini," and galloped off with La Corte and Bertrand,[114]
quitting most probably for ever a field of battle.

A continued sheet of corn or fallowed fields occupy the whole plain. The
crops are indifferent and the reason assigned is curious. The whole
being trampled down last year, became the food of mice, which in
consequence repaired thither from all quarters and increased and
multiplied to such a degree that the soil is quite infested by them.

Upon the heights where the British squares received the shock of the
French Cavalry, we found an English officer's cocked hat, much injured
apparently by a cannon shot, with its oilskin rotting away, and showing
by its texture, shape, and quality that it had been manufactured by a
fashionable hatter, and most probably graced the wearer's head in Bond
Street and St. James's. Wherever we went we were surrounded by boys and
beggars offering Eagles from Frenchmen's helmets, cockades, pistols,
swords, cuirasses, and other fragments.

At Brussels they gave the Belgian troops a dinner in a long, shady
avenue, which was more than they deserved, and in the evening the Town
was illuminated. In the Newspaper I daresay there will be a splendid
account of it, but it was a wretched display in the proportion of one
tallow candle to 50 windows stuck up to glimmer and go out without the
slightest taste or regularity.

From Brussels we started in a nice open Barouche Landau on Thursday, the
20th. We again crossed the Field of Waterloo and proceeded towards
Genappes, a road along which we jogged merrily and peaceably, but which
had last year on this same day been one continued scene of carnage and
confusion: Prussians cutting off French heads, arms and legs by
hundreds; Englishmen in the rear going in chase, cheering the Prussians
and urging them in pursuit; the French, exhausted with fatigue and
vexation, making off in all directions with the utmost speed.

At Genappes we changed horses in the very courtyard where Napoleon's
carriage was taken ... and were shown the spot where the Brunswick
Hussars cut down the French General as a retaliation for the life of the
Duke. The Postmaster told us what he could, which was not much; the only
curious part was that in his narrative he never called the Highland
Regiments "Les Écossais," but "Les Sans Culottes." The setting sun found
us all covered with dust, rather tired and very hungry, and driving up,
with some misgivings from what we had heard and from what we saw, to our
Inn at Charleroi. "This is an abominable-looking house," said Donald.
"Oh, jump out before we drive in and ask what we can get to eat." "Well,
Donald, what success?" we all cried like young birds upon the return of
the old one to the gaping, craving mouths in their nest. "The Landlady
says she has nothing at all in the house, but if you will come in thinks
something may be killed which will suffice for supper." This was a bad
prospect....

[Illustration: WATERLOO.

_To face p. 270._]

We three went on in quest of better accommodation, and drove first to
enquire at the Post House. The first question the Postmaster asked was,
What could induce us to come to a place from which there was no exit? We
told him we wished to go to Maubeuge. Had you seen his shoulders elevate
themselves above his ears. "To Maubeuge! Why, it is utterly impossible."
"Well, then," we said, "to Mons." "Le chemin est éxecrable." "To
Phillippe ville." "Encore plus mauvais." As a proof of which he told us
that a government courier had two days before insisted upon being
forwarded thither, that they had sent him off at 2 in the morning, to
insure him time before daylight, that at 9 in the morning he was brought
back, having proceeded with the utmost difficulty 2 leagues, and then
being deposited in a rut by the fracture of his carriage. After a great
deal of pro and con it was agreed that with more horses and great
caution and stock of patience the road to Mons should be attempted, and
we were directed to "Le Grand Monarque," a good name for these times,
applicable to Buonaparte or Louis XVIII.

It was worth while to lose our way and encounter these unexpected
difficulties for the amusement the landlady afforded us. We seemed
almost at the end of the world. I am sure we felt so, for the people
were so odd. Dinner she promised, and in half an hour proved by a
procession of half a dozen capital dishes how wonderfully these people
understand the art of cookery, in a place which in England would be
considered upon a par with the "Eagle and Child."[115] We asked her
about the road in hopes of hearing a more satisfactory account. With a
nod and a shrug, and an enlargement of the mouth and projection of lip,
she replied, "Messieurs, je ne voudrais pas être un oiseau de mauvais
augure, mais, pour les chemins il faut avouer qu'ils sont effroyables."

I will venture to say such a "oiseau" as our speaker has never before
been seen or heard of by any naturalist or ornithologist. Her figure and
cloak were both inimitable. She gave such a tragi-comic account of her
sufferings last year, during the time of the retreat, and in 1814 when
the Russians were there, that while she laughed with one eye and cried
with the other, we were almost inclined to do the same. She had been
pillaged by a French officer in a manner which surpassed any idea we
could have formed of French oppression and barbarity. At one time the
Cossacks caught her, and on some dispute about a horse, 4 of them took
her each by an arm and leg and laying her upon her "Ventre" flat as a
pancake, a fifth cracked his knout (whip) most fearfully over her head,
and prepared himself to apply the said whip upon our poor landlady. By
good fortune an officer rescued her from their clutches, but she
shivered like a jelly when she described her feelings in her awkward
position, like a boat upon the shore bottom upwards. Then she told us
how her husband died of fright, or something very near it. Her account
of him was capital, "Il étoit," said she, "un bon papa du temps passé,"
by which perhaps you may imagine she was young and handsome. She was
very old and as ugly as Hecate.

Well, my sheet is at an end, and my hand quite knocked up. We did get to
Mons, but the roads were "effroyable." At one moment (luckily we were
not in it) the carriage stuck in the mud and paused. "Shall I go? or
shall I not go?" Luckily it preferred the latter, and returned to its
position on 4 wheels instead of 2.

E. STANLEY.


_Mrs. E. Stanley to Lady Maria Stanley._

And now to return to what pleased me first: Bruges--where I first felt
myself completely out of England. The buildings were so entirely unlike
any I have seen before that I could have fancied myself rather walking
amongst pictures than houses. The winding streets are so interesting
when you do not know what new sight a new turn will present; especially
when, as in this case, the new sight was so satisfactory every time.
Ghent is a much finer town but not near so picturesque; but we were
fortunate in falling in here with a fine Catholic procession. We went to
the top of the Cathedral, and as we were coming down the great bell
tolled and announced the procession had begun. We almost broke our necks
in our hurry to get a peep, and we did arrive at a loop-hole in time to
see the whole mass of priests and procession in slow motion down the
great aisle and to hear their chant. It was very fine indeed, tho' to
our heretical feelings the interest lies as much in the romantic
associations connected with all the Roman Catholic ceremonies as in
anything better. It is not in human nature not to feel more devotion in
the imposing solemnity of such a church. The "Descents from the Cross"
were just put up, and with the organ playing and mass going on, and the
number of female figures with their black scarfs over their heads
kneeling on chairs in different parts of the Cathedral, we saw them to
greater advantage than surrounded by French bonnets and other pictures
in the Louvre. They are quite different to any Rubens I ever saw before;
the colouring so much deeper and the figures so superior.

But no one should be allowed to enter that Cathedral without the black
scarf, which makes a young face look pretty and an old one picturesque;
and there were several common people gazing at the picture with as much
admiration and adoration painted on their faces as there probably was
on ours.

[Illustration: _Church of St. Nicholas, Ghent June 16, 1816._

_To face p. 274._]

At Brussels there were more pictures from the Louvre, but the Brutes had
packed up the Rubens without any covering or precaution whatever, and
there they are with a hole thro' one, and the other covered with mildew
and stains from rain and dirt. From Ghent we travelled in two cabriolets
to Brussels, which were not quite so easy or pleasant as the Canal
boats; but the accommodations as far as Brussels have been really
_superbe_. I have longed for the papers or the carpets or the marble
tables in every room we have been in; and I have learned to consider
dinner as a matter of great curiosity and importance, and I cannot
wonder that Englishmen are not proof against the temptations of living
well and so cheap. Brussels is a nice place; there appear to be so many
pleasant walks and rides in all directions. The country about is so
pretty, and the town (with the exception of the steep hill which you
must ascend to get to the best part of it) very cheerful and agreeable
looking.... Every place swarms with English; we have met four times as
many English carriages and travellers as we did on our road to London.

Our weather has been very favourable. We had a cool day for walking
about at Waterloo, and the next day a delightful bright sunshine to show
off the Palace of Laeken to advantage. It is the place where Bonaparte
intended to sleep on the 18th, and he fitted it up. It is three miles
from Brussels, commanding a view of the whole country and surrounded by
trees and pleasure-grounds in the English style. After looking at
buildings and towns so much, it was an agreeable relief to admire shady
walks and fine trees. We went to the Theatre, which was execrable, but
at Ghent we were very much amused with some incomparable acting.

We left Brussels yesterday morning in a Barouche and _three_, which is
to take us to Paris. It holds us four in the inside and John on the box
as nicely as we could wish and is perfectly easy. We suit each other as
well in other respects as in the carriage. Donald is an excellent
_compagnon de voyage_--full of liveliness, good humour, and curiosity,
enjoying everything in the right way. He and Edward Leycester are my
beaux, while E.S. does the business; which makes it much pleasanter to
me than if I had only one gentleman with me. In short, we had not a
difficulty till yesterday. We came by Waterloo again and picked up
Lacoite to get what we could from him, and then to Charleroi, being told
the road by Nivelles was impassable. The road to Charleroi was bad, and
we did not arrive till 9, having had no eatable but biscuit and wine.
Donald entered the hotel to enquire what we could have for dinner, and
returned with the melancholy report that the woman had literally
nothing, and did not know where any were to be procured, but that she
would kill a hen and dress it if we liked! We sent Donald and Edward, as
a forlorn hope, to see if there was another inn, and after a long
search they found one, whereupon the postillion found out that he had
no drag-chain and could not properly descend the _montagne._ However,
after some arguments, and my descent from the carriage, and Donald and
John walking on each side the wheels with large stones ready to place
before them in case they were disposed to run too fast, we arrived at
the Inn at the foot of the Hill, from which issued an old woman who
might have sat for Gil Blas' or Caleb Williams' old woman. When she
heard where we were going, she shook her head and said she did not like
to be _un oiseau de mauvais augure_ but that the only road we could go
was very nearly impassable. The people and the children in the street
crowded round the carriage as if they had never seen one before, and, in
short, we found that we had got into a _cul-de-sac._

[Illustration: PORTE DE HALLE, BRUSSELS, LEADING TO WATERLOO.

_To face page 278._]

However, our adventures for the night finished by the old woman giving
us so good a dinner and so many good stories of herself and the
Cossacks, that we did not regret having been round, especially now when
we are safely landed at Valenciennes without either carriage or bones
broke--over certainly the very worst road I ever saw.

We shall be at Paris on Monday or Tuesday, I think. Adieu.


_Rev. E. Stanley to his niece, Rianette Stanley._

...Before leaving Brussels for ever, it is impossible not to speak about
the dogs. What would you say, what would you think, and how would you
laugh at some of these wondrous equipages. You meet them in all
directions carrying every species of load. They were only surpassed by
one vehicle we met on the road drawn by nine, and as luck would have it,
just as we passed, the five leaders fell to fighting and ran their
carriage over some high stones. Then the women within began to scream
and the driver without began to whip, which caused an inevitable scene
of bustle and perplexity....

At Quiverain we passed the line of separation between France and Belgium
and were subjected to a close inspection by the Custom House Officers,
during which some Bandana handkerchiefs of Edward's were for a time in
great jeopardy, but they were finally returned and "nous voilà" in "la
belle France." The change was perceptible in more ways than one. Before
we had travelled a mile we beheld a proof of this subjugated state in
the person of a Cossack "en plein costume," with two narrow, horizontal
eyes placed at the top of his forehead, bespeaking his Tartar origin.
Upon a log of timber twenty more were sitting smoking. The Russian
headquarters are at Maubeuge, but the Cossacks are scattered all over
the frontier villages and are seen everywhere. We fell in with at least
a hundred. They are very quiet and much liked by the people. The Duke of
Wellington, when returning to Valenciennes a few days ago from Maubeuge,
was escorted by a party of these gipsy guards.

On approaching Valenciennes other tokens of conquest appeared. A
clean-looking inn, with a smart garden in Islington style, presented
itself, bearing a sign with an English name containing the additional
intelligence that London Porter and Rum, Gin, and Brandy were all there,
and to be had.

Over many a window we saw a good John Bull board with "Spirituous
Liquors Sold Here" inscribed thereon in broad British characters, unlike
the "Spiritual Lickers" in the miserable letters upon the signboards at
Ostend. As to Valenciennes, nothing was French but the houses and Inns.
The visible population were red-coated soldiers, and it was impossible
not to fancy that our journey was a dream, and that we had in fact
re-opened our eyes in England.

Of hornworks, demi-lunes, and ravelines I shall speak to your Papa when
I fight my battle once again in the Armchair at the Park or at
Winnington; enough for you to know that we all breakfasted with Sir
Thomas Brisbane, a very superior man and a great astronomer, and tho'
brave as a lion, seems to prefer looking at la Pleine lune in the
heavens than the host of demi-lunes with which he is surrounded in his
present quarters. At Cambray Sir George Scovell[116] had most kindly
secured us lodgings at Sir Lowry Cole's[117] house, which we had all to
ourselves, as the General was in England. Where the French people live
it is not easy to guess, for all the best houses are taken by British
Officers. They receive a billet which entitles them to certain rooms,
and generally they induce the possessor to decamp altogether by giving
him a small rent for the remainder. We found Colonel Egerton, who
married a Miss Tomkinson, in the garrison. We dined with them and the
Scovell, and were received with the utmost kindness and attention by
all. Colonel Prince and Colonel Abercromby (you know both, I believe)
also dined there two days we remained.

On Sunday there was a Procession. The most curious circumstance was that
a troop of British cavalry attended to clear the way and do the honours,
for the National Guard had been disarmed three days before in
consequence of an order from the Duke of Wellington (nobody knows why).
They gave up their arms without a murmur; some few, I believe, expressed
by a "Bah!" and a shrug of the shoulders that it was not quite agreeable
to their feelings, but "voilà tout." "I say, Jack," said a Grenadier of
the Guards to his Companion, by whom I was standing as the procession
came out of the Church, "who is that fellow with a gold coat and
gridiron?" "Why, that's St. Lawrence," and so it was.

St. Lawrence led the way, followed by a brass St. Andrew as stiff as a
poker and as much resembling St. Andrew as I conceive; but my companion
the Grenadier thought differently, for he pronounced him to be a Chef
d'œuvre. "Well now, Jack, that's quite natural." ...

I must hurry you on to Compiègne, merely saying that we traversed a
country fringed with immense forests in which wolves are born and live
and die without much interruption, tho' we were told at one of the Inns
that a peasant had, a day or two before, captured seven juvenile
individuals of the species and carried them off uneaten by their
disconsolate parents.

Our chief reason for visiting Compiègne was that we might see a Palace
fitted up for Marie Louise by Bonaparte in a style of splendour
surpassing, in my opinion, any Palace I have seen in France.


_Mrs. E. Stanley to Lady Maria J. Stanley._

PARIS, _June 28, 1816_.

And here I am--and what shall I tell you first? And how shall I find
time to tell you anything in the wandering Arab kind of life we are
leading? It is very new and very amusing and I enjoy it very much, but I
enjoy still more the thoughts of how much I shall enjoy my own quiet
home and children again when I get to them.

We arrived on Tuesday evening, and in half an hour I was in the Palais
Royal in the Café de Mille Colonnes, and at night the brilliancy of the
Lamps and Mirrors, glittering in every direction in every alley,
displayed this new scene to me in the newest colours; and it was very
like walking in a new world....

The Fêtes for the marriage of the Due de Berri are unfortunately all
over. Except the entertainments at the Court itself, a French party is a
thing unheard of, and the only gaieties have been English parties to
which some few French come when they are invited. The only gentlemen's
carriages I have seen in the streets are English, and as to French
gentlemen or ladies, according to the most diligent enquiries by eyes
and tongue, the race has almost disappeared....

If you admire Buonaparte and despise the Bourbons in Cheshire, what
would you in Paris? where the regular answer to everything you admire is
that it was done by Buonaparte--to everything that you object to, that
it is by order of the Bourbons. In the Library of the Hôpital des
Invalides to-day, collected by order of Buonaparte for the use of the
soldiers, there was a man pulling down all the books and stamping over
the N's and eagles on the title-page with blue ink, which, if it did not
make a plain L, at least blotted out the N; but I should apprehend that
every one who saw the blot would think more of the vain endeavour of
Louis to take his place than if the N had been left.

...I have told you nothing about Valenciennes and how we breakfasted
with two odd characters to come together in one, an Astronomer and a
Soldier, viz., Sir Thomas Brisbane, who enlivens his quarters wherever
he goes by erecting an observatory immediately, and studying hard as any
Cambridge mathematician every hour that he is not on military duty. His
officers seem to have partaken in some degree of the spirit of their
General, and to have made use of their position at Valenciennes to make
themselves perfectly acquainted with all Marlborough's campaign, and
they appeared to have as much interest in tracing all his sieges and
breaches and batteries as their General in making his observations on
the sun and the stars.... The Scovells were delighted to see us at
Cambray; put us into Sir Lowry Cole's quarters, where we had a house and
gardens all to ourselves. Lord Wellington had been at Cambray a
fortnight before, and was all affability, good humour, and gaiety....
Sir Geo. Scovell gave many interesting details of his coolness,
quickness, decision, and undaunted spirit.


_Edward Stanley to Bella Stanley._

PARIS, _July 9, 1816_.

It is absolutely necessary that a word or two should be said upon the
palace at Compiègne, which was fitted up about seven years ago by
Napoleon for Marie Louise. Having seen most of his Imperial abodes, I am
inclined to give the preference, as far as internal decoration extends,
to Compiègne. Gold, silver, mirrors, tapestry all hold their court
here. The bath is a perfect specimen of French luxury and magnificence.
It fills a recess in a moderately-sized room almost entirely panelled
with the finest sheets of plate glass; and the ball room is so
exquisitely beautiful that to see its golden walls and ceilings lighted
up with splendid chandeliers, and its floors graced with dancers, plumed
and jewelled, I would take the trouble of attending as your Chaperon
from Alderley whenever the Bourbons send you an invitation.

The gardens are like all other French pleasure grounds, formal and
comfortless, but there is one part you would all enjoy. When Buonaparte
first carried Marie Louise to Compiègne she expressed much satisfaction,
but remarked that it was deficient in a Berceau; it could not stand in
competition with her favourite palace of Schönbrunn. Now, a berceau is a
wide walk covered with trellis work and flowers. She left Compiègne. In
six weeks Napoleon begged her to pay another visit. She did so, and
found a berceau wide enough for two carriages to go abreast and above
two miles in length, extending from the gardens to the forest of
Compiègne, completely finished. May you all be espoused to husbands who
will execute all your whims and fancies with equal rapidity and good
taste! In your berceau I will walk; but if you are destined to reside in
golden palaces, you must expect little of Uncle's company.

Having travelled thus far, attend us to Paris and imagine yourself
seated in a velvet chair in the Hotel de Bretagne, Rue de Richelieu,
that is to say, when translated into London terms, conceive yourself
seated in one of the Hotels in or near Covent Gardens, close to Theatre
and shops and all that a stranger wishes to be near for a week when the
sole purpose of his visit is seeing and hearing. We are within 20 yards
(but if measured by the mud and filth to be traversed in the march I
should call it a mile) of the Palais Royal, the fairy land of Paris, and
Paradise of vice, and the centre of attraction to every stranger. Here
we breakfast in Coffee-houses, of which no idea can be formed by those
who only associate the name of Coffee-house with certain subdivided,
gloomy apartments in England, where steaks and _Morning Chronicles_
reign with divided sway, and where the silence is seldom interrupted but
by queries as to the price of stocks or "Here, Waiter, another bottle of
Port."

We dine at Restaurateurs, choosing unknown dishes out of five
closely-printed columns of _fricandeaus_ and _à la financières_.

Before I proceed let me inform you of some simple matters of fact which
I may forget if delayed. Such as that we found the Sothebys and Murrays,
and Leghs of High Legh, and Wilbraham of Delamere Lodge. With the former
we have made several joint excursions and contrived to meet at dinner.
Mr. Sotheby is in his element, bustles everywhere, looks the vignette of
happiness, exclaims "Good!" upon all occasions, from the arrangement of
the Skulls in the Catacombs to the dressing of a _vol au vent_. In
short, they are all as delighted as myself, and that is saying a good
deal.

Pardon this digression. Again to the point--to Paris. Where shall I
begin? Let us take the theatres. We saw Talma last night, and the
impression is strong, therefore he shall appear first on the list.

The play was "Manlius," a tragedy in many respects like our "Venice
Preserved." The House was crowded to excess, especially the pit, which,
as in England, is the focus of criticisms and vent for public opinion.

When a Tragedy is acted no Music whatever is allowed, not a fiddle
prefaced the performance; but at seven o'clock the curtain slowly rose,
and amidst the thunder of applause, succeeded by a breathless silence,
Talma stepped forth in the Roman toga of Manlius. His figure is bad,
short, and rather clumsy, his countenance deficient in dignity and
natural expression, but with all these deductions he shines like a
meteor when compared with Kemble. He is body and soul, finger and thumb,
head and foot, involved in his character; and so, say you, is Miss
O'Neil, but Talma and Miss O'Neil are different and distant as the
poles. She is nature, he is art, but it is the perfection of art, and so
splendid a specimen well deserves the approbation he so profusely
receives.

The curtain is not let down between the acts, and the interval does not
exceed two or three minutes, so that your attention is never
interrupted. The scene closed as it commenced--with that peculiar hurra
of the French, expressive of their highest excitement. It is the same
with which they make their charge in battle, and proportioned to numbers
it could not have been more vehement at the victories of Austerlitz and
Jena than it was on the reappearance of Talma; and not satisfied with
this, they insisted on his coming forth again. At length, amidst hurras
and cries of "Talma! Talma!" the curtain was closed up, and my last
impression rendered unfavourable by a vulgar, graceless figure in
nankeen breeches and top-boots hurrying in from a side scene, dropping a
swing bow in the centre of the stage, and then hurrying out again.

Theatres are to Frenchmen what flowers are to bees: they live _in_ them
and _upon_ them, and the sacrifice of liberty appears to be a tribute
most willingly paid for the gratification they receive; for, to be sure,
never can there exist a more despotic, arbitrary government than that of
a French theatre. A soldier stands by from the moment you quit your
carriage till you get into it; you are allowed no will of your own; if
you wish to give directions to your servant, "Vite! Vite!" cries a
whiskered sentry. Are you looking through the windows of the lobbies
into the boxes for your party, you are ordered off by a gendarme. I saw
one gentleman-like-looking man remonstrating; in a trice he was in
durance vile. A Frenchman at his play must sit, stand, move, think, and
speak as if he were on drill, and yet he endures the intolerance for
doubtful benefits derived from this rigid regularity.

In this play of "Manlius" were many passages highly applicable to
Buonaparte, and Talma, who is supposed to be (_avec raison_) a secret
partisan, gave them their full effect, but the listening vassals struck
no octaves to his vibration. A few nights before we were at the Play in
which were allusions to the Bourbons, and couplets without end of the
most fulsome, disgusting compliments to the Duc de Berri, &c. These
(shame upon the trifling, vacillating, mutable crew!) were received with
loud applause by the majority of the pit. I did observe, however, that
in that pit did sit a frowning, solemn, silent nucleus, but a nucleus of
this description can never be large; a few Messieurs at 3 francs _par
jour_ would soon, when dispersed amongst them, like grains of pepper in
tasteless soup, diffuse a tone of palatibility over the whole and render
it more agreeable to the taste of a Bourbon.

_À propos_, we have seen the Bourbons. The King is a round, fat man, so
fat that in their pictures they dare not give him the proper "_contour_"
lest the police should suspect them of wishing to ridicule; but his face
is mild and benevolent, and I verily believe his face to be a just
reflection of his heart. Then comes Monsieur,[118] a man with more
expression, but I did not see enough to form any opinion of my own, and
I never heard any very decisive account from any one else. Then comes
the Duchesse d'Angoulême.[119] There is no milk and water there. What
she really is I may not be able to detect, but I will forfeit my little
finger if there is not something passing strange within her. She is
called a Bigot and a Devotee; she has seen and felt enough, and more
than enough, to make a stronger mind than hers either the one or the
other, and I will excuse her if she is both. She is thin and genteel,
grave and dignified; she puts her fan to her underlip as Napoleon would
put his finger to his forehead, or his hand into his bosom. She stood
up, she sat down, she knelt, when others stood or sat or knelt, but I
question whether if she had been alone she would have done all according
to bell and candle, rule or regulation.

Then comes the Duchesse de Berri,[120] a young, pretty thing, a sort of
royal kitten; and then comes her husband, the Duc de Berri, a short,
vulgar-looking, anything but a kitten he is--but _arrête toi_. I am in
the land of vigilance, and already my pen trembles, for there are
gendarmes in abundance in the streets, and Messieurs Bruce and Co. in La
Force, and I do not wish to join their party. In England I may abuse our
Prince Regent and call him fat, dissipated, and extravagant, but in
France I dare not say "BO to a goose!" So, Je vous salue, M. le Duc de
Berri.

_À propos_ of the police. At the marriage of the above much honoured and
respected Duc the illumiations were general. Murray's landlord was
setting out his tallow candles, when Murray, guessing from certain
innuendoes and shrugs (for before us English they are not much afraid of
shrugging the shoulders or inventing an occasional "Bah!") that he would
have been to the full as pleased if he had been lighting his candles
upon the return of Napoleon, asked him, "Mais pourquoi faites vous cela?
I suppose you may do as you like?" "Comment donc!" replied the
astonished Frenchman; "do as I like! If I did not light my candles with
all diligence, I should be called upon to-morrow by the police to pay a
forfeit for not rejoicing."

With all this I think on the whole the Bourbons are popular; people are
accustomed to being bullied out of their opinions and use of their
tongues, and they are so sick of war, with all its inconveniences and
privations, that they begin to prefer inglorious repose. English money
is very much approved of here, but if it could be procured without the
personal attendance of the owners, I feel quite confident the French
would prefer it.

We are not popular. I suppose the sight of us must be grating to the
feelings. We are like a blight on an apple-tree; we curl up their
leaves, and they writhe under our pressure.

The constant song of our drunken soldiers on the Boulevards commenced
with--

    "Louis Dixhuite, Louis dixhuite,
     We have licked all your armies and sunk all your fleet."

Luckily the words are not intelligible to the gaping Parisians, who
generally, upon hearing the "Louis Dixhuite," took for granted the song
was an ode in honour of the Bourbons, and grinned approbation. It is
quite ridiculous, Paris cannot know itself. Where are the French?
Nowhere. All is English; English carriages fill the streets, no other
genteel Equipages are to be seen. At the Play Boxes are all English. At
the Hotels, Restaurations--in short, everywhere--John Bull stalks
incorporate. I see an Englishman with his little red book, the Paris
guide, in one hand and map in the other, with a parcel of ragged boys at
his heels pestering him for money. "Monsieur, c'est moi," who am ready
to hold your stick. "Monsieur, c'est moi," who will call your coach.

About the Thuilleries, indeed, and here and there, a few "bien poudréd"
little old men, "des bons Papas du Temps passé," may be seen dry as
Mummies and as shrivelled, with their ribbons and Croix St. Louis,
tottering about. They are good, staunch Bourbons, ready, I daresay, to
take the field "en voiture" for once, when taunted by the Imperial
officers for being too old and decrepid to lead troops; an honest
emigrant Marquis replied that he did not see why he should not command a
regiment and lead it on "dans son Cabriolet."

We have been unfortunate in not arriving soon enough to be present at
the Duke of Wellington's Balls. At the last a curious circumstance took
place. (You may rely upon it's being true.) Word was brought to him
that the house was in danger from fire. He went down, and in a sort of
subterranean room some cartridges were discovered close to a lamp
containing a great quantity of oil, and it was evident they had been
placed there with design. The first report was that barrels of gunpowder
had been found, and strange associations were whispered as to Guy Fawkes
and Louis XVIII. being one and the same; but the powder was not
sufficient to do any great mischief, and the general idea is that had it
exploded, confusion would have ensued, the company would have been
alarmed, the ladies would have screamed and fled to the door and street,
where parties were in full readiness and expectations of Diamonds,
&c....

We stay over Monday, for there is a grand Review on the Boulevards. We
have seen Cuirassiers and Lancers shining in the sun and fluttering
their little banner in the air. The Bourbons, who are determined to root
out every vestige of the past, are now stripping the Troops of the
Uniform which remind the wearers of battles fought and cities won, and
re-clothing them in the white dress of the "ancien Régime," which is
wretchedly ugly. They know best what they are about, and they certainly
have a people to deal with unlike the rest of the world, but were I a
Bourbon, I should be cautious how I proceeded in demolishing everything
which reminded the people of their recent glory. Luckily the column on
the Place Vendôme has as yet escaped the Goths, and its bronze basso
reliefs are still the pride of Paris.


_Edward Stanley to Louisa Stanley._

_July 13, 1816._

Days in Paris are like lumps of barley sugar, sweet to the taste and
melting rapidly away.... We have now seen theatres, shows, gardens,
museums, palaces, and prisons. Aye, Louisa, we have been immured within
the walls of La Force, and that from inclination! not necessity.

We procured an order to see Bruce,[121] and after some shuttlecock sort
of work, sending and being sent from office to office and Préfet to
Préfet, at length we received our order of admission.

In this order our persons are described; the man put me down "sourcils
gris." "Mais, Monsieur," said I, "they will never admit me with that
account." He looked at me again, "Ah! vos cheveux sont gris, mais pour
les sourcils, non pas, vous avez raison," and altering them to "noirs,"
he sent me about my business.

Bar and bolt were opened, and at length we found ourselves in the
presence of these popular prisoners--Popular, at least, amongst the
female part of the world. I have reason to believe that a few of the
Miss Stanleys had formed a romantic attachment for Michael Bruce, and
there are few of our adventures which would, I think, have given you
more pleasure than this visit. Your heart would have been torn from its
little resting-place and been imprisoned for ever. Michael Bruce! such
an eye! such a figure! such a countenance! such a voice! and so much
sense and elegance of manner, and then so interesting! There he sat in a
small, wretched room, dirty and felonious, with two little windows, one
looking into a court where a parcel of ragged prisoners were playing at
fives, the other into a sort of garden where others were loitering away
their listless vacuity of time.

I will not tell you what he said, for it would but inflame a wound which
I cannot heal, and because part of his conversation was secret, _i.e._,
of a very interesting and curious nature which I cannot write and must
not speak of. "Oh! dear Uncle, why won't you tell? a secret from Michael
Bruce in the prison of La Force!"

No, Louisa, I dare not speak of it to the winds. Captain Hutchinson was
his companion, Sir Robert Wilson is in another room. The Captain has
nothing very interesting in his manner or appearance. He is very plain,
very positive, and very angry. Well he may be. So would you if, like
him, you had been immured in a room about eight feet by twelve, in which
you were forced to eat, sleep, and reside for three months. Their
penance closes on the 24th, when Michael Bruce returns to London. I
hope you are not going there this year.

From such a subject as Michael Bruce it will not do to descend to any of
the trifling fopperies of Paris.

Let me, then, give you a short account of our visit to Fountain
Elephant, which if ever finished, with its concomitant streets, &c.,
will be an 8th wonder of the world. Its History is this: On the Site of
the Bastille (of which not a vestige remains) Buonaparte thought he
would erect a fountain, and looking at the Plans of Paris, he conceived
the splendid idea of knocking down all the houses between the
Thuilleries and this Fountain and forming one wide, straight street, so
that from the Palace of the Thuilleries he might see whatever object he
might be pleased to place at the extremity. This street is actually
begun; when executed, which it never will be, there will be an avenue,
partly houses, partly trees, from Barrière d'Étoile to the Fountain, at
least six miles. Having got this Fountain in his head, he sent for De
Non,[122] who superintended all his works, and said, "De Non, I must
have a fountain, and the fountain shall be a beast." So De Non set his
wits to work, and talked of Lions and Tigers, &c., when Buonaparte
fixed upon an Elephant, with a Castle upon his back, and an Elephant
there is. At present they have merely a model of plaister upon which the
bronze coating is to be wrought, for the whole is to be in bronze with
gilt trappings. He is to stand upon an elevated pedestal, which is
already completed. The height will be about 60 feet, nearly as high as
Alderley Steeple. The castle will hold water; the inside is to be a
room, and the staircase is to be in one of the legs. The porter who
showed it was exceedingly proud of the performance, and when I expressed
my astonishment at Buonaparte's numerous plans and the difficulty he
must have been at to procure money, looking cautiously about him, he
said, "Oh, mais il avoit le don d'un Dieu," and then grasping my arm
with one hand and tapping me on the shoulder with the other, and again
looking round to see if then the coast was clear, he added, "Mais il n'y
est plus, ah, vous comprenez cela n'est-ce pas," and then casting a look
at his Elephant he concluded with a sigh and a mutter, "Superbe, ah,
pardi, que c'est superbe!"

Kitty has been dressing herself _à la Française_, and we have been
purchasing a large box of flowers, which we hope to show you in England,
if the Custom House officers will allow us to pay the duties, but we
hear most alarming accounts of their ferocity and rapacity. They will
soon, it is said, seize the very clothes you have on, if of French
manufacture; if so, adieu to three pairs of black silk stockings and as
many pocket handkerchiefs, to say nothing of a perfect pet of an ivory
dog which I intend to present to your Mama, and to say nothing of five
perfect pets for Maria and you four eldest girls of the family of
Harlequin and Punch, to be worn on your necklaces during the happy
weeks. They are of mother of pearl about an inch high, the most comical
fellows I ever beheld. It is necessary that I should tell you of the
presents, because if they are seized, you know I shall still be entitled
to the merit of selecting them. We have bought a few books. A thick
octavo is here worth about four or five shillings, and the duty is, we
understand, about one shilling more. One is a life of the Duke of
Marlborough. Buonaparte said it was a reflection upon England not to
have a life of her greatest Hero, and therefore he would be his
biographer; accordingly he set his men to work and collected the
materials. Report speaks favourably of it, but I have been so busied in
looking and walking about that I shall not be surprised if I find that I
have almost forgotten to read upon my return!


_Edward Stanley to Louisa Stanley._

TUESDAY MORNING, _July 13th_.

We are in Paris still, and do not depart till to-morrow, dedicating this
day in company with the Murrays to St. Denis and Malmaison, and then I
think we shall have seen everything worth seeing in or near this queer
metropolis. One day last week we went to our old friend, L'abbé
Sicard,[123] and attended a lecture in which about 20 of his young
scholars exhibited their powers. The poor Abbé was, as usual, dreadfully
prolix, and occupied an hour in words which might have been condensed
within the compass of a Minute, and poor Massuer yawned and shut his
eyes ever and anon. Clair was not there, and as we were under the
necessity of going away before the Lecture was closed, we could not
renew our acquaintance. Since last year he has taught his pupils to
speak, and two dumb boys talked to each other with great success. I will
show you the mode when we meet, but as you are not dumb it will be a
mere gratification of Curiosity. Our Assignation which called us from
the Lecture was to meet the Sothebys and Murrays and many others at the
Buvin d'Enfer, near which is the descent to the Catacombs, where upwards
of 3 million of Skulls are arranged in tasty grimaces thro' Streets of
Bones, but my Sketch Book has long given an idea of these ossifatory
Exhibitions. Only think, a cousin of Donald's and a very great friend of
mine, a Capt. McDonald, whom you would all be in love with, he is so
handsome and interesting, was shut up there a short time ago by
accident, and if the Keeper had not luckily recollected the number of
persons who descended and discovered one was missing, he would very soon
have joined the bone party. There is another Cimetière called that of
Père la Chaise, of a very different description, and infinitely more
interesting. It is the grand burial-place of Paris; all who choose may
purchase little plots of ground, from a square foot to an acre, for the
deposition of themselves and their families. Its extent is about 84
French acres, and upon no spot in the world is the French character so
perfectly portrayed. Each individual encloses his plot and ornaments it
as he chooses, and the variety is quite astonishing. It appears like a
large Shop full of toys, work-baskets, Columns, little Cottages,
pyramids, mounts--in short, what is there in the form of a Monument
which may not there be found? A pert little Column with a fanciful top,
crowned by a smart wire basket filled with roses, marked the grave, I
concluded, of some beautiful young girl of 15 or 16. Lo and behold! it
was placed there to commemorate "un ancien Magistrat de France," aged
62. The most interesting are Ney's and Labédoyère's,[124] the former, a
solid tomb of marble, simply tells that Marshal Ney, Prince of La
Moskowa, is below. Both were rather profusely decorated with wreaths of
flowers, it being the custom for the friends of the deceased to strew
from time to time the graves with flowers, or decorate them with
garlands. Soldiers have been often seen weeping over these graves, and
it is by them these wreaths were placed. Ney's had just received its
tribute of a beautiful garland of blue cornflowers: and the other a
Chaplet of Honeysuckle. By both graves were weeping willows. Mr.
Sotheby's friend, the poet Delille,[125] sleeps beneath a cumbrous mass
of marble, within which his wife immerses herself once a week, to
manifest sorrow for one whose incessant tormentor I am told she was
during his life. The inscriptions were for the most part commonplace. I
copied out a few of the best. I was sorry to observe not one in 20 had
the slightest allusion to Religion. There was one offering which
particularly attracted my attention and admiration. Over a simple mound,
the resting-place of a little child, were scattered white flowers, and
amongst them a bunch of cherries, evidently the tribute from some other
little child who had thus offered up that which to him appeared most
valuable. The exclusion of the selfish principle in this display of
sentiment and feeling quite delighted me.

[Illustration: PARISIAN RAT-CATCHER AND ITINERANT VENDORS.

_To face page 300._]

The day after we visited the Louvre it was closed, and none have been
admitted since. I believe they are scratching out some N's or Eagles. I
should conceive these to be the last of their species, for the activity
and extent of this effacement of emblems related to Napoleon is past all
belief. In a picture of Boulogne in the Luxembourg, amongst the figures
in the foreground was a little Buonaparte, about two inches high,
reviewing some troops. They have actually changed his features and
figure, and, if I recollect rightly, altered his cockade and Uniform....
In the Musée des Arts and Métiers are some models of ships; even these
were obliged to strike their Lilliputian tri-colours and hoist the white
Ensign. And now Paris, fare thee well.... Thou art a mixture of strange
ingredients. "Oh," said the Hairdresser who was cutting Kitty's hair
yesterday, "had we your National spirit we should be a great people,
mais c'est l'Égoisme qui regne à Paris." Their manner is quite
fascinating, so civil, so polished. The people are like the Town, and
the Town is like a Frenchman's Chemise, a magnificent frill with fine
lace and Embroidery, but the rest ragged. The frill of the Thuilleries
and Champs Elysées are perfect fairylands, the streets all that is
execrable. No wonder the cleaners of boots and shoes are in a state of
perpetual requisition. In one shop I saw elevated benches, on which sat
many gentry with their feet upon a level with the cleaners' noses, where
they sat like Statues, and I was actually induced to go back to satisfy
myself that they were real men. English notices are frequent in the
streets, some not over correct in style; for example, over a
Hairdresser's in the Palais Royal--"The Cabinet for the cut of the
hairs."


_Mrs. E. Stanley to Lady Maria J. Stanley._

ST. GERMAIN, _July 16, 1816_.

Surely you must have forgot what it is to be divided by land and sea
from what you love, or when you were abroad you left nobody behind whom
you cared about, or you would not fancy that I should not find time or
inclination to read as many trifles as you can find to send, or that
they should not give me almost as much pleasure, and be read with as
much interest, as if I were shut up in the next dungeon to Mr. Bruce at
La Force.... While you were enjoying the view of Beeston Castle, we were
eating strawberries and cream under the trees in the Jardin des Plantes
on the only hot day we have had.... I am in no danger of forgetting you,
and if I have not written oftener, it has only been because Edward got
the start of me in beginning to write in detail, and he is so inimitable
in description that I could not go over the same ground with him.... I
do wish I could give you one of our day's amusement, and jump you over
here in mind and body to leave all your cares behind you....

At last we have bid goodbye to Paris, but every day seemed to bring
something fresh to see, and we stayed two or three days longer than we
intended yesterday to see St. Denis. It is not so fine as most of the
churches we saw in Holland, but the historical interest is so great and
so curious that I would not have missed seeing it for the world. Over
the door all the guillotined figures of the Revolution; in the church
the repairs which were begun by Buonaparte, now finishing by Louis;
every stone and step you go marked by some association of one or other
of these periods. As Buonaparte's own power increased, his respect for
crowned heads and authorities increased, I suppose, and so he had put up
_Fleurs de Lys_ himself for the Bourbons in one part of the church, and
he had prepared a vault for himself, decorated above with bees and
statues of the six Kings of France who had the title of Emperor. To this
vault he had made two bronze doors with gold ornaments and gold lions'
heads, one of which flew back with a spring, and discovered three
keyholes, to which there were three golden keys. The Sacristy he filled
with chef d'œuvres of the best French artists, representing those parts
of the History of France connected with St. Denis and with his own views
of Empire.

The beautiful white marble steps leading to the altar beneath which the
seventh Emperor was to be laid were just finished when Louis XVIII. came
to fill the tomb, which was just prepared, with the bones of Louis XVI.,
to depose the Emperor, to complete the marble pavement, and to extend
the _fleurs de lys_ over the whole church.

And upon the stone which now conceals the entrance to the vault the
Duchesse d'Angoulême always kneels at the grave of her father, for the
fine bronze doors are deposed also, only, I believe, because they were
placed there by Buonaparte, and now they have to get into the Vault by
taking up the stone. We got into the carriage full of Buonaparte,
returned to Paris, and then got out again with the Murrays at Malmaison.
It is the only enviable French house I have seen, and deserves
everything Edward said about it, even without the statues and half the
pictures which are taken away.

We spent three or four hours in the Thuilleries Gardens on Sunday.
Buonaparte must have thought of gilding the dome of the Invalides when
he was walking in the Jardin des Thuilleries, it suits the whole thing
so exactly. A French crowd is so gay with the women's shawls and flowers
that they assimilate well with the real flowers, and are almost as great
an ornament to the Garden. A shower came on just as we were standing
near the Palace, and at that moment the guards took their posts as a
signal the King was going to Mass, so Edward and I followed the crowd to
the Salle des Maréchaux (they would not admit Donald because he had
gaiters, and Edward had luckily trowsers), and there we saw Louis XVIII.
and the Duchesse d'Angoulême and Monsieur much better than we had done
the Sunday before, with all the trouble of getting a ticket for
admission into the Chapel, and being squeezed to death into the bargain.
His Majesty is more like a Turtle than anything else, and shows external
evidence of his great affection for Turtle soup. His walk is quite
curious. One of his most intimate friends says that in spite of his
devotion _Le Roi est un peu philosophe_. We staid on Monday to see a
review. Donald introduced us to a Mr. and Mrs. Boyd, who have lived in
France the last 14 years, and have a terrace that overlooks the
Boulevards, so there we sat very commodiously and saw the King and the
Duchesses de Berri and Angoulême, in an open Calèche, pass through the
double row of troops which lined the Boulevards from one end to the
other, and a beautiful sight it was. Mr. Boyd invited me to a party at
his house in the country, and in the hopes of seeing that _rara avis_, a
French lady or gentleman, I said yes. So I sent for a hairdresser, who
came post haste, and amused me with his _politesse_, and Edward with his
_politique_. I was quite sorry I could not have him again.

We dined with the Murrays, and then went on to Mr. Boyd, where I found
myself the only lady there dressed amongst about forty. That is to say,
their heads and tails were all in morning costume and mine in
evening....

I must go back one more day, and tell you how I went to be described for
a passport to La Force on Saturday, and how I thought Mr. Bruce more of
a hero young man than any I have ever seen. I recollect seeing him
before, and thinking him a coxcomb, but a few years have mellowed all
that into a very fine young man.

Making every allowance for seeing him in his dungeon in La Force, I
think you would be delighted with his countenance. He spoke his
sentiments with manly freedom, and yet with the liberality of one who
thinks it possible a man may differ from him without being a fool, or a
rascal. Lucy and Louisa would certainly have fallen in love with his
fine Roman head, which his prison costume of a great coat and no
neckcloth showed to great advantage.

And now, adieu Paris! At 2 o'clock on Wednesday a green coach, which
none of you could see without ten minutes' laughing at least--three
horses and a postillion! (what would I give just to drive up to
Winnington with the whole equipage!)--carried us to Versailles, and
there I longed for Louis XIV. as much as for Buonaparte at St. Cloud;
for one cannot fancy any one living in those rooms or walking in those
gardens without hoops and Henri quatre plumes. If one could but people
them properly for a couple of hours, what a delightful recollection it
would be! Versailles ought to be seen last. It is so magnificent that
every other thing of the sort is quite lost in the comparison. I am glad
I saw Paris and the Tuilleries and St. Cloud first. We saw the Palace,
and then we dined, and then we set out for the Trianon, and then we met
with a guide who entertained us so much as to put Louis XIV. and all his
court out of my head. Buonaparte never went to Versailles but once to
look at it, but at the Trianon he and Joséphine lived, and it is
impossible, in seeing those places, not to feel the principal interest
to be in the inquiry--where he lived? where he sat? where he walked?
where he slept?--so accordingly we asked our guide. "Monsieur, je ne
connais point ce coquin là" soon told us what we were to expect from
him, but his silence and his loyalty, and the combat between his hatred
of the English and his hatred of Buonaparte was so amusing that we
soon forgave him for not telling us anything about him. He said "Bony"
was only "fit to be hanged." "Why did you not hang him, then?" He could
only shrug his shoulders. "We should have hung him for you if he had
come to England." "Ma foi! Monsieur, je crois que non." He told us the
stories of the rooms and the pictures with all the vivacity and rapidity
of a Frenchman, and with pretty little turns of wit.... Donald asked him
if a cabinet in one of the rooms had not been given by the Empress of
Russia to Buonaparte? He instantly seized him by the button with an air
of triumph. "Tenez, Monsieur, quand l'Empereur de Russie était ici, il a
vu ce Cabinet et a dit; otez cette Volaille là" (pointing to the
compartment in which the Imperial Eagles had been changed into Angels).
"Je l'ai donné aux Français, et lui--il n'était pas Français."

[Illustration: The Great Green Coach.

_To face p. 306._]

In all the royal house the servants are equally impenetrable on the
subject of Buonaparte. But sometimes it seems put on, sometimes they
really do not know from having been only lately put there, but this man
was a genuine Bourbonist and a genuine Frenchman.

We just got to St. Germain in time to walk on the Terrace before evening
closed in over the beautiful view. The Palace and the Town put me quite
in mind of the deserted court in the "Arabian Nights." ...


_Edward Stanley to his Nieces. Tuesday morning._

I could fill another letter with the interesting things we saw yesterday
at St. Denis and Malmaison, but we are off in an hour, and it is
possible you may hear no more from these

HAPPY TRAVELLERS.

[Illustration: ALDERLEY RECTORY.]



Index


Abbeville, Louis XVIII. at, 244

Abercromby, Colonel, 280

Aisne, river, 145-161

Aix la Chapelle, 146, 183, 191, 194, 205

_Albania_, ship at Antwerp, 203

Albinus, German anatomist, 232

Alderley, 10, 12, 15, 16, 17-21, 24, 68, 74, 75, 96, 120, 236, 249, 283,
296

Alderley Church, 102

Alderley Edge, 16

Alderley Park, 14

Alderley Rectory, 15-17

Alessandria, Plain of Marengo, 49

Alexander I., Emperor of Russia, 76, 82-85, 93, 133, 177, 178, 222, 229,
237, 244, 245

Algeciras Bay, 53

Alhama, Spain, 58, 63

Alhambra, The, 59, 61, 63, 64

Alien Office, The, 82

Alkmaar, 205

"Allemagne," By Madame de Staël, 128

Allied Sovereigns, 82, 95, 152

Allies, 105, 115, 116, 126, 156, 160-162, 168, 196, 197, 236, 237, 242

Alps, 57

Ambassador, English, Sir Charles Stuart, 112

Ambassador, Swedish, M. de Staël, 132

Ambolle, Baron d', at Fontainebleau, 153

_Ambuscade_, picture of capture of the frigate, 136

Amiens, Peace of, 25, 73

Amsterdam, 211, 222-224, 226

Andernach on the Rhine, 187

Angerstein Collection, 113

Anglesey Society, 10

Anglesey, Lord, his leg buried at Waterloo, 261

Angoulême, Duchesse d', 289

Antiquiera, Spain, 60, 64

Antwerp, 199, 204, 206, 208, 209, 210, 233, 253

Antwerp Gate, Bergen op Zoom, 214, 217

Apreece, Mrs., afterwards Lady Davey, 81

_Argonauta_, Spanish vessel, 51, 53, 56

Ashbourne, 248

Augereau, General, 238

Austerlitz, 138, 269, 287

Austria, 179, 181

Austria, Emperor of, 135, 237


Bacharach on the Rhine, 172, 184, 185

Banks, Sir Joseph, 93

Barcelona, 50, 52, 54, 55, 60, 69, 70

Barclay de Tolly, 116

Baring, Major, 268

Barthélemy, 237

Bastille, 295

Batavia, 193

Beauharnais, Eugène, Viceroy of Italy, 132, 134

Bees, Napoleon's, 150

Beeston Castle, 301

Belleville, 115, 116, 117

Belluno, Duc du, _see_ Victor

Benedictines, head cook to convent of, 41

Beresford, Viscount, Marshal, 74

Bergen op Zoom, 199, 208-212

Berghem, Dutch painter (1624-1683), 201

Berri, Duc de, 139, 140, 152, 282, 289

Berri, Duchesse de, 289, 305

Berry au Bac, 145, 163, 164

Berthier, Marshal, Prince de Wagram, 138, 149

Bertrand, General, 269

Bessborough, Earl of, 86

Bessières, Marshal, Duc d'Istria, 137

Beveland, South, 210

Bidwell, 122

Bingen on the Rhine, 183

"Birds, Familiar History of," by Bishop Stanley, 17

_Bittern_, H.M.S., 67

Blücher, 85, 86, 88, 89, 93, 145, 263

Boher, French sculptor (d. 1825), 132

Bois de Boulogne, 177

Bolero, Spanish dance, 60

Bonn, music on the Rhine, 188

Boodle's Club, 33

Borneo Mission, 23

Borodino, 177

Boulogne, 107-252

Bourbons, The, 78, 107, 237, 284, 288-292

Boyd, Mr. and Mrs., 304

Brabant, 181

Breda, 209, 217, 218, 226

Brisbane, Sir Thomas, at Valenciennes, 279, 283

Brise-Maison, General, _see_ Maison

British character, 195

British soldiers, 166

_Britomart_, H.M.S., 18

Brock, Holland, 227

Brooke, Sir James, English traveller, Rajah of Sarawack (1803-1868), 23

Bruce, Michael, the Englishman who helped Lavalette to escape, 293, 294

Bruges, 247, 258, 260, 273

Brussels, 193, 195, 197, 199, 200, 208, 209, 233, 264, 269, 274, 277

Buiksloot, North Holland, 226

Bülow, Marshal, 145

Buonaparte, Napoleon, Emperor, 34, 35, 37, 40, 46, 47, 50, 74, 90, 99,
100, 118, 120, 121, 130, 138-140, 148, 152-154, 162, 175, 180, 238, 241,
244, 266, 271, 275, 281, 282, 288, 295, 296, 300, 302, 303, 304, 306-307

Buonaparte family, 237

Buonaparte, Louis, King of Holland, 225

Buonaparte, Lucien, 83

Burgundy, 46

"Bustle's Banquet," by Rev. E. Stanley, 17

Buttereax, plains of, Lyons, 43

"Butterfly's Ball," by Sir H. Roscoe, 17

Buvin d'Enfer, 298

Byng's Brigade, 263

Byron, Lord, 79


Cadiz, 53, 61, 68

Café des Mille Colonnes, Paris, 142, 281

Calick, Russia, 174

"Calife Voleur, Le" Ballet, 88

Cambray, 247, 279, 283

Cambridge, 11, 12, 25, 40, 50, 81, 247, 248, 250

Campo Formio, Treaty of (1797), 243

Cannes, 242

Canova, 132

Canterbury, 249

Cardinals at Fontainebleau, 152

Carleton, Mr., 251

Carlton House, 83

Carnival of Venice, 240

Caroline of Naples, 289

Carousel, Place de, 37, 136, 139

Castlereagh, Lord, 87

Catacombs, Paris, 143, 286, 298

Catalonia, 56

Catherine, Grand-Duchess of Russia, _see_ Oldenburg

Châlons, 41-43, 146, 156, 168

Chamber of Representatives, 130

Chambord, Comte de, 139

Champagne, 41, 46

Champlain, Lake, 238

Champs Elysées, 119, 139, 301

Charenton, near Paris, 116

Charlemont, Anne, Lady, daughter and heiress of William Bermingham, of
Ross Hill, co. Galway (d. 1876), aged 95, 132

Charleroi, 276

Charles IV., King of Spain, 64, 70

Château Thierry, 145, 157

Chatham, Earl of, 203

Chatillon, 41

Chavignon, near Laon, 161

Chichester, Thomas, 2nd Earl of, 244

"Childe Harold," 80

Cholmondeley, Miss, 82

Churchill, Major, 95

Clancarty, Lord, Ambassador, 82, 233

Clarke, Marshal, Duc de Feltre, 243

Clinton, Lady Louisa, daughter of Lord Sheffield, 76, 251

Clinton, General Sir Henry, 75

Clinton, General Sir William, married Lady Louisa Holroyd, 75

Coblentz, 186

Cole, Sir Lowry, 279, 283

Cologne, 172, 186, 190

Colonne, Vendôme, 110

Combermere, Lord, 96

Compiègne, 281, 283, 284

"Comte de Cely," 78

Conclave of St. Peter at Fontainebleau, 152

Congress of Vienna, 235

Constant, Napoleon's valet, 152

Constantine, Grand Duke, 178

Constantino, Grand Duchess, 240

Consul, The First, 26, 37, 73

Cooke, Major-General, 210, 211, 214

Coote, Sir Evelyn, 259

Corbeny, France, 163, 164

"Corinne," by Mdme. de Staël, 79

Cork, Lady, 86

Cornegliano, Duc de, _see_ Moncey

Coronation, The, 165

Corps Législatif, 129, 135

Corte, La, 260

Cotton trade, Rouen, 28

Court dress necessary, 69

Court etiquette, Buonaparte's tenacity as to, 37

Court Martial, Gibraltar, in 1802, 66

Craon or Craonne, 145, 156, 163

Craufurd, Donald, of Auchinanes, 85, 246, 265, 276

Croix, St. Louis, 291

Cross, Mr. John, 98, 99

Crosses, roadside, in Spain, signs of murders committed, 59

Curtis, Sir William, 88

Cutts Inn, Wilmslow, hamlet near Alderley, 162


Dalmatie, Duc de, _see_ Soult

D'Angély, _see_ Régnaud

Dantzig, Duc de, _see_ Lefebre

Davenport, E. D., of Capesthorne, 163

Davoust, Marshal, Prince d'Eckmühl, 137

Davy, Lady, 79, 81

Davy, Sir Humphrey, 79, 81

De Lille, poet, 300

Dendrich, boundary France and Austria, 179

Denia, Spain, 71

De Non, French artist under Napoleon, 295, 296

Desaix, General, killed at Marengo (1800), 50

Dijon, 41

"Dinner of the Dogs," or "Bustle's Banquet," 17

Directory, The, 50

Doge of Genoa, 50

Douglas, Hon. Frederick, interview with Napoleon, 240, 241

Dover, 187

Dow, Gerard, Dutch painter, 38

Dragoons at Rouen (1802), 30

Dresden, Battle of (1813), 76

Duels between Russian and French officers, 107

Du Mare, French professor, 124

Duméril, Andre, French physician, 124

Dumolard, French politician, 130

Du Pont, General, 139

Dutch ark, 202

Dutch carving, 205

Dutch cleanliness, 227, 231

Dutch family, 253

Dutch guide, 230

Dutch impenetrability, 224

Dutch road, 209

Dutch table d'hôte, 226

Dykes, marvellous, 228, 229


Eagle and Child, inn at Alderley, 272

Eagles, Napoleon's, 110, 147, 150, 269, 282, 300, 307

Eckmühl, Prince d', _see_ Davoust

Ecole Polytechnique, 116, 175

Edridge, H., painter, 139

Egerton, Colonel, 280

Egerton, Mr., 87

Egypt, 42

Ehrenbreitstein, 187

Ehrenfels, Castle of, 184

Elba, 46, 75, 159

Elephant, fountain, 295-296

Embden, 31

Emigrants, French, 18

Emperor's abdication, 75

Emperor Alexander, _see_ Alexander

Emperor of Austria, 135

Emperor Napoleon, _see_ Buonaparte

Empress Joséphine, _see_ Joséphine

Empress Maria Louisa, _see_ Maria Louisa

Empress of Russia, 307

Enghien, Duc d', 134, 245

Entomologist, 185

Entomology, 17, 124

Ephemera, 186

Etruria, King of, 50, 52

Eugène Beauharnais, _see_ Beauharnais

Executions, 43, 44

Ex-Imperial Guard, 148


Fagan, Mr., 46

Fandangos, 60

Fanshawe, Catherine, 77, 78

Felix Meritus, Dutch museum, 225

Feltre, Duke of, _see_ Clarke

Ferdinand VII., King of Spain, 239

Ferreant, Place de, Lyons, 43

Flanders, 74

Fleurs de Lys, 303

Flushing, 210

Foljambe, Mr., 249

Fontainebleau, 145-146, 149, 152

Forbach, 179

Forbes, Lady Elizabeth, 240

Fountain Elephant, 295-296

Frascati, 33, 34, 39

French emigrants, 18

Fribourg, 170

"Fugio ut Fulgor," 103


Garde Impériale, 107

Gardes d'Honneur, 148

Garrison of Gibraltar, 66, 67, 70

Gazettes, 105

Genappes, 270

Generalife at Granada, 59

Geneva, 35, 40, 43, 46-47, 49, 55

Genoa, 47, 50

George Street, 90

Ghent, 274-275

Gibbon, 15

Gibraltar, 25, 55, 57, 60, 61, 65, 71

Glenbervie, Lord and Lady, 236, 240

Goat curricles, 222

Goat gigs, 233

Godoy, Emanuel, Prince of Peace, 64, 70

Gore, General, 211

Gorum, 220-222

Goths, 293

Graham, Sir Thomas, 207, 213

Granada, 57, 59, 60, 62, 66

Grand Tour, 25

Gronow, Memoirs of Captain, 107

Grosvenor Place, 39

Grosvenor, Lord, 113

Guarda Costas, 68

Guido, painter, 38

Guignes, 145, 153, 154

Guillotine, The, 43


Haarlem, 230, 231

Hague, The, 112, 233

_Hannibal_, The ship, 53

Hardwicke, Earl of, 112

Hare, Rev. Augustus, 16

Hare, Mrs. Augustus, Maria Leycester, 16

Hare, Augustus J. C., 16

Harlequin and Punch, 297

Harris, Captain, 74

Haslar Hospital, 98

Haüy, mineralogist, 124

Havre, 94, 96, 99, 100, 103, 105

Haye, Sainte, La, 268

Hazard, Rue du, Paris, 109, 143

Heber, Reginald, Bishop of Calcutta (1783-1826), 16, 90

Hodnet, 16

Holland, 76, 159, 200, 226, 302

Holland, Dr., 86

Holroyd, Lady Maria Josepha, _see_ also Stanley, 14


Holyhead Harbour, 255

Holyhead Island, 10, 17

Holywell, Alderley, 16

Hookham's, 93

Hôpital de la Charité, 45

Hôpital des Invalides, 282

Hermitage, Forest of Fontainebleau, 147

Hibberts, the, 132, 168

Highlake, Hoylake, Cheshire, 55, 69

Hill, Rowland, General Lord Hill 95, 96

Hobart Town, Tasmania, 18

Hobbema, Dutch painter (d. 1699), 201

Hodgson, Dean of Carlisle, 128

Hôtel de Boston, Paris, 35

Hôtel des Etrangers, Paris, 143

Hôtel du Parc, Lyons, 43

Hotel in the Wood, Haarlem, 230

Hougoumont, 263, 265, 266, 267

Hulot, General, 76

Hundred Days, The, 244

Hussey, Edward, of Scotney Castle, 25, 26, 32, 41, 71

Hutchinson, Captain, 293, 294

Huxley, Professor, 18

Hyères, 48


ICELANDIC EXPEDITION, made by Sir John Stanley, 7th Bart. (1788), 56

"Ida of Athens," story written by Lady Morgan at Penrhos, Holyhead. Her
study "Attica" so called to present day, 232

Imperial Chasseurs, 107

India House illumination (1814), 84

Infanta of Spain, Queen of Etruria, 52

Invalides, Hôtel des, 49, 115, 282

Istria, Duc d', _see_ Bessières


Jourdan, General, (1762-1833), 49, 136, 146


LA BELLE ALLIANCE, 263, 267

Labédoyère, General, 299

Laeken, Palace of, 275

Lady Penrhyn's cottages, allusion to the model village of Llandegai in
Wales, 227

Lafayette, General, Marquis de, 126

La Haye, Sainte, 268

Laird, English Consul, Malaga, 58

Lamb, Lady Caroline, 86

Lansdowne, Lord, 78

Laon, 145, 146, 156, 161-163

"La Reyna Louisa," 54

Lavalette, General, 293

Le Brun, 38

Lefebre, Marshal, Duc de Dantzig, 138

Leghs, The, of High Legh, 285

Leghorn, 50-52

Leighton, Sir Baldwin, Bart., of Loton, 68

Leipzic, Battle of, 170, 177

Leith, _The John of Leith_

Leith, the Emperor sails from, 56

L'Ettorel, Professor, 124

Levanter, east wind, Mediterranean, 71

Leycester, Edward Penrhyn, brother of Mrs. E. Stanley, 76, 81, 95, 246,
247, 252

Leycester, Hugh, uncle of Mrs. Edward Stanley, 32

Leycester, Kitty, _see_ Mrs. E. Stanley, 15

Leycester, Maria, Mrs. Augustus Hare, 15, 16

Leycester, Oswald, Mrs. E. Stanley's father, 15

Leycester, Ralph, 261

Leycesters of Toft, 15

Leyden, 231, 232

Libraries, Public, 38

Liège, 193, 195, 197

Lille, 146

Lillo, fort in Holland, 203

Lind, Jenny, 22

Lindsay, Lady Charlotte, 236, 240

Linois, Comte de, 53

Linz on the Rhine, 192

Lisbon, 72

Lisle, 196

Liverpool, 36, 43, 51

Liverpool, Lord, 87

Llandaff, Dean Vaughan of, 19

Lodi, Battle of, 136

Loja, in Spain, 60

London, 81, 82

Lorich on Rhine, 184

Louis Buonaparte, King of Holland, _see_ Buonaparte

Louis, King of Etruria, 50

Louis XIV., 306

Louis XVI., 303

Louis XVIII., 78, 106, 107, 150, 177, 225, 235, 243, 271, 282, 290, 292,
303-304

Louisa Stanley, _see_ Stanley

Louvel, assassin of the Duke de Berri, 139

Louvre, The, 38, 113, 274, 300

Lowe, Rev. Mr., 223

Lucien Buonaparte, _see_ Buonaparte

Lucy Stanley, _see_ Stanley

Lugai, Professor, 232

Lutzen, Battle of, 170

Lyne and Co., Lisbon, 72

Lyons, 40, 42, 43-46, 47


Macclesfield, Cheshire, 221

Macdonald, Marshal, Duc de Tarente, 196, 244

Macon, 42

Madrid, 69, 71, 72

Maine, The River, 182

Maison, General, "Brise-Maison," 197

Malaga, Mole of, 57, 61, 62, 64, 68

Malines, Mechlin, 201, 202

Malmaison, 130, 131, 134, 297

Manchester, 85

Marcet, Mrs., 78

Marengo, Battle of, 49, 119

Maria Josepha Holroyd, Lady, _see_ Holroyd and Stanley

Marie Louise, Empress, 74, 240, 242, 281, 284

Marlborough, Duke of, biography by order of Napoleon, 297

Marly, Aqueduct of, 133

Marmont, Marshal, Duc de Raguse, 106, 116-118, 126, 135, 138, 145, 177

Marshals, The, 112, 135, 151, 195, 238, _see_ also under Bessières,
Davoust, Berthier, Clarke, Jourdan, Lefebre, Macdonald, Marmont,
Massèna, Moncey, Mortier, Murat, Ney, Soult, Victor

Martin, Mr., 122

Massèna, Marshal, Duc de Rivoli, 138

Mathew, Father, 21

Matthews, Montague, 37

Maubeuge, 271, 278

Maudesley's engines, 91

Mausthurm, or Mouse Turret, 184

Mayence, 146, 159, 180, 182

McDonald, Captain, 298

Meaux, 145, 153-156

_Medusa_, English frigate, 50

Melbourne, Lord, 19, 86

Melun, 145, 146

"Memorials of a Quiet Life," by Augustus Hare, 16

Meteoric stones, presentation sword made from, 93

Metsu, Gabriel, Dutch painter (1615-1658), 38

Metz, 146, 169, 173-175, 180

Mieris, Dutch painter (1635-1681), 38

Milton's mulberry-tree, 40

Minorca, 67, 70

Moncey, Marshal, Duc de Cornegliano, 137-139

Mons, 271-273

Montmartre, 105, 108, 110, 115-117, 175

Montserrat, Lady of, 56

Mont St. Jean, Waterloo, 262

Moors, The, 62

Moreau, General, 76

Moreau, Madame, 76, 78, 90

Morgan, Lady, 232

Morritt, Mr., of Rokeby, 87

Mortier, Marshal, Duc de Treviso, 7, 137, 144

Moscow, 174

Moskowa, Prince de, _see_ Ney

Munchausen, Baron, 117

Murat, Joachim, King of Naples, 138

Murrays, The, 285, 290, 297, 298, 303

Mutiny at Gibraltar, 66

Muxham, near Antwerp, 207


N., erasure of Napoleon's initial (1814-1816), 110-300

Naard, Holland, 220

Naples, 55, 71

Naples, the King of, _see_ Murat

Napoleon, 26, 73-83, 107, 111-113, 126, 134, 145, 146, 164, 176, 181,
186, 187, 196, 199, 205, 206, 221, 223, 235, 242-245, 267-269, 288, 289,
295

National Schools, 22

Nazareth, 151

Necker, Minister to Louis XVI., 79

Nelson's Pillar, Dublin, 110

Netherlands, 146, 181, 237, 244

New Guinea, 18

New Zealand, 18

Ney, Marshal, Prince de la Moskowa, 137, 299

Nightingale, Miss, 19

Nightingale, Dr., at Alderley, 126

Nivelle Road, 265, 276

"Nobles de Campagne," 241

Norfolk, 20

Normandy, 46

North, Lady Catherine, married Lord Glenbervie, 191

North, Hon. F., 191, 236

North Island of New Zealand, 18

North Sea, 18

Norwich, Bishop of, _see_ E. Stanley, 19-22, 24

Nottingham Castle, 249

Novi, Northern Italy, 50


Oldenburg bonnets, 101, 106, 200

Oldenburg, Duchess, Catherine of, 83, 90, 92, 98, 178

"Ologies," Humorous Sketches by E. S., 17

O'Neil, Miss, actress, 286

Orange, Prince of, 208, 233, 254

Orange, Princess of, 231

Ostade, Adrien, Dutch painter, 201

Ostend, 251, 253, 255, 258, 259


Palais Royal, 119, 281, 285

Palmer, Mr., 33

Pantin, France, 116

Paris, 29, 31, 33, 34-35, 37-40, 73, 74, 76, 85, 106, 108, 109, 112-118,
134, 135, 143, 249, 277, 285

Parker, Mrs., of Astle, 137

Parry, Sir Edward, K.C.B., arctic navigator, m. Isabella, daughter of
Sir John Stanley, 254

Peace, Prince of, _see_ Godoy

"Peacock at Home, The," 17

Penrhos, Holyhead, 10

Perignan, General, 137

Peter the Great, House of, 226

Petit, Madame, French actress, 33

Pevensey, Lord, 248

Pierre Suisse, ancient castle near Lyons, destroyed in the Revolution,
45

Pisa, 51, 52

Place Buonaparte, Lyons, 43

Place Belle Cour, Lyons, 43

Platoff, Russian General, 89

Poissardes, Havre, 101

Polytechnique, Ecole, _see_ Ecole

Pope Pius VII., 46

Porto Ferraro, Elba, 46-53

Potter, Paul, Dutch animal painter (1625-1654), 201

Praams, Flotilla of, at Havre, intended for the invasion of England, 100

Prussia, Frederick William, King of, 91, 92, 152, 153, 177, 192, 237

Prussia, Louisa, Queen of, 178

Pulteney Hotel, London, 85


"Queen," H.M.S, 23

Quiverain frontier, France and Belgium, 278


Radnor Mere, at Alderley, 252

Raguse, Duc de, _see_ Marmont

Rambouillet, Seine et Oise, 74

Ramsgate, 249

Raphael, 38, 133

_Rattlesnake_, H.M.S., 18, 23

Récamier, Madame, 33, 126

Régnaud, St. Jean d'Angély, 119

Reign of Terror, The, 26

Rembrandt, 38, 225

Revolution, The, 27, 35, 48, 126

Rheims, 146, 165, 168

Rhine Castles, 144, 172, 186

Riddel, Captain, 60

Rivoli, Duc de, _see_ Massèna

Robespierre, Maximilian, 42, 48

Rokeby, Mr. Morritt, of, 87

Romainville, 116

Rome, 55, 71

Rome, King of, sent to Rambouillet, 74;
 in uniform at three years old, 141;
 four goat carriages ordered for him, 223

Roncour, Madame, actress, 114

Ronstan the Mameluke, 152

Rotterdam, 223, 234

Rouen, 27, 29, 31, 35, 36, 103, 104, 105, 120, 253

Rowland Hill, _see_ Lord Hill

Royals, the regiment, 67

Rubens, 38, 205, 274

Rue Aux Ours, 36

"Rule Britannia," 99

Russia, Empress of, 307

Russia, Emperor of, _see_ Alexander


Saarbruck, 195

Saardam, 228

Saas, 258

St. Andrew, 281

St. Andrew's Hall, Norwich, 21

St. Appollonius, chapel on the Rhine, 188

St. Avold, German Lorraine, 178, 179

St. Bernard's Pass, 49

St. Cloud, special residence of Napoleon, 140, 306

St. Denis, 31, 116, 297, 302, 308

St. Germain, The Terrace, 307

St. Helena, 266, 269

St. James' Street, 84

St. Jean d'Angély, _see_ Régnaud

St. Jean de Luz, 166

St. John's, Cambridge, 12, 247

St. Lawrence, processional figure, 280

St. Michel, village near Havre, 100

St. Roque, Spain, 65

Salamanca, Battle of, 279

Salvator Rosa, Neapolitan painter (1615-1673), 39

Saumarez, Admiral, 53

Scheldt, 204

Scheveningen, fishing village near the Hague, 233

Schwartzenberg, 74, 145

Scotney Castle, Kent, property of E. Hussey, Esq., 25

Scott, John, 262

Scott, Sir Walter, 15, 262

Scovell, Sir George, 247, 279, 283

Senate, 77, 78

Serinyer, 240

Serurier, General, 137

Seville, 59

Sheffield, Lady (Lady Anne North), 191

Sheffield, John B. Holroyd, First Lord, 14, 74, 75, 112, 235, 236, 240,
242, 245-248

Sheffield Place, 247

Shute, surgeon, 42

Sicard, Abbé, founder Deaf and Dumb School, Paris, 298

Siddons, Mrs., 33

Skerret, Major-General, 211

Smith, Sydney, 15

Soignies, Forest of, 261, 264

Soissons, 145, 156, 159, 161-163

Sotheby, Mr. and Mrs., 285, 298, 300

Soult, Marshal, Duc de Dalmatie, 74, 138

South Stack Rocks, Holyhead, 17

Spain, 26, 55, 59, 63, 66, 69, 239

Spanish Funds, 239

Staël, Auguste de, 127

Staël, Madame de, 76, 78, 79, 97, 110-112, 125

Staël, Mademoiselle de, 127

Stafford, Lord, 113

Stanley, Sir John, 6th Bart., m. Margaret, daughter and heiress of Hugh
Owen of Penrhos, 1763, 10

Stanley, Lady Margaret Owen, born 1742, 10

Stanley, Sir John T., 7th Bart., 1st Lord Stanley of Alderley, m. 1796
Lady Maria Josepha Holroyd, daughter of Lord Sheffield, 15

Stanley, Lady Maria Josepha, 15, 26, 74, 76, 78, 84, 89, 96, 235, 248,
260, 273, 281, 301

Stanley, Edward, naturalist and ornithologist, son of Sir John Stanley,
6th Bart.;
  born 1779;
  entered St. John's, Cambridge, 1798;
  wrangler, 1802;
  Rector of Alderley, 1805 to 1837;
  Vice-President of British Association for the Advancement of Science, 1836;
  Bishop of Norwich, 1837;
  died, 1849, 9-24

Stanley, Mrs. Edward, Kitty, daughter of Rev. Oswald Leycester, of Stoke
upon Tern, 15, 22, 82

Stanley, Owen, eldest son of Bishop Stanley, 17, 23, 140, 190, 222

Stanley, Charles Edward, 2nd son of _ibid._, 19

Stanley, Arthur Penrhyn, Dean of Westminster, 3rd son of _ibid._, 10,
19, 23

Stanley, Mary, eldest daughter of Bishop Stanley, 19

Stanley, Catherine, 2nd daughter of _ibid._;
 m. C. Vaughan, Master of the Temple, and Dean of Llandaff, 19

Stanley, Rianette, daughter of Sir John, 7th Bart., and Lady M. J.
Stanley, 277

Stanley, Lucy, 2nd daughter of _ibid._;
 m. Captain Marcus Hare, R.N., 264, 305

Stanley, Louisa Dorothea, 3rd daughter of _ibid._, 249, 250, 293, 297,
305

Stanley, Isabella, 4th daughter of _ibid._;
 m. 1826 Sir Edward Parry, K.C.B., Arctic Navigator, 254, 283

Stanley, Louisa, daughter of Sir John T. Stanley, 6th Bart., and
Margaret Owen of Penrhos: m. 1802 Sir Baldwin Leighton, Bart., 68

Stanley, Lady Charlotte, daughter of 13th Earl of Derby;
 m. 1823 Edward
Leycester Penrhyn, 246

Stanmer Park, property of Earl of Chichester, 243-244

Stockholm, 170

Stoke-upon-Tern, Mrs. E. Stanley's early home, 15, 115

Strasburg, 182

Stuart, Sir Charles, afterwards Lord Stuart de Rothesay, 105, 112, 113,
120-122, 160

Swedenborg, 194

Sydney, 18

Sydney, Lord, 86


Tadmor, Palmyra, 152

Talleyrand-Perigord, Prince de Benevento, French statesman and
diplomatist, 1754-1838, Ambassador to Great Britain (1830), 237

Talma, French tragic actor, 32, 114, 240, 286-7

Tangiers, 60

Tarentum, Duc de, _see_ Macdonald

Tarleton and Rigge, 43

_Tartana_, Mediterranean vessel, 57

Tasmania, 19

Temple, Paris prison, 31

Teniers, Dutch painter, 201

Tennant, Mr., 92, 93

_Terror_, H.M.S., 18

Tets von Grondam, Mdme., 229

Tezart, Paris banker, 36

Theatres, Paris, 33, 39

Thuilleries, 37, 113, 121, 135, 304, 306

Titian, painter, 38

Toft Hall, Knutsford, 15

Toledo, 59

Tomkinson, Miss, 279

Toulon, 70

Tousein, Russian General, 177

Towers, round towers at Laon, 162

Trappe, La, Monk of, soldier in Napoleon's army, 170

Treaty of Paris, 146

Trechschuyt, Dutch barge, 225

Treviso, Duc de, _see_ Mortier

Trianon, 140, 306

Troyes, Champagne, 41

Trueman, Mr., 259

Tunno, Miss, a brilliant member of society, lived at Taplow Lodge, 76,
78, 85

Turin, 49


Union of England with Ireland and Scotland, Napoleon's views, 241

Utrecht, 221, 224, 228


Valencia, Spain, 71

Valenciennes, 278, 282

Vandyck, 38, 205, 206

Vauchamps, 145

Vaughan, Master of the Temple and Dean of Llandaff, 19

Vaughan, Mrs, _see_ Catherine Stanley, 19

Vauxhall, 30, 33

Vendôme, Colonne, 110

Vendôme Place, 110, 292

Venice, 240

Venice preserved, 285

Ventas, Spanish inns, 58, 62, 65

Venus de Medici, 114, 132

Verdun, 146, 168, 169

Vernet, Antoine Claude, painter (1758-1836), 38

Veronese, Paul, 38

Versailles, 39, 140, 305

Vetey Malaga, 58

Vetturino travelling, 25, 40, 47, 49

Victor, Marshal, Duc de Belluno, 138, 145

Vienna, Congress of, 112, 235, 237

Villejuif, near Paris, 149

Vincennes, Château de, 134

Vittoria, Panorama of, 82

Vivienne, Rue de, 32, 35


Waal, river, Holland, 220

Wagram, Prince de, _see_ Berthier

Walcheren, 199, 203, 243

Wales, Princess of, 177

Waterloo, 133, 199, 246, 247, 260, 264, 265, 270, 275, 279

Waterloo, Panorama of, by Barker, 248

Wellington, Lord, _see_ Duke of

Wellington, Duke of, 75, 263, 278, 280, 283, 291

Wellington Tree, The, 268

White's Club, 93, 95

Wilberforce, William, 128

Wilbraham, Mr., of Delamere Lodge, 285

Wilson, Sir Robert, 294

Windlesham, Surrey, 12

Winnington, Cheshire, property of Sir John Stanley, 132

Winzengerode, General, 145, 159

Woolwich, 91

Wurtemberg, Crown Prince of, 116

Wurtemberg, Prince Eugene of, 116


Yankies, 238

Yarmouth, Lord, 242

Yorke, Lady Elizabeth, 112


UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON.


FOOTNOTES:

[1] Maria Leycester, m. 1829 Rev. Augustus Hare.

[2] "Memorials of a Quiet Life," by Augustus Hare, adopted son of Mrs.
Augustus Hare (Maria Leycester).

[3] E. Hussey, of Scotney Castle, Kent. He died in 1817 and left his
only son Edward (married, 1853, Henrietta Clive, daughter of Baroness
Windsor) to the guardianship of Edward Stanley.

[4] Madame Récamier, famous French beauty, 1777-1849.

[5] Pius VII., made Pope in 1800.

[6] General Jourdan, 1762-1833, Marshal. He fought in the Peninsular
War, and rallied to Napoleon during the Hundred Days, but later on
served the Bourbons and was made Governor of the Hôtel des Invalides
under Louis Philippe.

[7] General Desaix; killed at Marengo, 1800.

[8] Louis, King of Etruria, son of Ferdinand, Duke of Parma married
Mary, Infanta of Spain; died 1803.

[9] Comte de Linois, 1761-1848. On June 13, 1801, he, with three ships,
defeated six British ships in Algeciras Bay, and being protected by the
Spanish batteries, he forced the British admiral to retreat, leaving the
_Hannibal_ in possession of the enemy. In recognition of this triumph
Linois received a sword of honour from Napoleon. The English fleet
avenged this disaster on July 12, 1801, when the Spanish and French
squadrons set out from Cadiz with the captured _Hannibal_ and Admiral
Saumarez forced the combined fleets to retire shattered into harbour
again.

[10] The vessel in which Edward Stanley's elder brother John had made
his Icelandic Expedition, 1788.

[11] A famous image of the Virgin, said to have been found A.D. 880 on a
mountain of Catalonia, and in honour of which a magnificent church was
built by Philip II. and Philip III. of Spain.

[12] _Tartana_--a vessel peculiar to the Mediterranean.

[13] Emanuel Godoy, favourite Minister of Charles IV. of Spain.

[14] H.R.H. Edward, Duke of Kent; appointed Governor of Gibraltar, 1802.
In order to establish strict discipline in the garrison, which he found
in a very demoralised state, he issued a general order forbidding any
private soldiers to enter the wine shops, half of which he closed at a
personal sacrifice of £4,000 a year in licensing fees. In consequence, a
mutiny broke out on Christmas Eve, 1802. Though the mutiny was quelled,
the Home Government did not support the Duke, who was recalled in March,
1803.

[15] Edward Stanley's sister, Louisa; m., November, 1802, to Sir Baldwin
Leighton, Bart., of Loton, Shropshire.

[16] Godoy (Emanuel--b. 1767, d. 1851), Prince of Peace. Prime Minister
to Charles IV. of Spain.

[17] Marshal Viscount Beresford, b. 1770, d. 1854, General in the
English Army. He reorganised the Portuguese army in the Peninsular War.

[18] Sir Henry Clinton, General; d. 1829.

[19] Sir William Clinton, General, 1769-1854; married Louisa, second
daughter of Lord Sheffield.

[20] On April 10th Lord Wellington fought the Battle of Toulouse against
Soult.

[21] Madame Moreau, widow of General Moreau, daughter of General Hulot,
and a friend of the Empress Joséphine. Since the death of the General,
who was killed at the battle of Dresden, in 1813, the Emperor Alexander
had given Mme. Moreau a pension of 100,000 francs a year in recognition
of her husband's services; and in 1814 Louis XVIII. gave her the rank of
"Maréchale de France."

[22] Catherine Fanshawe, poetess, and friend of most of the literary
people in London of her day.

[23] Mrs. Marcet, b. 1785, a native of Geneva (_née_ Halduriand). Well
known for her economic and scientific works.

[24] Madame de Staël, daughter of Louis XVI.'s Minister Necker, b. 1766,
d. 1817. Married 1786 to the Baron de Staël, Swedish Minister to France.
She had been exiled from France by Napoleon on account of her books,
"Corinne" and "L'Allemagne."

[25] Sir Humphry Davy, 1778-1829; began life as a Cornish miner. He
became a distinguished chemist and scientist.

[26] Daughter of C. Kerr, Esq., of Kelso, and widow of S. Apreece, Esq.,
married Sir Humphry Davy, 1812.

[27] Second Earl of Clancarty, 1767-1837. Ambassador to the Netherlands

[28] The Emperor Alexander I. of Russia, 1777-1825.

[29] Lucien, second brother of the Emperor Napoleon, 1775-1840.

[30] Catherine, Grand Duchess of Russia, sister of the Emperor Alexander
I., won golden opinions in England. "She was very clever, graceful, and
elegant, with most pleasing manners, and spoke English well." Creevey
says that the Emperor was much indebted to his sister, the Duchess of
Oldenburg, for "keeping him in the course by her judicious interposition
and observations." In 1808 Napoleon had wished for her as his bride,
but, as she says in a letter to her brother, the Czar, "her heart would
break as the intended wife of Napoleon before she could reach the limits
of his usurped dominions, and she cannot but consider as frightfully
ominous this offer of marriage from an Imperial Assassin to the daughter
and grand-daughter of two assassinated Emperors" (see "Letters of Two
Brothers," by Lady G. Ramsden). The marriage of the Grand Duchess
Catherine to the Duke of Oldenburg was hastily arranged to enable her to
escape the alliance. The Duke died in 1812, and she afterwards married
her cousin, the Crown Prince of Wurtemberg, to whom she had been
attached in early youth. The Duchess attracted great attention by
wearing a large bonnet, which afterwards became the fashion and was
called after her.

[31] Lady Caroline, daughter of the Earl of Bessborough, wife of Hon.
William Lamb, afterwards Lord Melbourne, authoress of "Glenarvon," &c.

[32] Mr. Morritt, of Rokeby.

[33] Lord Liverpool, 1770-1828. Prime Minister in 1815.

[34] Platoff, 1716-1818, Russian General.

[35] Frederick William III.

[36] The Duchess had been very fond of music, but since the death of her
husband it had affected her so deeply that she feared breaking down on
any public occasion.

[37] Rowland Hill. General Lord Hill, 1772-1842; distinguished in the
Peninsular War.

[38] The Prince Regent, afterwards George IV.

[39] "After the Restoration of the Bourbons several duels took place for
the most frivolous causes. Duels were fought even by night. The officers
of the Swiss guards were constantly measuring swords with the officers
of the old 'Garde Impériale'" (Gronow's Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 22).

[40] The Colonne Vendôme. This stood on the site of a statue to Louis
XIV. which had been melted down at the Revolution. It was made of
Austrian cannon taken during the years from 1806 to 1810.

[42] Madame de Staël had only returned to France after her long exile a
few weeks after Napoleon's abdication. Her rooms were in the Hôtel de
Tamerzan, 105, Rue de Grenelle St. Germain.

[42] Stuart, Sir Charles, 1779-1845. Eldest son of Sir C. Stuart,
General, and Louisa, daughter and co-heiress of Lord Vere Bertie.
Minister at the Hague and Ambassador at Paris, and later on at St.
Petersburg. British Envoy at the Congress of Vienna. Created Baron
Stuart de Rothesay 1841. Married, 1816, Lady Elizabeth Yorke, third
daughter of third Earl of Hardwicke. Gronow gives a more favourable
account of him, "One of the most popular Ambassadors Great Britain ever
sent to Paris."

[43] Under the Treaty of Paris France had been allowed to keep the Art
Treasures taken by Napoleon.

[44] Talma, the celebrated tragic actor, 1763-1826.

[45] On March 30th the Allies marched on Paris. They attacked in three
divisions--the Silesian army on the side of Montmartre, Prince Eugene of
Wurtemberg and Barclay de Tolly by Pantin and Romainville, the Crown
Prince of Wurtemberg by Vincennes and Charenton. Marmont surrendered the
same day.

[46] Régnaud St. Jean d'Angély, 1762-1819.

[47] Abai Reny Just Haiiy, 1743-1822.

[48] Duméril, naturalist and professor.

[49] Marmont, 1774-1852, Duc de Raguse. The defence of Paris had been
left in his hands by Napoleon, and his surrender to the Allies was the
finishing stroke which forced Napoleon to abdicate.

[50] Lafayette, 1757-1834, Liberal general and politician.

[51] Madame Récamier, 1777-1849, a famous beauty. She had held a "salon"
at Paris in the early days of the Empire, but had been exiled in 1811
and had just returned (June, 1814).

[52] Auguste de Staël, 1790-1827.

[53] Mademoiselle de Staël, married the Duc de Broglie.

[54] Hodgson, Dean of Carlisle and Rector of St. George's, Hanover
Square; d. 1844.

[55] William Wilberforce, 1759-1833; distinguished among the promoters
of Negro Emancipation and the Abolition of the Slave Trade.

[56] Dumolard, 1766-1820; a French politician, a prominent figure in the
Chamber of Representatives under the first Restoration.

[57] Eugène Beauharnais, 1780-1824, Viceroy of Italy, 1805-15. Son of
Joséphine by her first marriage with the Vicomte de Beauharnais.

[58] After the Second Restoration Prince Eugène Beauharnais sold
Malmaison and removed its gallery of pictures to Munich.

[59] Duc d'Enghien, 1772-1804, son of the Duc de Bourbon. Shot at
Vincennes by order of Napoleon when First Consul, under the pretext that
he had conspired against him.

[60] Marmont lost his arm at the battle of Salamanca in 1812.

[61] Jourdan, General, 1762-1833.

[62] Duc de Treviso, Marshal Mortier, 1768-1835.

[63] Duc de Conegliano, Marshal Moncey, 1754-1842. He defended the walls
of Paris as Major-General of the National Guard and laid down his arms
only after the Capitulation was signed.

[64] Serurier, General, 1742-1819.

[65] Perignan, General, 1754-1819.

[66] Ney, Prince de la Moskowa, Duc d'Elchingen, 1769-1815, "Le Brave
des Braves." He swore allegiance to Louis XVIII., but returned to
Napoleon in 1815, fought under him at Waterloo, and was shot for treason
under the Second Restoration.

[67] Duc d'Istria, Bessières, Commander of the Old Guard.

[68] Davoust, Prince d'Eckmuhl. In 1814 the unfortunate city of Hamburg
was still suffering under the unrelenting severity of Davoust, who had
appointed a commission having the power of condemning to death all
persons who used inflammatory speeches to exasperate the soldiers or the
inhabitants.

[69] Victor, Duc de Belluno, 1764-1841.

[70] Lefebre, Duc de Dantzig, 1755-1820.

[71] Berthier, Prince de Wagram, 1753-1815, Chief of the Staff. A close
friend of Napoleon from 1796 onwards. He escaped to Bamberg in 1815 in
hopes of remaining neutral, but was killed there by the emissaries of a
secret society.

[72] Murat, 1778-1815, King of Naples and husband of Caroline Bonaparte.
He had concluded a treaty with Austria against Napoleon in January,
1814. He was shot in Calabria in 1815.

[73] Massèna, Duc de Rivoli, 1758-1817. "The favoured child of victory."

[74] Soult, Duc de Dalmatie, 1769-1861. He decided the victory of
Austerlitz.

[75] Edridge, portrait painter, 1769-1821.

[76] Duke de Berri, second son of the Comte d'Artois, afterwards Charles
X., 1778-1820. He married Caroline of Naples, and was the father of the
Comte de Chambord. He was assassinated by Louvel on the steps of the
Opera House at Paris in 1820.

[77] General Du Pont, 1759-1838.

[78] Eldest son of Edward Stanley, b. 1811.

[79] Soissons had been taken in February by the Russians under
Winzengerode.

[80] E. D. Davenport, Esq., of Capesthorne, Cheshire, 1778-1847.

[81] May, 1813.

[82] October, 1813.

[83] Subsequent accounts which I heard proved that this second account
was nearer the truth than the first (E. Stanley).

[84] Queen Louise, _née_ Princess of Mecklenburg Strelitz.

[85] Grand Duke Constantine, brother of Czar Alexander, 1779-1831.

[86] Lady Catherine North, sister of Lady Sheffield, married 1786,
Sylvester Douglas, Lord Glenbervie.

[87] Hon. F. North, fifth Earl of Guilford.

[88] Marshal Macdonald, 1765-1840.

[89] General Maison, 1771-1840, one of the most faithful of Napoleon's
generals.

[90] This disastrous expedition to attack Antwerp sailed under the Earl
of Chatham, July 20, 1809, and ended in total failure. The troops were
withdrawn in December, 1809.

[91] Sir Thomas Graham, 1748-1843, afterwards Lord Lynedoch.

[92] Louis Buonaparte, third brother of Napoleon, 1778-1846; King of
Holland, 1806-1813.

[93] A novel by Lady Morgan.

[94] F. North, afterwards 5th Earl of Guilford.

[95] A member of the Directory.

[96] In the neighbourhood of Lyons.

[97] The defeat of the British Flotilla by the Americans in September,
1814.

[98] Ferdinand VII., b. 1784, d. 1833.

[99] Daughter of the Duke of Saxe Coburg; married in 1796 to the Grand
Duke Constantine of Russia.

[100] Daughter of the second Earl of Guilford: married, 1800, John, son
of Earl of Balcarres; d. 1849.

[101] Son of Lord Glenbervie, and nephew of Lord Sheffield.

[102] General Clarke, 1765-1818. He took part in the negotiations for
the Treaty of Campo Formio in 1797. He was made Duc de Feltre for his
services against the English at Walcheren. He accepted service under
Louis XVIII., and was his Minister of War, 1815-1816.

[103] Marshal Macdonald (made Duc de Tarente after the battle of Wagram,
1809), b. 1765, d. 1840. He did not join Napoleon during the Hundred
Days, but refused employment under the King, and served only as a simple
soldier in the National Guard.

[104] Edward Leycester had inherited in December, 1815, the fortune of
his cousin, Lady Penrhyn, who directed in her will that he should assume
the name of Penrhyn. He married, in 1823, Lady Charlotte Stanley,
daughter of the 14th Earl of Derby.

[105] Lord Pevensey, son of Earl of Sheffield.

[106] Panorama by Barker, shown in London.

[107] Married Sir Edward Parry, K.C.B., the Arctic navigator, 1826.

[108] Allusions to the characters in "Guy Mannering."

[109] John Scott, painter, 1774-1828.

[110] Hougoumont was occupied by Byng's Brigade, and resisted the
repeated attacks of the French throughout the battle.

[111] Napoleon's army, on the day of Waterloo, occupied the plateau of
La Belle Alliance.

[112] A farm occupied by the King's German Legion under Major Baring;
after a gallant resistance captured by the French at 4 o'clock on June
18th.

[113] Wellington watched the battle from the shade of an elm-tree, which
was afterwards sold to an Englishman, who made the wood into boxes and
sold them as memorials.

[114] General Bertrand, 1773-1844; fought in Egypt and distinguished
himself at Austerlitz and in the campaigns of Wagram and Moscow. He
followed Napoleon to Elba and to St. Helena.

[115] Inn at Alderley.

[116] Sir George Scovell, 1774-1861, General. He fought in the Peninsula
and at Waterloo.

[117] Sir Lowry Cole, second son of first Earl of Enniskillen, General
of 4th Division at the Battle of Salamanca. He received the thanks of
both Houses of Parliament for his gallant services in the Peninsula.
Commanded 6th Division at Waterloo.

[118] Comte d'Artois, afterwards King Charles X.

[119] Daughter of Louis XVI.

[120] Caroline of Naples.

[121] Michael Bruce, one of the Englishmen who helped Lavalette to
escape from prison. He was known as Lavalette's Bruce. He had previously
tried to save Ney. Major-General Wilson and Captain Hutchinson were also
concerned in Lavalette's escape.

[122] Denon (1747-1825), a member of the Académic de Peinture. He made
sketches in Egypt for Napoleon, quietly finishing them on the
battlefield. He directed the Emperor what objects of art he should take
from various countries to enrich the Louvre. Napoleon made him
Directeur-Général of Museums.

[123] Abbé Roch Ambroise Sicard, founder of deaf and dumb school at
Paris, 1742-1822.

[124] Labédoyère, General (1786-1815). Shot at Grenelle, 1815.

[125] French poet and Academician, 1738-1813.





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