Part 18

A visit paid to the continent after so very long an exclusion, really made one feel as if about to explore a kind of _terra incognita_, and gave everything a novel and perhaps over-important character to the traveller. In a country altogether strange, ordinary occurrences often assume the dignity of adventures; and incidents which at home would scarcely have been noticed, become invested on the sudden with an air of interest. Our fellow-countrymen are too apt to undervalue every thing which differs from their own established ways either of acting, thinking, or eating. For this overbearing spirit they have been and are plentifully and justly quizzed by the natives of other countries. Yet they exhibit few signs of amendment. An Englishman seems to think it matter of course that he must be lord of the ascendant wherever he travels, and is sometimes reminded of his mistake in a manner any thing but gentle.[42] The impatience he constantly manifests of any foreign trait, whether of habit or character, is really quite amusing. If Sterne’s _Maria_ had figured away at Manchester, or his Monk at Liverpool, both the one and the other would have been deemed fit objects either for a mad-house or house of correction: probably the girl would have been committed by his worship the mayor to Bedlam, and the old man to the treadmill. In fact, Yorick’s sentiment in France would be nonsense at Birmingham; and La Fleur’s letter to the corporal’s wife be considered as decided evidence of _crim. con._ by an alderman of Cripplegate.

Footnote 42:

In the years 1815 and 16, the very frequent quarrels between the French and English gave rise to a curious embarrassment. The French would only fight with the _sword_, the English with the _pistol_; it was impossible to please both parties: however the French soon put the matter into a course of equality. _Schools_ to _teach_ pistol-firing were established in divers parts of Paris: the best “_point-blankers_” were provided. Each student paid a small fee for ten shots and proper instructions: they began by firing at a large _baby_; first, at his _body_, then his _head_, and at length at his _eye_. The young Frenchmen soon became the very _best shots_ I ever saw: even “Sligo” now need not be ashamed of them. Hence quarrels have grown far less frequent; indeed _rare_, but generally _fatal_: that _accounts for it_.

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.

About six weeks after that incident two small parties of soldiers of the garrison passed repeatedly through the market-place, on a market-day, with drawn swords, flourishing them in the air, and crying incessantly, “Vive _Napoleon_! vive _l’Empereur_!” but they did not manifest the slightest disposition towards riot or disturbance, and no body appeared either to be surprised at or to mind them much. I was speaking to a French officer at the time, and he, like the rest of the spectators, showed no wish to interfere with these men, or to prohibit the continuance of their exclamations, nor did he remark in any way upon the circumstance. I hence naturally enough inferred the state of public feeling, and the very slight hold which _Louis le Désiré_ then had upon the crown of his ancestors.

A much more curious occurrence took place, when a small detachment of Russian cavalry, which had remained in France from the termination of the campaign, were sent down to Havre, there to sell their horses and embark for their native country. The visit appeared to me to be a most unwelcome one to the inhabitants of the place, and still more so, as might be expected, to the military stationed there. The Russians were very fine-looking fellows, of large size, but with a want of flexibility in their limbs and motions; and were thence contrasted rather unfavourably with the alert French soldiery, who, in manœuvring and rapid firing, must have a great advantage over the northern stiffness.

I had the pleasure of becoming acquainted at Havre with Mr. Wright, a very respectable gentleman, and I believe, by affinity, a nephew of Mr. Windham. We had been in a café together, and were returning to our hotel about ten o’clock at night, when we saw a small assemblage of people collected at the church-door in the main street. There were some women amongst them, and they seemed earnestly employed on some business which the total darkness of the night prevented us from seeing. There was in fact no light around save one glimmering lamp in the porch of the church-door, where the people appeared fairly knotted together. There was scarcely any noise made above a sort of buzz, or as it were, rather a _suppression_ of voices. Mr. Wright remained stationary whilst I went across the street to reconnoitre; and after a good deal of peeping over shoulders and under arms, I could perceive that the mob was in the act of deliberately cutting off the ears of two powerful-looking Russian soldiers, who were held so fast by many men, that they had not the least capability of resistance. They seemed to bear the application of the blunt knives of their assailants with considerable fortitude, and the women were preparing to complete the _trimming_ with scissors!—but one glance was quite enough for me. I got away as quick as thought; and as the circumstance of Mr. Wright wearing mustaches might possibly cost him his ears, I advised him to get into a house as soon as possible: he took to his heels on the suggestion, and I was not slow in following. The next day I saw one of the Russians in the street with a guard to protect him—his head tied up with bloody cloths, and cutting altogether a most frightful figure. All the French seemed highly diverted, and shouted out their congratulations to the Russian, who however took no manner of notice of the compliment.

I believe the authorities did all they could in this affair to apprehend the trimmers, but unsuccessfully. Some individuals were, it is true, taken up on suspicion; but as soon as the Russians were embarked they were liberated. In fact the local dignitaries knew that they were not as yet sufficiently strong to enforce punishment for _carving_ a Russian.

I often received great entertainment from sounding many of the most respectable Frenchmen whose acquaintance I made at Havre with regard to their political tendencies; and the result as well of my queries as of my observations led me to perceive that there were not wanting numerous persons by whom the return of Bonaparte, sooner or later, was looked forward to as an occurrence by no means either violently improbable, or undesirable.

Nevertheless, no very deep impression was made on my mind as to these matters, until one morning Lady Barrington, returning from Havre, brought me a small printed paper, announcing the emperor’s actual return from Elba, and that he was on his route for Paris. I believed the evidence of my eye-sight on reading the paper; but I certainly did not believe its contents. I went off immediately to my landlord, Mr. Poulet, a great royalist, and his countenance explained circumstances sufficiently before I asked a single question. The sub-prefect soon left the town: but the intelligence was scarcely credited, and not at all to its full extent. I went into every café and public place, and through every street. In all directions I saw groups of people, anxious and busily engaged in converse. I was much amused by observing the various effects of the intelligence on persons of different opinions, and by contrasting the countenances of those who thronged the thoroughfares.

I did not myself give credence to the latter part of this intelligence—namely, that Bonaparte was on his way to Paris. I could not suppose that the king had found it impracticable to command the services of a single regiment; and it must be confessed that his majesty, a man of excellent sense, had, under all the circumstances, made a very bad use of his time in acquiring popularity, either civil or military. Notwithstanding the addition of _Désiré_ to his Christian name, (wherewith it had been graced by _Messieurs les émigrés_,) it is self-evident that outward demonstrations alone had been conceded to him of respect and attachment. I never heard that _surname_ appropriated to him at Havre, by-the-bye, except by the prefects and revenue officers.

The dismal faces of the Bourbonites, the grinning ones of the Bonapartists, and the puzzled countenances of the neutrals were mingled together in the oddest combinations: throughout the town every body seemed to be talking at once, and the scene was undoubtedly of the strangest character, in all its varieties. Joy, grief, fear, courage, self-interest, love of peace, and love of battle—each had its votaries. Merchants, priests, _douaniers_, military officers, were strolling about, each apparently influenced by some distinctive feeling: one sensation alone seemed common to all—that of astonishment.

The singularity of the scene every moment increased. On the day immediately ensuing fugitives from Paris, full of news of all descriptions, came in as quick as horses and cabriolets could bring them. Bulletin after bulletin arrived—messenger after messenger! But all the dispatches in any shape official combined in making light of the matter. The intelligence communicated by private individuals, however, was very contradictory. One, for instance, stated positively that the army had declared _against_ Napoleon; another that it had declared _for_ him; a third that it had not declared at all! One said that Napoleon was _surrounded_:—“Yes,” returned a bystander, “but it is by his _friends_!” Towards evening every group seemed to be quite busy making up their minds as to the news of the day, and the part they might think it advisable to take: as for the English, they were frightened out of their wits, and the women had no doubt that they should all be committed to gaol before next morning.

I observed, however, that amidst all this bustle, and mass of conflicting opinions, scarce a single priest was visible: these cunning gentry had (to use a significant expression) determined, if possible, “not to play their cards till they were sure what was _trumps_.” On the preceding Sunday they had throughout the entire day been chanting benedictions on Louis le Désiré and on St. Louis his great-grandfather; but on the sabbath which followed, if they chanted at all, (as they were bound to do,) they would necessarily run a great risk of chanting for the last time in their lives, if they left out Napoleon; and, inasmuch as they were unable to string together Louis le Désiré, Napoleon, and St. Louis, in one _benedicite_, a most distressing dilemma became inevitable amongst the clergy! Common sense, however, soon pointed out their safest course: a plea of _compulsion_ operating on the meek resignation of their holy trade, might serve as an excellent apology, on the part of an ecclesiastical family, in the presumption of Louis’s becoming victor; but in the emperor, they had to deal with a different sort of person, as they well knew—with a man who would not be put off with unmeaning excuses, and in due homage to whom it would be dangerous to fail. Under all circumstances, therefore, they took up a line of conduct which I cannot but think was very wise and discreet, proceeding as it did upon the principle “of two evils choose the least.” Their loyalty was decided by their fears, which sufficed to stimulate the whole body of priests and curés at Havre, old and young, to uplift their voices with becoming enthusiasm in benediction of “Napoleon le Grand!” Indeed they seemed to be of opinion that, having taken their ground, it would be as well to appear in earnest; and never did they work harder than in chanting a _Te Deum laudamus_ in honour of their old master’s return: to be serious, I believe they _durst_ not have done otherwise; for I heard some of the military say very decidedly, that if the priests played any tricks upon the occasion, they would _hash_ them!

The observation which surprised me most of all was, that though the two parties had declared themselves, and the _fleur-de-lis_ and eagle were displayed in direct opposition to each other throughout the town;—though the sub-prefect had run away, whilst the tricoloured flag was floating in one place, and the white one in another,—no _practical_ animosity or ill blood whatsoever broke out amongst the respective partisans. The bustle somewhat resembled that of an English election, but had none of the violence or dissipation, and only half the noise, which circulate on those august occasions. On the contrary, civility was maintained by every one: the soldiers were very properly kept in their barracks; and an Englishman could scarcely conceive so polite, peaceable, temperate, and cheerful a _revolution_—more particularly as neither party could tell on which side the _treason_ would ultimately rest.

At length orders came from Napoleon, at Lyons, that the imperial army should be recruited; while, at the very moment this order arrived, some of the merchants and officers of the national guards were actually beating up for the royal armament. The drums of the respective partisans rattled away through every street, and the recruiters often passed each other with the utmost courtesy: not one man was seen in a state of intoxication on either side. Meanwhile there was no lack of recruits to range themselves under either standard; and it was most curious to observe that these men very frequently changed their opinions and their party before sunset! I think most recruits joined the king’s party: his serjeants had plenty of money, while Napoleon’s had none; and this was a most tempting distinction—far better than any abstract consideration of political benefit. Many of the recruits managed matters even better than the priests, for they took the _king’s_ money in the morning, and the _emperor’s_ cockade in the afternoon; so that they could not be accused on either side of _unqualified_ partiality. The votaries of _le Désiré_ and _le Grand_ were indeed so jumbled and shuffled together, (like a pack of cards when on the point of being dealt,) that nobody could possibly decipher which had the best chance of succeeding.

The English alone cast a dark and gloomy shade over the gay scene that surrounded them; their lengthened visages, sunken eyes, and hanging features proclaiming their terror and despondency. Every one fancied he should be incarcerated for life, if he could not escape before Napoleon arrived at Paris, which seemed extremely problematical; and I really think I never saw a set of men in better humour for suicide than my fellow-countrymen, who stalked like ghosts along the pier and sea-side.

The British consul, Mr. Stuart, (a _littérateur_ and a gentleman, but whose wine generally regulated his nerves, while his nerves governed his understanding,) as good-natured a person as could possibly be about a _couple of bottles_ after dinner, (for so he counted _time_,—a mode of computation in which he certainly was as regular as clockwork,) called a general meeting of all the British subjects in Havre, at his apartments; and after each had taken a bumper of Madeira to “George the Third,” he opened the business in as long and flowery an harangue, in English and Latin, as the grape of Midi and its derivative distillations could possibly dictate.

“My friends and countrymen,” said Mr. Stuart, “I have good _consular_ reasons for telling you all, that if Bonaparte gets into Paris, he will order every mother’s babe of you, men, women, and children, _et cetera_, into gaol for _ten_ or _twelve_ years at the least computation! and I therefore advise you all, _magnus_, _major_, _maximus_, and _parvus_, _minor_, _minimus_, to take yourselves off without any delay great or small, and thereby _save your bacon_ while you have the power of doing so. Don’t wait to take care of your property; _nulla bona_ is better than _nulla libertas_. As for me, I am bound _ex-officio_ to _devote_ myself for my country! I will risk my life (and here he looked heroical) to protect your property; I will remain behind!”

The conclusion of the consul’s speech was a signal for the simultaneous uplifting of many voices.—“I’ll be off certainly!” exclaimed one terrified gentleman.—“Every man for himself, God for us all: the _devil take the hindmost_!” shouted another.—“Do you mean to affront me, Sir?” demanded the worthy self-devoted consul, starting from his seat. A regular uproar now ensued; but the thing was soon explained, and tranquillity restored.

Two ships were next day hired, at an enormous price, to carry the English out of the reach of Bonaparte. The wind blew a gale, but no hurricane could be so terrific as Napoleon. Their property was a serious consideration to my fellow-countrymen; however, there was no choice: they therefore packed up all their small valuables, and relinquished the residue to the protection of _Providence_ and the _consul_.

In a short time all was ready; and, as Mr. Stuart had advised, men, women, children, and lap-dogs, all rushed to the quay; while, in emulation of the orator at the consul’s, “the devil take the _hindmost_,” if not universally expressed, was universally the principle of action. Two children, in this most undignified sort of confusion, fell into the sea, but were picked up. The struggling, screeching, scrambling, &c. were at length completed; and in a shorter time than might be supposed, the English population were duly shipped, and away they went under a hard gale. Dr. Johnson calls a ship a prison with the chance of being drowned in it; and as if to prove the correctness of the doctor’s definition, before night was over one vessel was ashore, and the whole of its company just on the point of increasing the _population_ of the British Channel.