Before and after Waterloo / Letters from Edward Stanley, sometime Bishop of Norwich (1802; 1814; 1816)

[73]

CHAPTER II

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.[74]

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 engage[75]ments 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.[76]

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[77] 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, how[78]ever, 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[79] 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[80] 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[81] 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 fes[82]tivities 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, [83]and he had been living in the house with Lucien Bonaparte.[29]

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[84] 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."[85]

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[86] 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[87] 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[88] 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[89] "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[90] 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[91] 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 disappoint[92]ment, 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?"[93]

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[94] 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[95] 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[96] 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.[97]

CHAPTER III

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[98] 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[99] 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:—

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,[100] &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[101] 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.[102]

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,[103] 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[104] 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[105] 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. Mar[106]mont 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,[107] 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[108] 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....