“I owe you a long letter, but my late travels and the date of this epistle will be a tolerable plea for your indulgence. The truth is, I became very restless after the battle of Waterloo, and was only detained by the necessity of attending a friend’s marriage from setting off instantly for the Continent. At length, however, I got away to Brussels, and was on the memorable field of battle about five weeks after it had been fought. . . .
“If our army had been all British, the day would
have been soon decided; but the Duke, or,
as they call him here, from his detestation of all manner of foppery, the Beau, had not above 35,000 British. All this was to
| PARIS—AUG.—SEPT. 1815. | 365 |
“The fate of the French, after this day of decisive
appeal, has been severe enough. There were never people more mortified, more
subdued, and apparently more broken in spirit. They submit with sad civility to
the extortions of the Prussians and the Russians, and avenge themselves at the
expense of the English, whom they charge three prices for everything, because
they are the only people who pay at all. They are in the right, however, to
enforce discipline and good order, which not only maintains the national
character in the mean time, but will prevent the army from suffering by habits
of indulgence. I question if the Prussians will soon regain their discipline
and habits of hardihood. At present their powers of eating and drinking, which
are really something preternatural, are exerted to the very utmost. A thin
Prussian boy, whom I sometimes see, eats in one day as much as three English
ploughmen. At daybreak he roars for chocolate and eggs; about nine he
breakfasts more solemnly à la
fourchette, when, besides all the usual apparatus of an
English déjeuner, he eats a
world of cutlets, oysters, fruit, &c., and drinks a glass of brandy and a
bottle of champagne. His dinner might serve Garagantua, at which he gets himself about three parts drunk—a
circumstance which does not prevent the charge upon
| 366 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
“The needless wreck and ruin which they make in the
houses, adds much to the inconvenience of their presence, Most of the chateaux,
where the Prussians are quartered, are what is technically called rumped, that is to say, plundered out and out. In the
fine chateau of Montmorency, for instance, the most splendid apartments, highly
ornamented with gilding and carving, were converted into barracks for the
dirtiest and most savage-looking hussars I have yet seen. Imagine the work
these fellows make with velvet hangings and embroidery. I saw one hag boiling
her camp-kettle with part of a picture frame; the picture Itself has probably
gone to Prussia. With all this greediness and love of mischief, the Prussians
are not blood-thirsty; and their utmost violence seldom exceeds a blow or two
with the flat of the sabre. They are also very civil to the women, and in both
respects behave much better than the French did in their country; but they
follow the bad example quite close enough for the sake of humanity and of
discipline. As for our people, they live in a most orderly and regular manner.
All the young men pique themselves on imitating the Duke of Wellington in non-chalance and
coolness of manner; so they wander about every where, with their hands in the
pockets of their long waistcoats, or cantering upon Cossack ponies, staring and
whistling, and trotting to and fro, as if all Paris was theirs. The French hate
| LETTER TO MISS BAILLIE—PARIS, 1815. | 367 |
“This morning I saw a grand military
spectacle,—about 20,000 Russians pass in review before all the Kings and
Dominations who are now resident at Paris. The Emperor, King of Prussia,
Duke of Wellington, with their numerous
and brilliant attendance of generals, staff-officers, &c., were in the
centre of what is called the Place Louis Quinze, almost on the very spot where
Louis XVI. was beheaded. A very long
avenue, which faces the station where they were placed, was like a glowing
furnace, so fiercely were the sunbeams reflected from the arms of the host by
which it was filled. A body of Cossacks kept the ground with their pikes, and,
by their wild appearance, added to the singularity of the scene. On one hand
was the extended line of the Tuileries, seen through the gardens and the rows
of orange trees; on the other, the long column of troops advancing to the
music. Behind was a long colonnade, forming the front to the palace, where the
Chamber of Representatives are to hold their sittings; and in front of the
monarchs was a superb row of buildings, on which you distinguish the bronze
pillar erected by Napoleon to commemorate
his victories over Russia, Prussia, and Austria, whose princes were now
reviewing their victorious armies in what was so lately his capital. Your
fancy, my dear friend, will anticipate, better than I can express, the thousand
sentiments which arose in my mind from witnessing such a splendid scene, in a
spot connected with such various associations. It may give you some idea of the
feelings of the French—once so fond of spectacles—to
know that, I think, there were not a hundred of that nation looking on. Yet
this
| 368 | LIFE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. |
