Wellington received directions to prevent Princess Caroline from repairing from Strasburg to Paris, though his own opinion was that she might safely have been permitted to amuse herself. Louis XVIII., out of consideration for the Prince Regent, had resolved not to receive her. She nevertheless in October paid an incognito visit.
But few of the English visitors could have been in time to see the Tsar, with his sons Constantine and Nicholas, the Emperor of Austria, and the King of Prussia, with his two sons, one of them the future William I., destined to re-enter Paris as a conqueror in 1871, for their stay was very short. The Russian and Prussian sovereigns went on to England in June, while the Austrian Emperor pleaded Italian affairs as preventing him from also going. The brilliant uniforms of their officers, however, continued to enliven the streets of the capital. Louis had pressed the Prince Regent to come over, telling him that the three monarchs seconded the invitation, but the Prince, ‘fat, fair, and forty,’ or rather, as Leigh Hunt had been imprisoned for describing him, ‘an Adonis of fifty,’ probably shrank from the fatigue of the journey, or possibly he was not too confident of the stability of the restored dynasty. He made the excuse that a Regency Act would be necessary if he left his realm, yet his ancestors had paid visits to Hanover. His subjects were of course eager to be presented at Court. Shepherd speaks of Louis as ‘uncomfortably corpulent and seemed very infirm in his feet, but his countenance is extremely pleasing, and if any reliance is to be placed on physiognomy, he is a man of a very benevolent disposition.’[284] Shepherd went in clerical costume, fancying that this would be sufficient, but Stuart telling him the contrary, he had to hurry off to a tailor to get properly equipped.
Dr. Williams presented the King with portraits of George III. and the Prince Regent, ‘two princes to whom,’ Louis said, ‘he had vowed the most faithful remembrance.’ Sir Herbert Croft presented to him verses addressed to the Duchess of Angoulême. Galignani, who, though an Italian ex-priest, may be considered an Englishman by marriage and adoption, presented thirty volumes of his English reprints, his Paris Guide, and his Modern Spectator. Street, editor and part proprietor of the Courier, also had an audience, and was complimented on his journal’s ten years’ advocacy of the cause of the Bourbons.[285]
Those visitors who were not presented at Court had an opportunity of seeing the King on his way to chapel. Haydon, who describes him as ‘keen, fat, and eagle-eyed,’ joined in shouting ‘Vive le roi!’ He remarked that Napoleon’s initials still dotted the vestibule of the chapel. The Duke of Rutland also remarked that the draperies of the Tuileries were dotted with bees, and that ‘N’ or an eagle was visible on all the furniture. This was a perpetual reminder to the Bourbons of the dethroned ruler. But few of these emblems appear to have been at first effaced in Paris, lest this should provoke counter-demonstrations, though provincial authorities displayed more zeal and less tact. Yet Stephen Weston speaks of thousands of workmen being employed in removing them, and Birkbeck observed men busily effacing Napoleon’s name and eagles from public buildings, which he thought very pitiful, while Scott noticed ingenious attempts to turn ‘N’ into ‘L’ or ‘H’ in honour of Louis XVIII. or Henri IV. He also speaks of a sign ‘Café de l’Empereur’ being converted into ‘Café des Empereurs’ in honour of the Russian and Austrian monarchs.
On the 21st January, the anniversary of Louis XVI.’s execution, there was an imposing procession on the transfer of his and his Queen’s remains to St. Denis, and requiem masses were celebrated all over France, the Protestant pastors Monod and Marron also holding services, albeit the latter had flattered Napoleon. These masses were ordered to be annual, but were never repeated. There were other spectacles. There was the proclamation of peace by a herald on the 1st June with all the revived formalities of the old Monarchy. The spoils of Italian art, including the Venetian horses, still embellished Paris, though destined to removal as a punishment for the Hundred Days. Sunday and festival observance was enforced on shops and factories, by a decree of the Prefect of Police on the 7th June. The host, for the first time since the Revolution, was carried through the streets on Corpus Christi day, all houses on the route having to be draped, and bystanders being expected, if not required, to uncover as it passed. The streets, says Haydon, were hung with tapestries, and altars were erected at various points. It was the first Sunday since the Revolution that shops had been shut, yet the gaming-tables were open as usual. Parisians did not fail to remark that these measures were decreed by a notorious sceptic, Beugnot. When Corpus Christi day came round again on the 25th May 1815, Napoleon was once more on the throne. On the 29th August the King paid a State visit to the Hotel de Ville, in honour of which Paris illuminated. The fountains in the Champs Elysées poured forth wine for all comers, and comestibles were also gratuitous.[286]
The London newspapers expressed distrust in the stability of the new government, and doubtless on that account were prohibited admission to France. English officials seem to have shared this sentiment, for in July 1814 Admiral Mackenzie, who had brought over the Duc de Berri, suddenly renounced his intended wintering in the south and recrossed the Channel. Crabb Robinson remarked that when the King reviewed the National Guard the cheers were very faint, and that there were some cries of ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ Even the Rev. R. W. Wake, curate of Maidstone, who, having only a week’s holiday, went no further than Calais and Boulogne, was struck by the regret with which Napoleon’s fall was spoken of.[287] Yet some of the visitors descried no troubles ahead. Wansey, who was in Paris in June, going thither by Dieppe and returning by Boulogne, says:—
‘That there are many dissatisfied with the new order of things, particularly among the military, there is no doubt, and we may expect to hear of partial insurrections and commotions among the men returned from the wars.... But a Government that employs men of such talents as those I have mentioned (Talleyrand, Fouché, Louis, and Montesquiou) will not be easily overturned, particularly as the leaders of the army are with the Court; and as to the return of Napoleon, he ran the full length of his tether. You will hear no more of his rule in France.’[288]
John Scott, however, in the diligence between Dieppe and Paris, heard an officer with Napoleon’s portrait on his snuff-box say, in reply to English expressions of satisfaction at the peace, ‘All very well, this tranquillity of Europe is a fine thing, but will it not keep me always a captain?’ Another officer, though originally forced away from the study of medicine into the army, spoke with enthusiasm of Napoleon, and the mass of the people, while admitting Napoleon’s faults, were in Scott’s judgment in his favour. ‘Ah but he was a great man!’ was the common phrase.
Richard Boyle Bernard, M.P., son of the Earl of Bandon, remarked that Louis XVIII., passing on his way to mass, was repeatedly greeted with cries of ‘Vive le roi!’ and he believed the most respectable portion of the nation to be loyal; but the number of discontented spirits would, he thought, necessitate prolonged vigilance. At Calais theatre, moreover, on his way back in the autumn, Bernard heard a passage expressing satisfaction with the peace hissed by the officers present.[289] He was struck, too, by the dislike felt in France for the English, which was in striking contrast to their cordial welcome in Germany.
Ward, who saw Louis XVIII. enter Paris, remarked that the applause was neither long nor vehement, and that the Bourbons were received with cold acquiescence.[290]