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Page 23
In a few moments we were between two files of soldiers, and entering the
gates of the palace. I called out to the driver and told him to stop;
but I was too late, for we were now in front of the massive doors of the
palace, and a liveried servant opened the cab door, bowed, and asked if
I had an engagement with the President. You may easily "guess" his
surprise when I told him no. In my best French, I asked the cabman why
he had come to the palace, and was answered, "You told me to." By this
time a number had gathered round, all making inquiries as to what I
wanted. I told the driver to retrace his steps, and, amid the shrugs of
their shoulders, the nods of their heads, and the laughter of the
soldiers, I left the Elysee without even a sight of the President's
mustaches for my trouble. This was only one of the many mistakes I made
while in Paris.
LETTER VII.
_The Chateau at Versailles--Private apartments of Marie Antoinette--The
Secret Door--Paintings of Raphael and David--Arc de Triomphe--Beranger
the Poet._
VERSAILLES, _August 31_.
Here I am, within ten leagues of Paris, spending the time pleasantly in
viewing the palace and grounds of the great Chateau of Louis XIV.
Fifty-seven years ago, a mob, composed of men, women, and boys, from
Paris, stood in front of this palace and demanded that the king should
go with them to the capital. I have walked over the same ground where
the one hundred thousand stood on that interesting occasion. I have been
upon the same balcony, and stood by the window from which Maria
Antoinette looked out upon the mob that were seeking her life.
Anxious to see as much of the palace as I could, and having an offer of
the company of my young friend, Henry G. Chapman, to go through the
palace with me, I set out early yesterday morning, and was soon in the
halls that had often been trod by Royal feet. We passed through the
private, as well as the public, apartments, through the secret door by
which Marie Antoinette had escaped from the mob of 1792, and viewed the
room in which her faithful guards were killed, while attempting to save
their Royal mistress. I took my seat in one of the little parlour
carriages that had been used in days of yore for the Royal children;
while my friend, H.G. Chapman, drew me across the room. The superb
apartments are not now in use. Silence is written upon these walls,
although upon them are suspended the portraits of men of whom the world
has heard.
Paintings, representing Napoleon in nearly all his battles, are here
seen; and wherever you see the Emperor, there you will also find Murat,
with his white plume waving above. Callot's painting of the battle of
Marengo, Hue's of the retaking of Genoa, and Bouchat's of the 18th
Brumaire, are of the highest order; while David has transmitted his fame
to posterity, by his splendid painting of the Coronation of Napoleon and
Josephine in Notre Dame. When I looked upon the many beautiful paintings
of the last named artist, that adorn the halls of Versailles, I did not
wonder that his fame should have saved his life, when once condemned and
sentenced to death during the reign of terror. The guillotine was robbed
of its intended victim, but the world gained a great painter. As Boswell
transmitted his own name to posterity with his life of Johnson, so has
David left his, with the magnificent paintings that are now suspended
upon the walls of the palaces of the Louvre, the Tuileries, St. Cloud,
Versailles, and even the little Elysee.
After strolling from room to room, we found ourselves in the Salle du
Sacre, Diane, Salon de Mars, de Mercure, and d'Apollon. I gazed with my
eyes turned to the ceiling till I was dizzy. The Salon de la Guerre is
covered with the most beautiful representations that the mind of man
could conceive, or the hand accomplish. Louis XIV. is here in all his
glory. No Marie Antoinette will ever do the honours in these halls
again.
After spending a whole day in the Palace and several mornings in the
Gardens, I finally bid adieu to the bronze statue of Louis XIV. that
stands in front of the Palace, and left Versailles, probably for ever.
* * * * *
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