told me to." By this time a number had gathered round, all making inquiries as to what I wanted. I told the driver to retrace his steps, and, amid the shrugs of their shoulders, the nods of their heads, and the laughter of the soldiers, I left the Elysee without even a sight of the President's mustaches for my trouble. This was only one of the many mistakes I made while in Paris.
LETTER VII.
The Chateau at Versailles—Private apartments of Marie Antoinette—The Secret Door—Paintings of Raphael and David—Arc de Triomphe—Beranger the Poet.
Versailles, August 31.
Here I am, within ten leagues of Paris, spending the time pleasantly in viewing the palace and grounds of the great Chateau of Louis XIV. Fifty-seven years ago, a mob, composed of men, women, and boys, from Paris, stood in front of
this palace and demanded that the king should go with them to the capital. I have walked over the same ground where the one hundred thousand stood on that interesting occasion. I have been upon the same balcony, and stood by the window from which Maria Antoinette looked out upon the mob that were seeking her life.
Anxious to see as much of the palace as I could, and having an offer of the company of my young friend, Henry G. Chapman, to go through the palace with me, I set out early yesterday morning, and was soon in the halls that had often been trod by Royal feet. We passed through the private, as well as the public, apartments, through the secret door by which Marie Antoinette had escaped from the mob of 1792, and viewed the room in which her faithful guards were killed, while attempting to save their Royal mistress. I took my seat in one of the little parlour carriages that had been used in days of yore for the Royal children; while my friend, H.G. Chapman, drew me across the room. The superb apartments are not now in use. Silence is written upon these walls, although upon them
are suspended the portraits of men of whom the world has heard.
Paintings, representing Napoleon in nearly all his battles, are here seen; and wherever you see the Emperor, there you will also find Murat, with his white plume waving above. Callot's painting of the battle of Marengo, Hue's of the retaking of Genoa, and Bouchat's of the 18th Brumaire, are of the highest order; while David has transmitted his fame to posterity, by his splendid painting of the Coronation of Napoleon and Josephine in Notre Dame. When I looked upon the many beautiful paintings of the last named artist, that adorn the halls of Versailles, I did not wonder that his fame should have saved his life, when once condemned and sentenced to death during the reign of terror. The guillotine was robbed of its intended victim, but the world gained a great painter. As Boswell transmitted his own name to posterity with his life of Johnson, so has David left his, with the magnificent paintings that are now suspended upon the walls of the palaces of the Louvre, the Tuileries, St. Cloud, Versailles, and even the little Elysee.