Albatross, I envy thee
Oft thy soaring pinions free;
For we deem the realms of air
Too ethereal for care.
Gladness as of endless springs
Seems to me is born with wings.
Thou canst rise and see the sun,
When his course to us is done:
A moral here may us engross,
Thou the teacher—albatross!'
[THE PALACE OF THE FRENCH PRESIDENT.]
The Elysée National, which has been appropriated as the residence of Louis Napoleon, is an edifice which has gone through many changes of masters. Situated in the Rue Fauxbourg St Honoré, with a façade behind towards the far-famed Champs-Elysées, it enjoys one of the most agreeable localities in Paris. Externally it makes no great appearance, being shut in by a lofty wall in front; but in internal arrangements the house is elegant, with suites of grand apartments, common to the palaces of France. The builder and first proprietor of the Elysée was the wealthy Count d'Evreux, in the era of the Regent, Philip of Orleans, at the beginning of the eighteenth century. After this it became crown property, but for no long time.
One day, in the year 1743, Madame de Pompadour entered Louis XV.'s apartments, complaining of a dreadful headache. The king had made her a marchioness and a lady-in-waiting; he had laden her with honours and wealth. But this did not satisfy her, for unworthy favourites are never content: they were the revolutionists of those days.
'Is anything the matter with you, madame?' inquired the king anxiously, observing her downcast looks.
'Alas! I have no hôtel!' replied Madame de Pompadour.
'Is that all?' exclaimed the sovereign; and the same day the Hôtel d'Evreux was purchased for her: it need hardly be added, at the king's cost. A little while after, Madame de Pompadour was again severely incommoded by a distracting headache. Like questions from the monarch, and new complaints from the favourite.
'My hôtel is but a citizen's dwelling in comparison with Choisy and Trianon. Its interior is so antique and formal! I really seem to exist among the ghosts of a past century. In short, I am dying there of languor and ennui.'
'Live, fair lady! and let your abode be the temple of fashion.'