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[301] 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[302] 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[303] 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[304] 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[305] 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....