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.[281]
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[282] 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.