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[136] 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,[137] 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.