As for myself, I have of late felt a sort of medium sensation. As men become stricken in years, a species of venerable insipidity insinuates itself among their feelings. A great proportion of mine had turned sour by long keeping, and I set out on my travels without one quarter of the good-nature which I had possessed thirty years before. My palate was admirably disposed at the time to feast upon novelties, of which I had made up my mind to take a full meal, and thought I should be all the better prepared by a few months of salubrious air and rural tranquillity.
The interval, however, which I had thus devoted to quiet, and thorough reinstatement of health upon the breezy and delightful Côteau d’Ingouville, and which I expected would flow on smoothly for some months, (without the shadow of an adventure, or, indeed, any thing calculated to interfere with my perfect composure,) turned out to be one filled with the most extraordinary occurrences which have ever marked the history of Europe.
The sudden return of Napoleon from Elba, and the speedy flight of the French king and royal family from the Tuileries, without a single effort being made to defend them, appeared to me, at the time, of all possible incidents the most extraordinary and least expected. The important events which followed in rapid and perplexing succession afforded me scope for extensive observation, whereof I did not fail to take advantage. My opportunities were indeed great and peculiar:—but few, comparatively, of my fellow-countrymen had as yet ventured into France: those who did avail themselves of the conclusion of peace in 1814, fled the country in dismay, on the return of Napoleon; whilst I, by staying there throughout his brief second reign, was enabled to ascertain facts known to very few in England, and hitherto not published by any.
At Havre it appeared clearly to me that Napoleon, during his absence, was any thing but forgotten or disesteemed. The empress, when there, had become surprisingly popular amongst all classes of people; and the misfortunes of her husband had only served to render his memory more dear to his brother-soldiers, by whom he was evidently still regarded as their general and their prince. In truth, not only by the soldiers, but generally by the civic ranks, Louis, rather than Napoleon, was looked on there as the usurper.
There were two regiments of the line at Havre, the officers of which made no secret of their sentiments, whilst the men appeared to me inclined for any thing but obedience to the Bourbon dynasty. The spirit which I could not help seeing in full activity here, it was rational to conclude, operated in other parts of the kingdom, and the justice of this inference was suddenly manifested by the course of events.
We were well acquainted with the colonel and superior officers of one of the regiments then in garrison. The colonel, a very fine soldier-like man, about forty-five, with the reputation of being a brave officer and an individual at once candid, liberal, and decided, was singularly frank in giving his opinions on all public subjects. He made no attempt to conceal his indestructible attachment to Napoleon; and I should think (for his tendencies must necessarily have been reported to the government) that he was continued in command only from a consciousness on their part that, if they removed him, they must at the same moment have disarmed and disbanded the regiment,—a measure which the Bourbon family was then by no means strong enough to hazard.
On one occasion, the colonel, in speaking to me whilst company was sitting around us, observed, with a sardonic smile, that his master, Louis, was not quite so firmly seated as his émigrés seemed to think. “The puissant allies,” continued he, sneering as he spoke, “may change a king, but” (and his voice rose the while,) “they cannot change a people.”
Circumstances, in fact, daily conspired to prove to me that the army was still Napoleon’s. The surgeon of that same regiment was an Italian, accounted very clever in his profession, good-natured, intelligent, and obliging; but so careless of his dress, that he was generally called by us the “dirty doctor.” This person was less anxious even than his comrades to conceal his sentiments of men and things, both politically and generally; never failing, whether in public or private, to declare his opinion, and his attachment to “the exile.”
A ball and supper was given by the prefect and other authorities of Havre in honour of Louis le Désiré’s restoration. The affair was very splendid: we were invited, and went accordingly. I there perceived our dirty doctor, dressed most gorgeously in military uniform, but not that of his regiment. I asked him to what corps it appertained: he put his hand to his mouth, and whispered me, “C’est l’uniforme de mon cœur!” (“Tis the uniform of my heart!”) It was the dress uniform of Napoleon’s old guard, in which the doctor had served. The incident spoke a volume, and (as to the sentiments of its wearer) was decisive.