Personal Sketches of His Own Times, Vol. 2 (of 3)

BATTLE OF SEVRES AND ISSY

Afternoon ramble on the Boulevard Italien – Interrupted by the report of artillery —Sang-froid of the fair sex – Female soldiers – The author repairs to a point commanding the field of battle – Site of the projected palace of the king of Rome – Rapidity of the movements of the French as contrasted with those of the Prussians – Blowing up of the bridge of St. Cloud – Visit of the author to the encampment in the Champ de Mars – The wounded soldier.

My anxiety to witness a battle, without being a party in it, did not long remain ungratified. While walking one afternoon on the Boulevard Italien, a very heavy firing of musketry and cannon burst upon my ear. It proceeded from up the course of the Seine, in the direction of Sevres. I knew at once that an engagement was going forward, and my heart bounded at the thought: the sounds appeared to me of all others the most sublime and tremendous. A light breeze bore them to the city. One moment there was a rattling of musketry, which appeared nearer or more distant according to the strength of the air which wafted its volleys; another, the heavy echo of ordnance rolled through the groves and valley of Sevres, and the village of Issy; again, these seemed superseded by a separate firing, as of small bodies of skirmishers; and the whole was mingled with the distant yet audible shouts and hurras of the assailants and assailed. Altogether, my nerves experienced a sensation different from any that had preceded it, and alike distinguished both from bravery and trepidation.

As yet the battle had only reached me by one sense; although imagination, it is true, supplied the place of all. Though my eyes viewed not the field of action, yet the sanguinary conflict moved before my fancy in most vivid colouring.

I was in company with Mr. Lewins when the first firing roused our attention. “A treble line” of ladies were seated in front of Tortoni’s, under the lofty arbours of the Boulevard Italien, enjoying their ices, attended by a host of unmilitary chers-amis, who, together with mendicant songsters and musicians, were dispersed along that line of female attraction, which “occupied” one side of the entire boulevard, and with scarcely any interruption “stretched away” to the Porte St. Martin. Strange to say, scarcely a movement was excited amongst the fair part of the society by the report of the ordnance and musketry; not one beauty rose from her chair, or checked the passage of the refreshing ice to her pouting lips. I could not but be astonished at this apathy, as I supposed, which was only disturbed by the thunder of a tremendous salvo of artillery, announcing that the affair was becoming more general.

“Ah! mon Dieu! ma chère!” said one lovely creature to another, as they sat at the entrance of Tortoni’s: “sacre Dieu! qu’est-ce que ce superbe coup-là?” – “C’est le canon, ma chère!” replied her friend: “la bataille est à la pointe de commencer.” – “Ah! oui, oui! c’est bien magnifique! écoutez! écoutez!” – “Ah!” returned the other, tasting with curious deliberation her lemon-ice, “cette glace est très excellente! – mon Dieu! mon Dieu!”

Meanwhile the firing continued. I could stand it no longer; I was stung with curiosity, and determined to see the battle. Being at a very little distance from our hotel, I recommended Lady Barrington and my family to retire thither, (which advice they did not take,) and I immediately set off to seek a good position somewhere in the neighbourhood of the fight, which I imagined could not be far distant, as the sounds seemed every moment to increase in strength. It had reached Issy, and seemed approaching. I now perceived a great many gendarmes singly, and in profound silence, strolling about the boulevard, and remarking (though without seeming to notice) every thing and every body.

I had no mode of accounting for the fortitude and indifference of so many females, but by supposing that a great proportion of them might have been themselves campaigning with their husbands or their chers-amis– a circumstance that, I was told, had been by no means uncommon during the wars of the revolution and of Napoleon. But that could not have been the case with at least five hundred who then were seated on the boulevard under the trees.

One lady told me herself, some time after, that she did not dress for ten years in the attire of a female: her husband had acted, I believe, as commissary general. They are both living and well, to the best of my knowledge, at this moment: the lady is particularly clever and intelligent. “Nothing,” said she to me one day, “nothing, sir, can longer appear strange to me. I really think I have witnessed an example of every thing good or evil!” and from the various character of the scenes through which she had passed, I believe her.

A Jew physician living in Rue Richelieu, (a friend of Baron Rothschild,) who had a tolerable telescope, had lent it to me. I first endeavoured to gain admission into the pillar in the Place Vendome, but was refused. I saw that the roof of Nôtre Dame was already crowded, and knew not where to go. I durst not pass a barrier, and I never felt the tortures of curiosity so strongly upon me! At length I got a cabriolet, and desired the man to drive me to any point from whence I might see the battle. He accordingly took me to the farther end of Rue de Bataille, at Chailloit, in the vicinity whereof was the site marked out for the palace of the King of Rome. He seemed to me scarcely to regard any thing about him. (He afterward told me his curious history, which a future volume may contain.) Here was a green plat, with a few half-dead trees; and under one of those I sat down upon the grass and overlooked distinctly the entire left of the engagement and the sanguinary combat which was fought on the slopes, lawn, and about the house and courts of Bellevue.

Whoever has seen the site of that intended palace must recollect that the view it commands is one of the finest imaginable. It had been the hanging gardens of a monastery: the Seine flows at the foot of the slope, and thence the eye wanders to the hill of Bellevue and onward to St. Cloud. The village of Issy, which commences at the foot of Bellevue, stretches itself at some distance thinly up the banks of the Seine toward Paris, nearly to Vaugirard, one of the suburbs – which leaves a border of meadow and garden ground here and there to edge the waters. Extensive, undulating hills rise up high behind the Hotel de Bellevue, and there the first attack had been made upon the Prussians. In front the Pont de Jena opens the entrance to the Champ de Mars, terminated by the magnificent gilt dome of the Ecole Militaire and Hôtel des Invalides, with the city of Paris stretching to the left.

It was then a tranquil evening: the sun, in all his glory, piercing through the smoke which seemed to mount reluctantly from the field of battle, and illuminating its sombre flakes, likened it to a rich gilded canopy moving over the combatants.

The natural ardour of my mind was peculiarly stimulated on this occasion. Never having witnessed before any scene of a corresponding nature, I could not (and indeed sought not to) repress a sensation of awe: I felt my breathing short or protracted as the character of the scene varied. An old soldier would no doubt have laughed at the excess of my emotion – particularly as the affair, although sharp, was not of a very extensive nature. It was said that the Prussians, &c. amounted to thirty thousand. If so, they were on the left, out of my sight. The French certainly were not so numerous. I guessed twenty thousand. There were no English. But there were of Brunswickers, I think, some regiments in scarlet. I at the time took them for English. There was no charge of cavalry, that I saw: but great bodies were in motion on the plain of Grenelle and the road.

One observation was forcibly impressed on me; namely, that both the firing and manœuvring of the French were a great deal more rapid than those of the Prussians. When a change of position was made, the Prussians marched– the French ran: their advance was quicker – their retreat less regular: but their rallying seemed to me most extraordinary: dispersed detachments of the French reassociated with the rapidity of lightning, and advanced again as if they had never separated.

The combats within the hotel of Bellevue and the courts behind were of course concealed: but if I might judge from the constant firing within – the echoes – the loud crash of doors and casements – the sudden rushes from the house – the storming at the entrance, and the battles on the lawn and in the hall, – there must have been great carnage. In my simplicity, I only wondered how any body could escape.

The battle now extended to, and quite filled the village of Issy, which was taken and retaken many times. Neither party could keep possession of it – scouting in and out as fortune wavered; then storming again; then retiring in disorder; and again, in narrow columns, forcing back into the streets. At length, probably from the actual exhaustion of the men, the fire of musketry slackened, but the cannon still rolled at intervals around Sevres. In the wood of Sevres the firing was incessant; and a Prussian shell fell into the celebrated manufactory of that place, while several cannon-shot penetrated the handsome hotel which stands on an eminence above Sevres, and killed fourteen or fifteen Prussian officers, who were in a group taking refreshment.49

I now began to feel weary of gazing on the boisterous monotony of the fight, which, so far as any advantage appeared to be gained on either side, might be interminable. A man actually engaged in battle can see but little and think less; but a secure and contemplative spectator has open to him a field of inexhaustible reflection; and my faculties were fast becoming abstracted from the scene of strife, when a loud and uncommon noise announced some singular event, and once more excited me. We could not perceive whence it came; but guessed, and truly, that it proceeded from the demolition of the bridge of St. Cloud, which the French had blown up. A considerable number of French troops now appeared withdrawing from the battle, and passing to our side of the river, many on rafts, far above the bridge, which was just under our feet. We could not tell the cause of this movement, but it was reported by a man who came into the field that the English army at St. Denis was seen in motion, and that some attack on our side of the city itself might be expected. I knew not the fact, and I scarcely believed this: yet the retreat of a part of the French troops tended not to discourage the idea; and as the national guards were heard beating to arms in all directions of the city, I thought it most advisable to return, which I immediately did before the firing had ceased, and in the same cabriolet. Immense bodies of the national guards were collecting in companies; but I believe did not form into any columns.

On my return, judge of my astonishment at finding the very same assemblage in the very same place on the boulevard as when I left it; nor did a single being, except my own family, express the slightest curiosity upon hearing whence I had come.

The English army, as it turned out, did not move. The firing, after awhile, totally ceased; and the French cavalry (which I did not see engaged) with some infantry marched into the Champ de Mars, to take up their night’s position.

Having thus been gratified by the view of what to my unaccustomed eyes seemed a great battle, and would, I suppose, by military men be termed nothing more than a long skirmish, I met Sir Francis Gold, who proposed that we should walk to the Champ de Mars, “just,” said he, “to see what the fellows are doing after the battle.”

To this I peremptorily objected, for reasons which must be obvious, and which seemed to prohibit any Englishman in his sober senses from going into such company at such a moment.

“Never mind,” continued Sir Francis, “I love my skin every bit as well as you do yours; and depend upon it we shall not meet the slightest molestation. If we go with a lady in our company, be assured we may walk about and remain in the place as long as we please. I can speak from experience!”

“Ah, true, true, perhaps: but where is the lady?” said I.

“I will introduce you to a very charming one of my acquaintance,” answered Sir Francis, “and I’ll request her to do us the favour of accompanying us.” I now half-reluctantly agreed; curiosity prevailed as usual, and away we went to the lodgings of Sir Francis’s fair friend. I knew Sir Francis could not be in love with danger, though he might with his fair protectress.

The lady certainly did not dishonour the epithet Sir Francis had bestowed on her: she was a young, animated, French girl, rather pretty, interesting, and very well dressed; – one of those lively creatures who, you would say, always have their “wits about them.” My friend explained the request he had come to prefer, and begged her to make her toilet with all convenient expedition. The lady certainly did not dissent, but her acquiescence was followed by a most hearty and seemingly uncontrollable burst of laughter. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” exclaimed she; “but really I cannot help laughing. I will, with pleasure, walk with you; but the idea of my playing the escort to two gallant English chevaliers, both d’âge mûr, is too ridiculous! However, n’importe! I will endeavour to defend you, though against a whole army!”

The thing unquestionably did look absurd, and I could not refrain myself from joining in the laugh. Sir Francis too became infected, and we made a regular chorus of it, after which the gay Frenchwoman resumed: —

“But surely, Sir Francis, you pay the French a great compliment; for you have often told me how you alone used to put to flight whole troops of rebels in your own country, and take entire companies with your single hand!”

Champagne was now introduced, and Sir Francis and I having each taken a glass or two, perhaps more, at the lady’s suggestion, to keep up our courage, we sallied out in search of adventures to the Champ de Mars. The sentinel at the entrance demurred a little on our presenting ourselves; but our fair companion, with admirable presence of mind, put it to his gallantry, – “Can a gallant soldier,” said our fair guardian, “refuse admittance to a lady and her uncles?” The polite soldier, with very good grace, permitted us to enter. As she passed, she held out her hand for him to kiss, which he did most respectfully!

Once fairly inside, we strolled about for above two hours, not only unmolested, but absolutely unnoticed – though I cannot say I felt perfectly at ease. It is certain that the presence of the female protected us. The respect paid to women by the French soldiery is apparent at all their meetings, whether for conviviality or service; and I have seen as much decorum, nay more, preserved in an alehouse festivity at Paris, as at the far-famed Almack’s in London.

The scene within the barrier must have appeared curious to any Englishman. The troops had been about an hour on the ground after fighting all the evening in the village of Issy. I did not see the cavalry actually engage, and their horses were picketed. The soldiers had got, in all directions, tubs of water, and were washing their hands and faces, which had been covered with dirt, their mouths being quite blackened by the cartridges. In a little time every thing was arranged for a merry-making: some took off their coats, to dance the lighter; the bands played; an immense number of women, of all descriptions, had come to welcome them back; and in half an hour after we arrived there, some hundred couples were at the quadrilles and waltzes, as if nothing had occurred to disturb their tranquillity! It appeared, in fact, as if they had not only totally forgotten what had passed that day, but cared not a sou as to what might happen the next.

Numerous old women, with frying-pans strapped before them, with a little charcoal underneath, were incessantly frying sliced potatoes, livers, and bacon together: we tasted some of these dainties, and found them really quite savoury. Some soldiers, who were tired or perhaps slightly hurt, were sitting in the fosses cooking soup, and, together with the venders of bottled beer, &c. stationed on the elevated banks, gave the whole a picturesque appearance. I saw a very few men who had rags tied round their heads; some who limped a little; and others who had their hands in slings: but nobody seemed to regard these, or indeed any thing except their own pleasure. The wounded had been carried to hospitals, and I suppose the dead were left on the ground for the night. The guards mounted at the Champ de Mars were all fresh troops.

In contrast with this scene, I digress to remark that there were few circumstances attending that memorable era which struck me more forcibly than the miserable condition of those groups of fugitives who continued every hour arriving in Paris during the few days immediately succeeding their signal discomfiture at Waterloo. These unfortunate stragglers arrived in parties of two, three, or four, and in a state of utter destitution – most of them without arms, many without shoes, and some almost naked. A great proportion of them were wounded and bandaged: they had scarcely rested at all on their return; in short, I never beheld such pitiable figures.

One of these unfortunate men struck me forcibly one evening as an object of interest and compassion. He was limping along the Boulevard Italien: his destination I knew not; he looked elderly, but had evidently been one of the finest men I ever saw, and attached, I rather think, to the imperial guard. His shoes were worn out; his clothes in rags; scanty hairs were the only covering of his head; one arm was bandaged with a bloody rag, and slung from his neck by a string; his right thigh and leg were also bandaged, and he seemed to move with pain and difficulty, yet proudly.

Figures of a similar description were, it is true, so common during that period, that nobody paid them much attention: this man, however, somehow or other, interested me peculiarly. It was said that he was going to some hospital where he would be taken good care of: but I felt greatly for the old warrior; and crossing the street, put, without saying a word, a dollar into his yellow and trembling hand.

He stopped, looked at me attentively, then at the dollar; and appearing doubtful whether he ought to receive it, said, with an emphatic tone, “Not for charity! pas – pour l’amour de Dieu!”

I saw his pride was kindled, and replied, “No, my friend, in respect to your bravery!” and I was walking away, when I heard his voice exclaiming, “Monsieur, Monsieur!” I turned, and, as he hobbled up to me, he surveyed me in silence from head to foot; then, looking earnestly in my face, he held out his hand with the dollar: “Excuse me, Monsieur,” said he, in a firm and rather proud tone, – “you are an Englishman, and I cannot receive bounty from the enemy of my emperor!”

Good God! thought I, what a man must Napoleon have been! This incident alone affords a key to all his victories.

CAPITULATION OF PARIS

Retirement of the army of Vilette behind the Loire – Occupation of the French capital by the allies – Thoughts on the disposition of the Bourbon government toward Great Britain – Conduct of the allies after their possession of Paris – Infringements of the treaty – Removal of the works of art from the Louvre – Reflections on the injurious result of that measure to the British student —Liberal motive operating on the English administration of that period – Little interludes got up between the French king and the allies – Louis the Eighteenth’s magnanimous letters – Threatened destruction of the Pont de Jena by Marshal Blucher – Heroic resolution of His Most Christian Majesty to perish in the explosion.

The rapid succession of these extraordinary events bore to me the character of some optical delusion, and my mind was settling into a train of reflections on the past and conjectures as to the future, when Fouché surrendered Paris, and gave up France to the discretion of its enemies; at least, on a capitulation, the terms of which were too indefinite to protect the spirit of it. In a few hours after I saw that enthusiastic, nay that half-frantic army of Vilette (in the midst of which I had an opportunity of witnessing a devotion to its chief which no defeat could diminish) on the point of total annihilation. I saw the troops, sad and crestfallen, marching out of Paris to consummate, behind the Loire, the fall of France as a warlike kingdom. With arms still in their hands, with a great park of artillery, and commanded by able generals, yet were they constrained to turn their backs on their metropolis, abandoning it to the “tender mercies” of the Russian Cossacks, whom they had so often conquered.

I saw likewise Fouché, Duke of Otranto (who had with impunity betrayed his patron and his master) betraying, in their turn, his own tools and instruments – signing lists of proscription for the death or exile of those whose ill fortune or worse principle had rendered his dupes; and thus confirming, in my mind, the scepticism as to all public men and measures which had long been growing on me. With all the faults of Napoleon, he never could have merited the superlative ingratitude of those whom he had raised from nothing, and fostered in his bosom, to destroy himself.