Here we rambled till the evening. The sun was setting. The nightingales were singing in great numbers. Not a cloud to be seen. A breeze, blowing through a plantation of roses, refreshed us with its coolness and fragrance. In a sequestered part of this beautiful ground, under the embowering shades of Acacia trees, upon the ruins of a little temple, we seated ourselves, and were regaled by some charming italian duets, which were sung by Madame S—— and her lovely daughter, with the most enchanting pathos. I hope I shall be pardoned for introducing some lines which were written upon our return, by an enthusiastic admirer of merit and music.
TO MADEMOISELLE D. S——.
In Mousseau's sweet arcadian dale, Fair Delphine pours the plaintive strain; She charms the list'ning nightingale, And seems th' enchantress of the plain.
Blest be those lips, to music dear! Sweet songstress! never may they move But with such sounds to soothe the ear, And melt the yielding heart to love!
May sorrow never bid them pour From the torn heart one suffering sigh, But be thy life a fragrant flow'r, Blooming beneath a cloudless sky.
CHAPTER XVII.
Curious Method of raising Hay.—Lucien Bonaparte's Hôtel.—Opera.—Consular Box.—Madame Bonaparte's Box.—Feydeau Theatre.—Belle Vue.—Versailles.—The Palace of the Petit Trianon.—The Grounds.
The people of Paris, who keep horses in stables at the back of their houses, have a singular mode of keeping their hay in the lofts of their dwelling houses. At the top of a spacious and elegant hotel, is to be seen a projecting crane in the act of raising loads of winter provision for the stable. When I first saw this strange process, my surprise would scarcely have been increased, had I beheld the horse ascending after the hay.
I must not forget to offer some little description of the opera, where, during my stay, through the politeness of Madame H——, I had free access to a private box.