On this day he commanded the twelve mayors of Paris to appear in their carriages of ceremony; and, to do them justice, they were gilt and caparisoned as finely as time and circumstances could admit. Bonaparte himself sat alone, in a state coach with glass all round it: his feathers bowed deeply over his face, and consequently little more than the lower parts of it were quite uncovered. Whoever has marked the countenance of Napoleon must admit it to have been one of the most expressive ever created. I have already spoken of it as affected on distinct occasions; but I beg to be understood as distinguishing it from what is generally called an expressive countenance; namely, one involuntarily and candidly proclaiming the feelings whereby its proprietor is actuated: the smile or the look of scorn, the blush, or the tear, serving not unfrequently to communicate matters which the lips would have kept secret. Though that species of expressive countenance may be commonly admired, it is often inconvenient, and would be perfectly unbefitting a king, a courtier, a gambler, a diplomatist, or, in short, a man in any station of life which renders it incumbent on him to keep his countenance. The lower portion of Bonaparte’s face (as I have mentioned in speaking of my first glance at it) was the finest I think I ever saw, and peculiarly calculated to set the feelings of others on speculation, without giving any decided intimation of his own. On the day of the promulgation, it occurred to me, and to my family likewise, as we saw him pass slowly under our window, that the unparalleled splendour of the scene failed in arousing him from that deep dejection which had apparently seized him ever since his return to Paris, and which doubtless arose from a consciousness of his critical situation, and the hollow ground whereon he trod. There was ill-timed languor in his general look: he smiled not, and took but little notice of any surrounding object. He appeared in fact loaded with some presentiment, confined however to himself; for of all possible events, his approaching and sudden fate was last, I believe, in the contemplation of any person among that prodigious assembly. I apprehend the intelligence of Murat’s defeat in Italy had reached him about that time, and made a great impression on him.
Two marshals rode on each side Napoleon’s coach, and his three brothers occupied the next. I thought they all appeared cheerful; at least, no evil presentiments were visible in their countenances. After the emperor had passed my interest diminished. I was absorbed by reflection, and my mind was painfully diverted to the probable result of the impending contest, which would most likely plunge into a gory and crowded grave thousands of the gay and sparkling warriors who, full of the principle of life and activity, had that moment passed before me.
The crowds in the Champ de Mars; the firing of the artillery; the spirited bustle of the entire scene; and the return of the same cortége after the new articles of the constitution had been proclaimed, left me in a state of absolute languor; and when I returned to my hotel, it required more than a single bottle of Château Margot to restore the serenity of my over-excited nerves.
The rejoicings which followed the promulgation of the constitution were in a style of which I had no previous conception. I have already observed, and every person who has been much on the continent will bear me out in the remark, that no people are so very adroit at embellishment as the French. Our carpenters, paper-hangers, &c. know no more about Parisian embellishments than our plain cooks do of the hundred and twenty-six modes of cooking an egg, whereof every French cuisinier is perfectly master.
Many temporary stands had been erected in the Champs d’Elysée, whence to toss out all species of provisions to the populace. Hams, turkeys, sausages, &c. &c. were to be had in abundance by scrambling for them. Twenty fountains of wine were set playing into the jars, cups, and pails of all who chose to adventure getting near them. A number of temporary theatres were constructed, and games of every description were dispersed throughout the green. Quadrilles and waltzes were practised every where around: all species of music was heard among the trees, together with regular bands in numerous orchestras; singing—juggling—in fine, every thing that could stamp the period of the emperor’s departure on the minds of the people were ordered to be put in requisition; and a scene of enjoyment ensued which, notwithstanding the bustle necessarily attendant, was conducted with the politeness and decorum of a drawing-room; with much more, indeed, than prevails at most of our public assemblies. No pick-pockets were heard of; no disputes of any description arose; the very lowest orders of the French canaille appear on such occasions cleanly dressed, and their very nature renders them polite and courteous to each other. They make way with respect for any woman, even from a duchess to a beggar; and it is a very paradise for old ladies, who are just as politely treated as young ones.
At night, stretching across the whole of the Place Louis Quinze, was a transparent painting of Napoleon’s return from Elba, the mimic ship being of equal dimensions with the real one. Napoleon appeared on the deck, and the entire effect was most impressive.
The rejoicings concluded with a display of fireworks—a species of entertainment wherein I never delighted. It commenced with a flight of five thousand rockets, of various colours, at one coup, and was terminated by the ascent of a balloon loaded with every species of fire-work, in every form and device, and in an abundance I had no conception of; which, bursting high in the air, illuminated by their overpowering momentary blaze the whole atmosphere. At midnight, all, like an “unsubstantial pageant,” had faded away, leaving the ill-starred emperor[[47]] to pursue his route to partial victory, final defeat,—to ruin, incarceration and death.
[47]. I have read with pleasure many parts of “Napoleon’s Second Reign,” by Mr. Hobhouse. Though I do not coincide with that gentleman in all his views of the subject, (differing from him in toto as to some,) I admit the justice of a great portion of his observations, and consider the work, on the whole, as a very clever performance. In several matters of description and anecdote he has anticipated me; and I really think has treated them with as much accuracy, and in a much more comprehensive manner, than I should, or perhaps could have done. Mine in fact is but a sketch—his a history. In some matters of fact he appears to have been imperfectly informed: but they are not errors of a sufficiently important nature to involve any charge of general inaccuracy. I myself kept an ample diary of the events of the Hundred Days, (of so much of them at least as I spent in Paris,) and until the re-entry of Louis; and in fact subsequently, though less regularly. From these documents I have extracted what I now publish; but the whole may perhaps hereafter appear in its original shape.
I cannot but express my regret that Mr. Hobhouse did not remain in Paris until after Napoleon’s return from Belgium, when there was a far wider and fairer field presented for the exercise of his pen. I really conceive it will be a loss to literature if he does not recur to that period (materials cannot be wanting): take up his own work where he finished, and continue it until the evacuation of Paris by the allied forces. The events of that interval are richly worth recording; and it would fill up what is, as yet, nearly a blank in the history of Europe.