Chapter II (3)

On reading over the foregoing postscript of the letter to my poor friend Burne (who has lately paid his debt on demand to Nature), some observations occur to me respecting Ireland herself, her parties, and species of government, not uncongenial to the subject of that letter. The justice of these observations each day’s experience tends to prove; and I firmly believe many members of the British government at this moment view the matter precisely as I do. They find it difficult, however, to disentangle themselves from the opinions which have been so frequently expressed by themselves heretofore, and which, had they been equally informed then as now, would never, I apprehend, have been entertained. The people of England, and also of some continental kingdoms, are fully aware of the distracted state of Ireland, but are at a loss to account for it. It is, however, now in _proof_, that twenty-seven years of _Union_ have been twenty-seven years of _beggary_ and of _disturbance_; and this result, I may fairly say, I always foresaw. The only question now asked is, “What is to be done?” and the only comment on this question that it is in my power to make is, “a council of peace is better than a council of war.” Much of the unfortunate state of that country may be attributed to the kindred agency of two causes—namely, fanaticism in Ireland, and ignorance (I mean, want of _true_ information) in Great Britain. The Irish are deluded by contesting factions, and by the predominance of a couple of watchwords;[39] while the great body of the English people know as little of Ireland (except of its disturbances) as they do of Kamschatka; and the king’s ministers, being unluckily of different opinions, go on debating and considering what is best to be done, and meanwhile doing nothing. If they do not take care, in some time there may be nothing left _them_ to do. This is now my decided sentiment. A spectator can see the play much better than the gamester.

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Footnote 39:

An ancient law still appears among the statutes of Ireland to prohibit
the natives of that country from using the words _Crum-a-boo_, and
_Butler-a-hoo_, as being the watchwords of two most troublesome
hostile factions, which kept, at the period of the prohibition, the
whole nation in a state of uproar. In my mind, a revival of that
salutary enactment would not be amiss just now. A similar case (as
regards the existing state of things) may be easily made out; and, as
we lawyers say, “_like case like rule_.” As the statute is still upon
our books, there is a precedent at hand, and it will only be necessary
to amend it by changing the two terms _Crum-a-boo_ and _Butler-a-hoo_,
into _Ascendancy-a-boo_ and _Emancipation-a-hoo_! The penalty for
raising these cries might be the treadmill; and there can be little
doubt that so wholesome a measure would speedily tranquillise the
country, and save a good deal of _rope_, some _anatomising_, and the
turning _religion_ into a subject for _debating societies_.

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I firmly believe England now means well and honourably to the Irish nation on all points, but I think she is totally mistaken as to measures. Neither honourable intentions, nor Sunday-schools, nor the four rules of arithmetic, nor _Bible societies_, can preserve people from _starving_: education is a very good thing in its proper place, but a sorry substitute for food; and I know the Irish well enough to say they never will be taught _peace_ upon an _empty_ stomach. Work creates industry, and industry produces the means of averting hunger; and when they have work enough and food enough, are permitted to dance on Sundays, and _fight_ once a year, they may be turned to _any thing_. I speak, of course, of the lowest orders: the class immediately above those is now very unmanageable, because it is supported by its starving inferiors, who depend upon it alone for subsistence—the higher being absent. The nature and materials of the present species of Irish constitution appear to me totally unadapted to the necessities of that country. The Union never should have existed, or it should have been more _perfect_:—no _half-mounted_ government can ever rule Ireland.

It is but too obvious that the natural attachment which ought to subsist between Great Britain and Ireland is _not increasing_, though on the due cultivation of that attachment so entirely depends the strength, the peace, and the prosperity of the United Empire; yet I fearlessly repeat that, in my mind, the _English_ members of the imperial parliament mean well by Ireland, and only require to ascertain her true circumstances to act for her tranquillisation. Politically they may be sure that the _imperium in imperio_, as at present operating in that country, is not calculated to reform it. The protecting body of the country gentlemen have evacuated Ireland, and in their stead we now find official clerks, griping agents, haughty functionaries, proud clergy, and agitating demagogues. The resident aristocracy of Ireland, if not quite extinguished, is hourly diminishing; and it is a political truism, that the co-existence of an oligarchy without a cabinet; a resident executive and an absent legislature; tenants without landlord, and magistracy without legal knowledge;[40] must be, from its nature, a form of constitution at once incongruous, inefficient, and dangerous. Nobody can appreciate the native loyalty of the Irish people better than his present Majesty, whose reception in Ireland was enthusiastic: they adored him when he left it; and amidst millions of reputed rebels he wanted no protection: every man would have been his life-guard! I speak not however of corporations or guilds—of gourmands, or city feasters: these have spoken for themselves, and loudly too. His Majesty’s wise and paternal orders were ridiculed and disobeyed by them the very moment his back was turned! With such folks the defunct King William seems more popular than the living King George.[41]

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Footnote 40:

I allude here more particularly to the _clerical justices_ of Ireland.
I believe I only coincide with some of the first English lawyers of
this day, in maintaining that clergymen should confine themselves to
_spiritual_ and _charitable_ duties, in doing justice to which ample
occupation would be afforded them.

Footnote 41:

I lately met rather a noted corporator of Dublin in Paris. Of course I
did not spare my interrogations as to the existing state of things;
and in the course of conversation I asked why, after the king’s visit
to Dublin, and his conciliatory admonitions, the corporation still
appeared to prefer the _Boyne Water_ and _King William_? “Lord bless
you, Sir Jonah! (replied the corporator) as for the _wather_, we don’t
care a rap dam about that; but if we once gave up ould King William,
we’d give up all our _plisures_! Only for the ‘glorious mimory’ we
would not have a toast now to get drunk with—eh! Sir Jonah? ha! ha!
ha!” To humour the corporator, I did not hesitate to join in the
hearty laugh which he set up in satisfaction at his own waggery.

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Sound government, and the sufferance of active local factions are, in my view of things, utterly incompatible. Faction and fanaticism (no matter on _which_ side ranged) ought to be put down to the ground—_gently_, if possible; but if a _strong hand_ be necessary, it should not be withheld. In Ireland it has now proceeded too far to be longer blinked at. The British cabinet may be somewhat divided; but they will soon see the imperative necessity of firmness and unanimity. It is shameful that the whole empire should thus be kept in a state of agitation by the pretended theological animosities of two contending sects—a great proportion of whose respective partisans are in no way influenced by _religion_, the true object of their controversy being “_who shall get the uppermost_.” It is a struggle that cannot continue. There is a “tide” in the affairs of empires as well as of individuals: every _fever_ has a _crisis_. Ireland is in one now. I am no factionist, I am no fanatic: I am the partisan only of tranquillity in the country where I drew my first breath.

I learn from Ireland with great pleasure—indeed, I read of _general_ satisfaction being experienced at one of the ablest lawyers and most decisive, moderate, and unbiassed public functionaries of England having been presented as a head to my profession:—’tis a good beginning:—_ça ira!_

SCENES AT HAVRE DE GRACE.

Peace of 1814—The Bourbons and _émigrés_ generally—Motives of the author
in visiting the continent—His departure from England with his
family—Arrival at Havre de Grace—The _Côteau d’Ingouville_—Doctor
Sorerie and his _graduated scale_—The Pavilion Poulet—Price of
commodities at Havre—Rate of exchange—English assumption abroad—The
author’s rural retirement disturbed by Napoleon’s return from
Elba—Circumstances attending the announcement of this fact at
Havre—Previous demonstrations of the inhabitants of the town, and more
particularly of the military quartered there—Uniform of the old
guard—Two Russians mutilated by the mob—Retirement of Louis _le
Désiré_ from Paris—Curious variety of feeling manifested among the
people at Havre—Policy of the priests—Good humour of all
parties—Recruiting for the _Emperor_ and the _King_—Consternation of
the English at Havre—Meeting at the house of the consul, Mr. Stuart—A
vinous harangue—Prompt embarkation of the British—Accommodations of a
storehouse—The huissiers and the spring showers—_Signs_ of the times.

On the abdication of the Emperor Napoleon in the year 1814, my curiosity was greatly excited to view the alteration which different revolutions, a military government, and a long-protracted warfare, must necessarily have made in the manners, habits, and appearance of the French people. My ardent desire to see the emperor himself had been defeated by his abdication, and no hope remained to me of ever enjoying the sight of so celebrated a personage.

The royal family of France I had the honour of meeting often in society during the long visit with which they favoured the British nation;—the last time was at Earl Moira’s, one of their most zealous friends: my curiosity on that score was therefore quite satisfied. I had also known many, and had formed a very decisive opinion as to most, of their countrymen who had emigrated to England; nor has the experience acquired during my residence in France at all tended to alter the nature of that opinion. Some of these men have, I fear, the _worst memories_ of any people existing!—indeed, it should seem that since their return home, they must have drunk most plentifully of Lethe.

I was extremely desirous also to see the persons who had rendered themselves so conspicuous during the long and mighty struggle wherein the destinies of Europe were all at stake—the great heroes both of the field and cabinet; and, therefore, upon the restoration of King Louis, I determined to visit Paris, the rather as my family were infected with the same curiosity as myself.

Accordingly we set out on our journey, taking Havre de Grace in our route to the metropolis. I was then in a very declining state of health, and consequently unnerved and incapable of much energy either mental or corporeal. On arriving at Havre, I was so captivated by the fine air and beautiful situation of the Côteau d’Ingouville, (rising immediately over the town,) that we determined to tarry there a few months, and visit Paris in the spring, when my health and strength should be renovated; and never did any person recover both so rapidly as I did during the short period of my sojourn on that spot.

Doctor Sorerie, (the first physician at Havre,) told me that he divided the hill of Ingouville into three medical compartments: “the summit,” said he, “never requires the aid of a physician—the middle portion only twice a year—the base _always_.” His fanciful estimate, he assured me, was a perfectly true one; and, on the strength of that assurance, I rented the beautiful cottage on the summit of the hill, called the _Pavillon Poulet_, now occupied, I believe, by the American consul. All around was new to me: of course I was the more observing; and the result of my observations was, that I considered Havre, in 1815, as being a hundred years behind England in almost every thing. Tea was only sold there as a species of _medicine_, at the apothecaries’ shops; and articles of _cotton_ manufacture were in general more than double the price of _silk_ fabrics. The market was very good and very moderate; the hotels most execrable. But the most provoking of all things which I found at Havre was the rate of _exchange_: the utmost I could get for a one-pound Bank of England note was sixteen francs; or for an accepted banker’s bill, sixteen francs and a half to the pound (about fourteen shillings for my _twenty_). This kind of thing, in profound peace, surprised me, and the more particularly, as the English _guinea_ was at a premium, and the _smooth_ English _shilling_ at a _high_ premium, though of little intrinsic value.

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.

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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_.

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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.

Havre de Grace being thus emptied of the king of England’s subjects, who were “saving their bacon” at sea, in a violent hurricane, the consul began to take care of their property: but there being a thing called _loyer_, or _rent_, in France as well as in England, the _huissiers_ (bailiffs) of the town saved the consul a great deal of trouble respecting his guardianship in divers instances. Nevertheless, so far as he could, he most faithfully performed his promise to the fugitives, for the reception of whose effects he rented a large storehouse, and so far all was wisely, courteously, and carefully managed: but not exactly recollecting that the parties did not possess the property as _tenants in common_, the worthy consul omitted to have _distinct inventories_ taken of each person’s respective chattels, though, to avoid any risk of favouritism, he had all jumbled together; and such an heterogeneous medley was perhaps never seen elsewhere. Clothes, household furniture, kitchen utensils, books, linen, empty bottles, musical instruments, &c. strewed the floor of the storehouse in “most admired disorder.” All being safely stowed, locks, bolts, and bars were elaborately constructed, to exclude such as might feel a disposition to picking and stealing; but, alas! the best intentions and the most cautious provisions are sometimes frustrated by accident or oversight. In the present instance, in his extraordinary anxiety to secure the door, Mr. Stuart was perfectly heedless of the _roof_; and in consequence, the intrusion of the rain, which often descended in torrents, effectually saved most of the proprietors the trouble of identifying their goods after the result of the glorious battle of Waterloo. Disputes also were endless as to the right and title of various claimants to various articles; and in the result, the _huissiers_ and the landlord of the storehouse were once more intruders upon the protected property.

To return—Havre being completely evacuated by my countrymen, it now became necessary to strike out some line of proceeding for myself and family. Sir William Johnson, who was in the town, had participated in the general alarm, and had set off with his household for the Netherlands, advising me to do the same. I was afterward informed, though falsely, that they all foundered in a dyke near Antwerp. In the mean time, the transformation of things at Havre became complete, and perfect order quickly succeeded the temporary agitation. The tri-coloured flag was again hoisted at the port; and all the painters of the town were busily employed in changing the royal signs into imperial ones. One auberge, _Louis le Désiré_, was changed into a _blue boar_: the _Duchesse d’Angoulême_ became _the Virgin Mary_: _royal_ was new-gilt into _imperial_ once more at the lottery offices: _fleurs-de-lis_ were metamorphosed, in a single day, into beautiful _spread-eagles_: and the _Duc de Berry_, who had hung creaking so peaceably on his post before the door of an hotel, became, in a few hours, _St. Peter_ himself, with the keys of Heaven dangling from his little finger!

COMMENCEMENT OF THE HUNDRED DAYS.

A family council—Journey from Havre to Paris—Attention of the French
officers to the author and his party—Peaceable condition of the
intervening country—Thoughts on revolutions in general—Ireland in
1798—Arrival in the French capital—Admirable state of the police—Henry
Thevenot—Misgivings of the author—His interview with Count
Bertrand—Polite conduct of the Count—The Emperor’s chapel—Napoleon at
mass—His deportment—Treasonable garments—Col. Gowen—Military
inspection after mass—Alteration in the manner of the
Emperor—Enthusiasm of the soldiers.

To see Napoleon, or not to see Napoleon,—that was the question! and well weighed it was in my domestic republic. After a day’s reasoning, _pro_ and _con_, (curiosity being pitted against fear, and women in the question,) the matter was still undecided, when our friends the colonel and the dirty doctor came to visit us, and set the point at rest, by stating that the regiments at Havre had declared unanimously for the emperor, and that the colonel had determined to march next day direct upon Paris; that therefore if we were disposed to go thither, and would set off at the same time, the doctor should take care of our safety, and see that we had good cheer on our journey to the metropolis.

This proposal was unanimously adopted; we were at peace with France, and might possibly remain so; and the curiosity of three ladies, with my own to back it, proved to be totally irresistible. A new sub-prefect also having arrived in the town, came to see us; expressed his regret that the English should have deemed it necessary to quit the place; and gave us a letter of introduction to his wife, who lived in the Rue St. Honoré, at Paris. We all believed there would be no war.

We immediately packed up. I procured three stout horses to my carriage, and away we went after the advanced guard of the (as well as I recollect) 41st regiment. The soldiers seemed to me as if they thought they never could get to Napoleon soon enough: they marched with surprising rapidity; and after a most agreeable journey, we arrived at the good city of Paris without any let or hindrance; having experienced from the dirty doctor every possible attention. We were sure of the best cheer at any place we halted at; and the more so as the advanced guard only preceded us one stage, and the main body of the troops was a stage behind us. We were immediately escorted by four mounted soldiers, who were in attendance upon our medical friend. I have learnt since that this kind and firm-hearted man escaped the campaign and returned to Italy: the colonel was shot dangerously at Quatre Bras, but I understand his wounds did not prove mortal.

Our route from Havre to Paris exhibited one general scene of peace and tranquillity, not dashed by the slightest symptom of revolution. The national guards every where appeared to have got new clothing, and were most assiduously learning in the villages to hold up their heads, and take long strides and lock steps, but (for any thing that appeared to the contrary) solely for their own amusement. The same evidences of undisturbed serenity and good-humour were displayed in all directions, and the practice of military exercises by the national guards was the only warlike indication of any kind throughout the whole extent of country we traversed.

On our arrival at the capital we found no exception therein to the tranquillity of the provinces. People at a distance are apt to conceive that a _revolution_ must necessarily be a most terrific affair—a period of anarchy and confusion, when every thing is in a state of animosity, bustle, and insecurity. This is in some instances a great mistake; (although, generally speaking, true enough;) for, on the other hand, many modern revolutions have been effected, governments upset, dynasties annihilated, and kings trucked, with as little confusion as the exchanging a gig-horse. I have indeed seen more work made about the change of a hat than of a diadem; more anxiety expressed touching a cane than a sceptre; and never did any revolution more completely prove the truth of these remarks than that in France during March, 1815, when Napoleon quietly drove up post, in a chaise and four, to the palace of the Bourbons, and Louis XVIII. as quietly drove _off_ post, in a chaise and four, to avoid his visitor. Both parties, too, were driven back again, within three months, pretty nearly in the same kind of vehicle! Let my reader compare, for his edification, this bloodless revolution with the _attempt_ at revolution in the obscure corner of the globe from whence I sprang, _Anno Domini_ 1798 during the brief summer of which year there was, in secluded Ireland, (the _kingdom_ of Ireland, as it was then called,) more robbery, shooting, hanging, burning, piking, flogging, and picketing, than takes place in half a dozen of the best got-up continental revolutions—always excepting that great convulsion which agitated our French neighbours toward the close of the eighteenth century.

During the interval of the Hundred Days, and some time subsequently, I kept a regular diary, wherein I accurately took down every important circumstance, except some which I then considered much safer in my mind than under my hand; and a few of these are now, for the first time, submitted to the public. After some days’ stay in Paris, I began to feel rather awkward. I found very few of my fellow-countrymen had remained there, and that there seemed to exist but little partiality toward the English. But the police was perfect, and no outrage, robbery, or breach of the peace was heard of; nor could I find that there were any political prisoners in the gaols, or in fact many prisoners of any kind. No dissolutes were suffered to parade the streets or contaminate the theatres; and all appeared polite, tranquil, and _correct_. I kept totally clear, meanwhile, both in word and deed, of political subjects.

I hired as footman a person then very well known in Paris, Henry Thevenot. I have since heard (but cannot vouch for the fact) that he is the Thevenot who attended Mr. Wakefield and Miss Turner. I have likewise recently been apprised that, at the time I engaged him, he was actually on the police establishment. Be that as it may, I certainly always considered Thevenot to be a mysterious kind of person, and, on one particular occasion, which will be hereafter mentioned, discharged him suddenly, without enlarging on my reasons: he was however an excellent servant. I had brought a passport from the new Sous-Préfet at Havre, which having lodged at the police-office, I felt quite at my ease; but, reflecting afterward upon the probable consequence in case of war or change of circumstances, I determined at once to take a bold step and go to the Palais de Bourbon Elysée, (where Napoleon resided,) and endeavour to see Count Bertrand, whom I proposed to inform truly of my situation, and ask for a _carte de sureté_, or a passport to return.

On the second day whereon I made an attempt to see him, with difficulty I succeeded in obtaining an audience. I told the count who I was, and all the facts, together with my doubts as to the propriety of remaining. He very politely said I should have what I required, but that a gentleman in my station was perfectly safe, and there could be no difficulty as to my remaining as long as I chose; and concluded by bowing me out, after a very short interview. As I was going down the steps an officer recalled me, and asked if I had any family in Paris. I replied in the affirmative—three ladies: mutual bows ensued, and I returned very well satisfied with the result of my visit to the Palais de Bourbon Elysée. At that time the emperor was employed day and night on business in the palace: at daybreak he occasionally rode out with some of his staff, to inspect the works at Montmartre; and on hearing this, my ancient curiosity to see so distinguished a person came afresh upon me.

The ensuing day, a man with a large letter-box buckled before him entered our apartment without the least ceremony, and delivered a letter with “Bertrand” signed at the corner. I was rather startled at the moment, as the occurrence certainly looked singular: nevertheless, the man’s appearance and manner were not such as to confirm unpleasant surmises, and I proceeded to unseal the envelope, which enclosed a billet to the Commissaire de Police at the prefecture, desiring him to grant me a _carte de sureté_ and a _sauf conduit_ through any part of France, if I chose to travel in that country—(the signature was not that of Bertrand):—the packet also contained a polite note from an aide-de-camp of the count, mentioning that he was directed to enclose me an admission to the emperor’s chapel, &c. and to say that, on production of my _carte de sureté_, our party would find a _free admission_ to the theatres and other spectacles of Paris.—So much politeness (so _very_ different from what would have been the case in England) both gratified and surprised me. I wrote a letter of thanks; but at our privy council, we agreed that, under existing circumstances, it would be better to say nothing of the _latter_ favour. I afterward discovered the friendly quarter through which it originated.

We hired a _calèche_ by the month, and set out with a determination to lose no time in seeing whatever was interesting; and in fact every thing was at that moment interesting to strangers. We spoke French sufficiently well for ordinary purposes; and determined, in short, to make ourselves as comfortable as possible.

I have already observed that I kept a diary during the Hundred Days, but afterward thought it most prudent not to commit any thing very important to writing. From that diary, so far as I pursued it, (and from scraps which nobody could understand but myself,) I have since selected some details and observations which have not hitherto been published, and for the collection of which my peculiar situation at Paris, and consequent opportunities, abundantly qualified me. Consistently with the foregoing part of these fragments, I shall not even attempt any thing like strict order or chronological arrangement, but leave, generally speaking, the various subjects brought before the reader’s attention to illustrate and explain each other. On this principle, I shall now, without further prelude, describe the first scene which impressed itself on my imagination.

The first Sunday after the receipt of our permission we repaired to the emperor’s chapel, to see that wonderful man, and to hear mass chanted in the first style of church music. Napoleon had already entered: the chapel was full; but we got seats very low down, near the gallery in which the emperor sat; and as he frequently leaned over the front, I had opportunities of partially seeing him. In the presence of so celebrated a man as Bonaparte, all other things sank into comparative insignificance, and the attention of the spectator was wholly absorbed by the one great object. Thus, in the present case, there was nothing either in the chapel or congregation that had power to divide my regards with the great Napoleon. As I have said, he often leaned over the front of the gallery wherein he sat; and I had thence an opportunity of observing that he seemed quite restless, took snuff repeatedly, stroked down his head with an abstracted air—and, in fact, was obviously possessed by feelings of deep anxiety. I should not suppose he had at the moment the least consciousness as to where he was, and that, of all things, the priests and the mass were the last likely to occupy his thoughts.

Whilst thus employed in reconnoitring the emperor as intensely as stolen glances afforded me means of doing, a buzz in the chapel caused me to turn round to ascertain its cause. Though low, it increased every moment, and was palpably directed toward us—so much so, that no doubt remained of our being somehow or other the sole objects of it. I then whispered my companions that our presence was evidently offensive in that place, and that we had better retire, when a French lady who sat near Lady Barrington, said to her, “Madame, you perceive that you are the object of this uncourteous notice.”—“Yes,” replied she, “it is become quite obvious.” The French lady smiled, and continued, “You had better _lay aside your shawls_!”—Lady Barrington and my daughter accordingly, taking the hint, threw off the shawls, which they suffered to drop at their feet, and at once the buzzing subsided, and no further explanation took place until the conclusion of the service.

At that moment several French ladies came up with great courtesy, to apologise for the apparent rudeness of the congregation, which they begged Lady Barrington to excuse on account of its cause, and to examine her shawl, on doing which, she would perceive that it was very unlucky (_bien mal à propos_) to wear such a one in presence of the emperor. She did so, and found that both hers and my daughter’s (though very fine ones) were unfortunately speckled all over with _fleurs-de-lis_! They had been sold her the preceding day by a knavish shopkeeper at the Passage Feydeau, who, seeing she was a foreigner, had put off these articles, thinking it a good opportunity to decrease his stock in that kind of gear, the sale whereof would probably be pronounced high treason before the month was over.

The confusion of the ladies at this _éclaircissement_ may be well conceived; but it was speedily alleviated by the elegant consolations and extreme politeness of the Frenchwomen. Among those who addressed us was a gentleman in the uniform of a colonel of the national guards; he spoke to me in perfect English, and begged to introduce his family to mine. I told him who I was, and he asked us to a dinner and ball next day at his house in the Rue de Clichy. We accepted his invitation, and were magnificently entertained. This was Colonel Gowen, the proprietor of the first stamp-paper manufactory in France—a most excellent, hospitable, and friendly person, but ill-requited, I fear, afterward by some of our countrymen. I subsequently experienced many proofs of his hospitality and attention.

An English lady (the wife of Dr. Marshall, an English physician) was also remarkably attentive and polite on this occasion, and gave her card to Lady Barrington, No. 10, Rue Pigale:—so that the affair of the shawl, so far from being _mal à propos_, seemed to turn out quite a lucky adventure.