Recollections of Europe

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I was once told, though not directly by an officer, that the English
dragoon neglected his horse in the field, selling the provender for
liquor, and that, as a consequence, the corps became inefficient;
whereas the French dragoon, being usually a sober man, was less exposed
to this temptation. This may, or may not, be true; but drunkenness is
now quite common in the French army, though I think much less so in the
cavalry than in the foot. The former are generally selected with some
care, and the common regiments of the line, as a matter of course,
receive the refuse of the conscription.

This conscription is after all, extremely oppressive and unjust, though
it has the appearance of an equal tax. Napoleon had made it so
unpopular, by the inordinate nature of his demands for men, that Louis
XVIII. caused an article to be inserted in the charter, by which it was
to be altogether abolished. But a law being necessary to carry out this
constitutional provision, the clause remains a perfect dead letter, it
being no uncommon thing for the law to be stronger than the constitution
even in America, and quite a common thing here. I will give you an
instance of the injustice of the system. An old servant of mine has been
drafted for the cavalry. I paid this man seven hundred francs a year,
gave him coffee, butter, and wine, with his food, and he fell heir to a
good portion of my old clothes. The other day he came to see me, and I
inquired into his present situation. His arms and clothes were found
him. He got neither coffee, wine, nor butter; and his other food, as a
matter of course, was much inferior to that he had been accustomed to
receive with me. His pay, after deducting the necessary demands on it in
the shape of regular contributions, amounts to about two sous a day,
instead of the two francs he got in my service.

Now, necessity, in such matters, is clearly the primary law. If a
country cannot exist without a large standing army, and the men are not
to be had by voluntary enlistments, a draft is probably the wisest and
best regulation for its security. But, taking this principle as the
basis of the national defence, a just and a paternal government would
occupy itself in equalizing the effects of the burden, as far as
circumstances would in any manner admit. The most obvious and efficient
means would be by raising the rate of pay to the level, at least, of a
scale that should admit of substitutes being obtained at reasonable
rates. This is done with us, where a soldier receives a full ration, all
his clothes, and sixty dollars a year.[10] It is true, that this would
make an army very costly, and, to bear the charge, it might be necessary
to curtail some of the useless magnificence and prodigality of the other
branches of the government; and herein is just the point of difference
between the expenditures of America and those of France. It must be
remembered, too, that a really free government, by enlisting the popular
feeling in its behalf through its justice, escapes all the charges that
are incident to the necessity of maintaining power by force, wanting
soldiers for its enemies without, and not for its enemies within. We
have no need of a large standing army, on account of our geographical
position, it is true; but had we the government of France, we should not
find that our geographical position exempted us from the charge.

[Footnote 10: He now receives seventy-two.]

You have heard a great deal of the celebrated soldiers who surrounded
Napoleon, and whose names have become almost as familiar to us as his
own. I do not find that the French consider the marshals men of singular
talents. Most of them reached their high stations on account of their
cleverness in some particular branch of their duties, and by their
strong devotion, in the earlier parts of their career, to their master.
Marechal Soult has a reputation for skill in managing the civil detail
of service. As a soldier, he is also distinguished for manoeuvring in
the face of his enemy, and under fire. Some such excitement appears
necessary to arouse his dormant talents. Suchet is said to have had
capacity; but, I think, to Massena, and to the present King of Sweden,
the French usually yield the palm in this respect. Davoust was a man of
terrible military energy, and suited to certain circumstances, but
scarcely a man of talents. It was to him Napoleon said, "remember, you
have but a single friend in France--myself; take care you do not lose
him." Lannes seems to have stood better than most of them as a soldier,
and Macdonald as a man. But, on the whole, I think it quite apparent
there was scarcely one among them all calculated to have carried out a
very high fortune for himself, without the aid of the directing genius
of his master. Many of them had ambition enough for anything; but it was
an ambition stimulated by example, rather than by a consciousness of
superiority.

In nothing have I been more disappointed than in the appearance of these
men. There is more or less of character about the exterior and
physiognomy of them all, it is true; but scarcely one has what we are
accustomed to think the carriage of a soldier. It may be known to you
that Moreau had very little of this, and really one is apt to fancy he
can see the civic origin in nearly all of them. While the common French
soldiers have a good deal of military coquetry, the higher officers
appear to be nearly destitute of it. Marechal Molitor is a fine man;
Marechal Marmont, neat, compact, and soldierly-looking; Marechal
Mortier, a grenadier without grace; Marechal Oudinot, much the same; and
so on to the end of the chapter. Lamarque is a little swarthy man, with
good features and a keen eye; but he is military in neither carriage nor
mien.

Crossing the Pont Royal, shortly after my arrival, in company with a
friend, the latter pointed out to me a stranger, on the opposite
side-walk, and desired me to guess who and what he might be. The subject
of my examination was a compact, solidly-built man, with a plodding
rustic air, and who walked a little lame. After looking at him a minute,
I guessed he was some substantial grazier, who had come to Paris on
business connected with the supplies of the town. My friend laughed, and
told me it was Marshal Soult. To my inexperienced eye, he had not a bit
of the exterior of a soldier, and was as unlike the engravings we see of
the French heroes as possible. But here, art is art; and like the man
who was accused of betraying another into a profitless speculation by
drawing streams on his map, when the land was without any, and who
defended himself by declaring no one ever saw a _map_ without streams,
the French artists appear to think every one should be represented in
his ideal character, let him be as _bourgeois_ as he may in truth. I
have seen Marshal Soult in company, and his face has much character. The
head is good, and the eye searching, the whole physiognomy possessing
those latent fires that one would be apt to think would require the
noise and excitement of a battle to awaken. La Fayette looks more like
an old soldier than any of them. Gerard, however, is both a handsome man
and of a military mien.

Now and then we see a _vieux moustache_ in the guards; but, on the
whole, I have been much surprised at finding how completely the army of
this country is composed of young soldiers. The campaigns of Russia, of
1813, 1814, and of 1815, left few besides conscripts beneath the eagles
of Napoleon. My old servant Charles tells me that the guardhouse is
obliged to listen to tales of the campaign of Spain, and of the
Trocadero!

The army of France is understood to be very generally disaffected. The
restoration has introduced into it, in the capacity of general officers,
many who followed the fortunes of the Bourbons into exile, and some, I
believe, who actually fought against this country in the ranks of her
enemies. This may be, in some measure, necessary, but it is singularly
unfortunate.

I have been told, on good authority, that, since the restoration of
1815, several occasions have occurred, when the court thought itself
menaced with a revolution. On all these occasions the army, as a matter
of course, has been looked to with hope or with distrust. Investigation
is said to have always discovered so bad a spirit, that little reliance
is placed on its support.

The traditions of the service are all against the Bourbons. It is true,
that very few of the men who fought at Marengo and Austerlitz still
remain; but then the recollection of their deeds forms the great delight
of most Frenchmen. There is but one power that can counteract this
feeling, and it is the power of money. By throwing itself into the arms
of the industrious classes, the court might possibly obtain an ally,
sufficiently strong to quell the martial spirit of the nation; but, so
far from pursuing such a policy, it has all the commercial and
manufacturing interests marshalled against it, because it wishes to
return to the _bon vieux tems_ of the old system.

After all, I much question if any government in France will have the army
cordially with it, that does not find it better employment than
mock-fights on the plain of Issy, and night attacks on the mimic
Trocadero.

LETTER IX.

Royal Dinner.--Magnificence and Comfort.--Salle de Diane.--Prince de
Conde.--Duke of Orleans.--The Dinner-table.--The Dauphin.--Sires de
Coucy.--The Dauphine.--Ancient Usages--M. de Talleyrand.--Charles X.
--Panoramic Procession.--Droll Effect.--The Dinner.--M. de Talleyrand's
Office.--The Duchesse de Berri.--The Catastrophe.--An Aristocratic
Quarrel.

To MRS. SINGLETON W. BEALL, GREEN BAY.

We have lately witnessed a ceremony that may have some interest for one
who, like yourself, dwells in the retirement of a remote frontier post.
It is etiquette for the kings of France to dine in public twice in the
year, viz. the 1st of January, and the day that is set apart for the
fete of the king. Having some idle curiosity to be present on one of
these occasions, I wrote the usual note to the lord in, waiting, or, as
he is called here, "le premier gentilhomme de la chambre du roi, de
service," and we got the customary answer, enclosing us tickets of
admission. There are two sorts of permissions granted on these
occasions: by one you are allowed to remain in the room during the
dinner; and by the other, you are obliged to walk slowly through the
salle, in at one side and out at the other, without, however, being
suffered to pause even for a moment. Ours were of the former
description.

The King of France having the laudable custom of being punctual, and as
every one dines in Paris at six, that best of all hours for a town life,
we were obliged to order our own dinner an hour earlier than common, for
looking at others eating on an empty stomach is, of all amusements, the
least satisfactory. Having taken this wise precaution, we drove to the
chateau at half after five, it not being seemly to enter the room after
the king, and, as we discovered, for females impossible.

Magnificence and comfort seldom have much in common. We were struck with
this truth on entering the palace of the king of France. The room into
which we were first admitted was filled with tall, lounging foot
soldiers, richly attired, but who lolled about the place with their caps
on, and with a barrack-like air that seemed to us singularly in contrast
with the prompt and respectful civility with which one is received in
the ante-chamber of a private hotel. It is true that we had nothing to
do with the soldiers and lackeys who thronged the place; but if their
presence was intended to impress visitors with the importance of their
master, I think a more private entrance would have been most likely to
produce that effect; for I confess, that it appeared to me has a mark of
poverty, that troops being necessary to the state and security of the
monarch, he was obliged to keep them in the vestibule by which his
guests entered. But this is royal state. Formerly, the executioner was
present; and in the semi-barbarous courts of the East, such is the fact
even now. The soldiers were a party of the Hundred Swiss; men chosen for
their great stature, and remarkable for the perfection of their musket.
Two of them were posted as sentinels at the foot of the great staircase
by which we ascended, and we passed several more on the landings.

We were soon in the Salle des Gardes, or the room which the _gardes du
corps_ on service occupied. Two of these _quasi_ soldiers were also
acting as sentinels here, while others lounged about the room. Their
apartment communicated with the Salle de Diane, the hall or gallery
prepared for the entertainment. I had no other means but the eye of
judging of the dimensions of this room; but its length considerably
exceeds a hundred feet, and its breadth is probably forty, or more. It
is of the proper height, and the ceiling is painted in imitation of
those of the celebrated Farnese Palace at Rome.

We found this noble room divided, by a low railing, into three
compartments. The centre, an area of some thirty feet by forty,
contained the table, and was otherwise prepared for the reception of the
court. On one side of it were raised benches for the ladies, who were
allowed to be seated; and, on the other, a vacant space for the
gentlemen, who stood. All these, you will understand, were considered
merely as spectators, not being supposed to be in the presence of the
king. The mere spectators were dressed as usual, or in common evening
dress, and not all the women even in that; while those within the
railings, being deemed to be in the royal presence, were in high court
dresses. Thus I stood for an hour within five-and-twenty feet of the
king, and part of the time much nearer, while, by a fiction of
etiquette, I was not understood to be there at all. I was a good while
within ten feet of the Duchesse de Berri, while, by convention, I was
nowhere. There was abundance of room in our area, and every facility of
moving about, many coming and going, as they saw fit. Behind us, but at
a little distance, were other rows of raised seats, filled with the best
instrumental musicians of Paris. Along the wall, facing the table, was a
narrow raised platform, wide enough to allow of two or three to walk
abreast, separated from the rest of the room by a railing, and extending
from a door at one end of the gallery, to a door at the other. This was
the place designed for the passage of the public during the dinner; no
one, however, being admitted, even here, without a ticket.

A gentleman of the court led your aunt to the seats reserved for the
female spectators, which were also without the railing, and I took my
post among the men. Although the court of the Tuileries was, when we
entered the palace, filled with a throng of those who were waiting to
pass through the Gallery of Diana, to my surprise, the number of persons
who were to remain in the room was very small. I account for the
circumstance, by supposing, that it is not etiquette for any who have
been presented to attend, unless they are among the court; and, as some
reserve was necessary in issuing these tickets, the number was
necessarily limited. I do not think there were fifty men on our side,
which might have held several hundred; and the seats of the ladies were
not half filled. Boxes were fitted up in the enormous windows, which
closed and curtained, a family of fine children occupying that nearest
to me. Some one said they were the princes of the house of Orleans; for
none of the members of the royal family have seats at the _grands
couverts_, as these dinners are called, unless they belong to the
reigning branch. There is but one Bourbon prince more remote from the
crown[11] than the Duc d'Orleans, and this is the Prince de Conde, or, as
he is more familiarly termed here, the Duc de Bourbon, the father of the
unfortunate Duc d'Enghien. So broad are the distinctions made between
the sovereign and the other members of his family in these governments,
that it was the duty of the Prince de Conde to appear to-day behind the
king's chair, as the highest dignitary of his household; though it was
understood that he was excused, on account of his age and infirmities.
These broad distinctions, you will readily imagine, however, are only
maintained on solemn and great state occasions; for, in their ordinary
intercourse, kings nowadays dispense with most of the ancient
formalities of their rank. It would have been curious, however, to see
one descendant of St. Louis standing behind the chair of another, as a
servitor; and more especially, to see the Prince de Conde standing
behind the chair of Charles X.; for, when Comte d'Artois and Duc de
Bourbon, some fifty years since, they actually fought a duel on account
of some slight neglect of the wife of the latter by the former.

[Footnote 11: 1827]

The crown of France, as you know, passes only in the male line. The Duke
of Orleans is descended from Louis XIII., and the Prince de Conde from
Louis IX. In the male line, the Duke of Orleans is only the fourth
cousin, once removed, of the king, and the Prince de Conde the eighth or
ninth. The latter would be even much more remotely related to the crown,
but for the accession of his own branch of the family in the person of
Henry IV. who was a near cousin of his ancestor. Thus you perceive,
while royalty is always held in reverence--for any member of the family
may possibly become the king--still there are broad distinctions made
between the near and the more distant branches of the line. The Duke of
Orleans fills that equivocal position in the family, which is rather
common in the history of this species of government. He is a liberal,
and is regarded with distrust by the reigning branch, and with hope by
that portion of the people who think seriously of the actual state of
the country. A saying of M. de Talleyrand, however, is circulated at his
expense, which, if true, would go to show that this wary prince is not
disposed to risk his immense fortune in a crusade for liberty. "Ce n'est
pas assez d'etre quelqu'un--il faut etre quelque chose," are the words
attributed to the witty and wily politician; but, usually, men have
neither half the wit nor half the cunning that popular accounts ascribe
to them, when it becomes the fashion to record their acts and sayings. I
believe the Duke of Orleans holds no situation about the court, although
the king has given him the title of _Royal_ Highness, his birth
entitling him to be styled no more than _Serene_ Highness. This act of
grace is much spoken of by the Bourbonists, who consider it a favour
that for ever secures the loyalty and gratitude of the Duke. The
Duchess, being the daughter of a king, had this rank from her birth.

The orchestra was playing when we entered the Gallery of Diana, and
throughout the whole evening it gave us, from time to time, such music
as can only be found in a few of the great capitals of Europe.

The covers were laid, and every preparation was made within the railing
for the reception of the _convives_. The table was in the shape of a
young moon, with the horns towards the spectators, or from the wall. It
was of some length, and as there were but four covers, the guests were
obliged to be seated several feet from each other. In the centre was an
armchair, covered with crimson velvet, and ornamented with a crown; this
was for the king. A chair without arms, on his right, was intended for
the Dauphin; another on his left, for the Dauphine; and the fourth,
which was still further on the right of the Dauphin, was intended for
Madame, as she is called, or the Duchess of Berri. These are the old and
favourite appellations of the monarchy, and, absurd as some of them are,
they excite reverence and respect from their antiquity. Your Wolverines,
and Suckers, and Buckeyes, and Hooziers would look amazed to hear an
executive styled the White Fish of Michigan, or the Sturgeon of
Wisconsin; and yet there is nothing more absurd in it, in the abstract,
than the titles that were formerly given in Europe, some of which have
descended to our times. The name of the country, as well as the title of
the sovereign, in the case of Dauphine, was derived from the same
source. Thus, in homely English, the Dolphin of Dolphinstown, renders
"le Dauphin de Dauphine" perfectly well. The last independent Dauphin,
in bequeathing his states to the King of France of the day, (the
unfortunate John, the prisoner of the Black Prince,) made a condition
that the heir apparent of the kingdom should always be known by his own
title, and consequently, ever since, the appellation has been continued.
You will understand, that none but an _heir-apparent_ is called the
Dauphin, and not an _heir-presumptive_. Thus, should the present Dauphin
and the Duc de Bordeaux die, the Duke of Orleans, according to a treaty
of the time of Louis XIV., though not according to the ancient laws of
the monarchy, would become _heir-presumptive_; but he could never be the
Dauphin, since, should the king marry again, and have another son, his
rights would be superseded. None but the _heir-apparent_, or the
_inevitable_ heir, bears this title. There were formerly _Bears_ in
Belgium, who were of the rank of Counts. These appellations were derived
from the arms, the Dauphin now bearing dolphins with the lilies of
France. The Boar of Ardennes got his _sobriquet_ from bearing the head
of a wild boar in his arms. There were formerly many titles in France
that are now extinct, such as Captal, Vidame, and Castellan, all of
which were general, I believe, and referred to official duties. There
was, however, formerly, a singular proof of how even simplicity can
exalt a man, when the fashion runs into the opposite extremes. In the
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, there existed in France powerful
noblemen, the owners and lords of the castle and lands of Coucy or
Couci, who were content to bear the appellation of Sire, a word from
which our own "Sir" is derived, and which means, like Sir, the simplest
term of courtesy that could be used. These Sires de Coucy were so
powerful as to make royal alliances; they waged war with their
sovereign, and maintained a state nearly royal. Their pride lay in their
antiquity, independence, and power; and they showed their contempt for
titles by their device, which is said to have been derived from the
answer of one of the family to the sovereign, who, struck with the
splendour of his appearance and the number of his attendants, had
demanded, "What king has come to my court?" This motto, which is still
to be seen on the ancient monuments of the family, reads:--

"Je ne suis roi, ne prince, ne duc, ne comte aussi;
Je suis le Sire de Coucy."[12]

[Footnote 12: "I am neither king, nor prince, nor duke, nor even a count;
I am M. de Coucy."]

This greatly beats Coke of Holkham, of whom it is said that George IV.,
who had been a liberal in his youth, and the friend of the great Norfolk
commoner, vexed by his bringing up so many liberal addresses,
threatened--"If Coke comes to me with any more of his Whig petitions,
_I'll Knight him_."

I have often thought that this simplicity of the Sires de Coucy
furnishes an excellent example for our own ministers and citizens when
abroad. Instead of attempting to imitate the gorgeous attire of their
colleagues, whose magnificence, for the want of stars and similar
conventional decorations, they can never equal, they should go to court
as they go to the President's House, in the simple attire of American
gentlemen. If any prince should inquire,--"Who is this that approaches
me, clad so simply that I may mistake him for a butler, or a groom of
the chambers?" let him answer, "Je ne suis roi, ne prince, ne duc, ne
comte aussi--I am the minister of the United States of Ameri_key_," and
leave the rest to the millions at home. My life for it, the question
would not be asked twice. Indeed, no man who is truly fit to represent
the republic would ever have any concern about the matter. But all this
time the dinner of the King of France is getting cold.

We might have been in the gallery fifteen minutes, when there was a stir
at a door on the side where the females were seated, and a _huissier_
cried out--"Madame la Dauphine!" and, sure enough, the Dauphine
appeared, followed by two _dames d'honneur_. She walked quite through
the gallery, across the area reserved for the court, and passed out at
the little gate in the railing which communicated with our side of the
room, leaving the place by the same door at which we had entered. She
was in high court dress, with diamonds and lappets, and was proceeding
from her own apartments, in the other wing of the palace, to those of
the king. As she went within six feet of me, I observed her hard and yet
saddened countenance with interest; for she has the reputation of
dwelling on her early fortunes, and of constantly anticipating evil. Of
course she was saluted by all in passing, but she hardly raised her eyes
from the floor; though, favoured by my position, I got a slight,
melancholy smile, in return for my own bow.

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