Part 12 (1/2)
I forgot to mention how my cohort had partially armed themselves that morning. They burst into every house and carried off all the arms they could find, and then wrote in chalk over the doors--”_Armes donnees_.”
The Musee Cluny was very near my hotel and I saw it plundered. Such a sight! I saw one vagabond on a fine stolen horse, with a mediaeval helmet on his head, a lance in his hand, and a six-feet double-handed sword or flamberg hanging behind his back. He appeared to be quite drunk, and reared about in eccentric _gambades_. This genius of Freedom reappeared at the Tuileries. Mortal man was never under such temptation to steal as I was--just one fifteenth-century poignard as a souvenir--from that Museum--in fact, it was my _duty_ at that instant to do so, whispered the tempter in my ear. But I resisted; and lo! it came to pa.s.s in later years that I became possessed, for a mere trifle, in Dresden, of the court dagger, in exquisite carved ivory, which was originally made for Francis II. of France, and which has been declared by competent authority to be authentic. Owing to his short reign there are very few relics of this monarch.
Some of the blackguards in the mob drew out the royal carriages, set fire to them, and rolled them gaily along the _quai_.
A n.o.ble-looking very old gentleman in military costume spoke to me before the Tuileries, and saying that he had seen all of the old Revolution and Napoleon's wars, actually with tears in his eyes implored me to use my influence to prevent any plundering. ”_Respectez la properte_.” There were very few gentlemen indeed among the insurgents. I only observed two or three in our quarter, and they were all from our hotel, or rather lodgings. But the next day every swell in Paris came out as an insurgent. _They_ had all worked at barricades--so they said. I certainly had not seen any of them at work.
That afternoon I strolled about with Field. We came to a barricade. A very pretty girl guarded it with a sword. She sternly demanded the parole or countersign. I caught hold of her and kissed her, and showed my pistols. She laughed. As I was armed with dirk and pistols, wore a sash, and was unmistakably a Latin Quarter _etudiant_, as shown by long hair, rakish cap on one side, red neck-tie, and single eyegla.s.s, I was everywhere treated as a man and brother, friend and equal, warrior, and--by the girls--almost like a first-cousin. Field shared the glory, of course. And we made a great deal out of it, and were thought all the more of in consequence. _Vive la jeunesse_!
Coming to a corner, we heard three or four musket-shots. We turned the corner, and saw a man lying dead or dying in the last quiver, while at his head there was at once placed a stick with a paper on it, on which was written with lead-pencil, ”_Mort aux voleurs_!”
The day before, one insurgent had offered me a beautiful old silver-mounted sword for one of my pistols, fire-arms being so much in demand, but I declined the offer.
The day after, I went into a cafe. There were some students there who had laid their arms on a table. There was a very notorious little _lorette_, known as Pochardinette, who was so called because she was always half-tipsy. She was even noted in a popular song as--
”La Pochardinette, Qui ne sait refuser Ni la ponche a pleine verre, Ni sa bouohe a baiser.”
Pochardinette picked up a horse-pistol, when its owner cried, ”Let that be! That is not the kind of weapon which _you_ are accustomed to manage!” I stared at him with respect, for he had actually translated into French an epigram by Jacopo Sannazar, word for word!
I should here mention that on the 24th there was actually a period of two hours during which France had no Government--that is, none that it knew of. Then there appeared on the walls all at once small placards giving the list of names of the _Gouvernement Provisoire_. Now, during this period of suspense there appeared at the Hotel de Ville a mysterious stranger; a small, bustling, active individual, who came in and announced that a new Government had been formed, that he himself had been appointed Minister, that France expected every man to do his duty, and that no one should lose their places who conformed to his orders. ”I appoint,” he said, ”So-and-so to take command of Vincennes. Here, you--_Chose_!
notify him at once and send orders. I believe that _Tel-et-tel_ had better take Ma.r.s.eilles. Do any of you fellows know of a good governor for Mauritius?” So _he_ governed France for half-an-hour and then disappeared, and n.o.body ever knew to this day who this stupendous joker was. A full account of it all appeared some time after, and the cream of the joke was that some of his appointed ones contrived to keep their places. This brief dynasty has not been recorded in any work save this!
It was a droll fact that I had, the year before, at Heidelberg, drawn a picture of myself as an insurgent at a barricade, and written under it, ”The Boy of the Barricades.” I had long had a strange presentiment as to this event. I gave the picture to Peter A. Porter, then a student, and owner of a singular piece of property--that is, Niagara Falls, or at least Goat Island and more or less of the American side. Some time after the 24th he showed me this picture in Paris. He himself, I have heard, died fighting bravely in our Civil War. His men were so much attached to him that they made, to recover his body, a special sally, in which twelve of them were killed. He was _bon compagnon_, very pleasant, and gifted with a very original, quaint humour.
If our ungrateful temporary stepmother, France, did not know it, at least the waiters in the cafes, shopkeepers, and other people in the Latin Quarter were aware that Field and I were among the extremely small and select number of gentlemen who had operated at the barricades for the health of Freedom, and for some time we never entered a restaurant without hearing admiring exclamations from the respectful waiters of ”_Ces sont les Americains_!” or ”_Les Anglais_.” And indeed, to a small degree, I even made a legendary local impression; for a friend of mine who went from Philadelphia to Paris two years later, reported that I was still in the memory of the Quarter as a.s.sociated with the Revolution and life in general. One incident was indeed of a character which French students would not forget. I had among my many friends, reputable and demi-reputable, a rather remarkable _lorette_ named Maria, whose face was the very replica of that of the Laughing Faun of the Louvre--or, if one can conceive it, of a very pretty ”white n.i.g.g.e.r.” This young lady being either _ennuyee_ or frightened by the roar of musketry--probably the former--and knowing that I was a Revolutionist and at work, conceived the eccentric idea of hiring a coach, just when the fighting was at the worst, and driving over from the Rue Helder to visit me. Which she actually did. When she came to a barricade, she gave five francs to the champions of liberty, and told them she was bearing important political orders to one of their leaders. Then the warriors would unharness the horses, lift the carriage and beasts somehow over the barricade, re-harness, hurrah, and ”_Adieu_, _madame_! _Vive la liberte_!” And so, amid bullets and cheers, and death-stroke, and powder-smoke--_hinc et inde mors et luctus_--Maria came to my door in a carriage, and found me out with a vengeance--for I was revelling at the time in the royal halls of the Bourbons, or at least drinking wine out of a tin pail in the guard- house, whereby I escaped the expense of a truffled champagne dinner at Magny's--while the young lady was about fifty francs out of pocket by her little drive, probably the only one taken that day in Paris. But she had a fearfully jolly time of it, and saw the way that guns were fired to perfection. This, too, became one of the published wonders of the day, and a local legend of renown.
Of course all these proceedings put an end to lectures and study for the time. Then Mr. Goodrich, our Consul, as I have before said, organised a deputation of Americans in Paris to go and congratulate the new _Gouvernement Provisoire_ on the new Republic, of which I was one, and we saw all the great men, and Arago made us a speech. Unfortunately all the bankers stopped paying money, and I had to live princ.i.p.ally on credit, or sailed rather close to it, until I could write to my father and get a draft on London.
But when the Revolution of June was coming, I determined to leave Paris.
I had no sympathy for the Socialists, and I knew very well that neither the new Government, nor the still newer Louis Napoleon, who was looming up so dangerously behind it, needed _my_ small aid. There was a regulation in those days that every foreign resident on leaving Paris must give twenty-four hours' notice to the police before he could obtain his pa.s.sport. But when I applied for mine, it was handed out at once ”over the counter,” with a smile and a wink, as if unto one who was merrily well known, with an intimation that they were rather glad that I was going, and would do everything to facilitate my departure. I suspect that my _dossier_ must have been interesting reading! M. Claude, or his successor, was probably of the same mind regarding me as the old black preacher in Philadelphia regarding a certain convert, ”De Lawd knows we don' want no sitch bredderin in _dis_ congregation!”
So I went to Rouen and saw the cathedral and churches--it was a very quaint old town then--and thence to Havre, where I took pa.s.sage on a steamboat for London. The captain had a very curious old Gnostic-Egyptian ring, with a gem on which were four animal heads in one, or a chimaera. I explained what it was, and that it meant the year. But the captain could not rest till he had got the opinion of a fussy old Frenchman, who, as a doctor, was of course supposed to know more than I.
He looked at it, and, with a great air, remarked, ”_C'est grecque_!” Then the captain was _quite_ satisfied. It was Greek!
I went in London to a very modest hotel, where I was, however, very comfortable. In those days a bottle of the very vilest claret conceivable, and far worse than ”Gladstone,” cost four or five s.h.i.+llings; therefore I took to pale ale. Ewan Colquhoun soon found me out, and, under his guidance, and that of two or three others whom I had met, I soon explored London. Firstly, he took me daily to his house in St.
James Street, where I can recall his mother, Mrs. Colquhoun, and father, and brothers, Patrick and James. Patrick was a remarkable young man. He had graduated at Cambridge and Heidelberg and filled diplomatic capacities in the East, and was familiar with many languages from Arabic to Gaelic, and was the first amateur light-weight boxer in England, and first sculler on the Thames, and had translated and annotated the princ.i.p.al compendium of Roman law. He took me to see a grand rowing match, where we were in the _Leander_ barge. So here and there I was introduced to a great many people of the best society. Meanwhile, with Ewan, I visited the Cider Cellars, Evans', the Judge and Jury Club, Cremorne, and all the gay resorts of those days, not to mention the museums, Tower, and everything down to Madame Tussaud's. I went down in a diving-bell in the Polytechnic, and over Barclay and Perkins' Brewery.
One night Colquhoun and I went to Drury Lane, and, after hearing Grisi, Mario, and Lablache together, saw the great _pas de quatre_ which became a historical marvel. For it was danced by Taglioni, Cerito, Carlotta Grisi, and Lucile Grahn. In after years, when I talked with Taglioni about it, she a.s.sured me that night I had witnessed what the world had never seen since, the greatest and most perfect execution conceivable.
For the four great artists, moved by rivalry, were inspired to do their best before such an audience as was seldom seen. Colquhoun kept pointing out one celebrity after another to me; I verily believe that I saw most of the great men and women of the time. And afterwards I saw a great number in Parliament.
There was a rather distinguished-looking Frenchman very much about town in London while I was there. He was always alone, and always dressed in a long, light overcoat. Wherever I went, to Cremorne or the Park, there he was. When Louis Napoleon came up in the world and I saw his photograph, I at once recognised my Frenchman.
There roomed next to me in our hotel a German from Vienna named Becker.
He was an opera-singer, and the newspapers said that he was fully equal to the first baritone of the day. I forget who that was: was it Pischek?
I liked him very much; he was always in my room, and always singing little bits, but I was not much impressed by them, and once told him that I believed that I could sing as loudly as he. He never said a word, but at once let out his whole voice in a tremendous _aria_. I clapped my hands to my ears; I verily believed that he would shatter the windows! I have heard of a singer who actually broke a goblet by vibration, and I now believe that it is possible. I was once shown in the Hague Museum a goblet which rang marvellously in accompaniment when one sang to it, and have met with others like it.
I was invited by a young friend named Hunt (a son of the great Chartist), who had been a friend of mine in Heidelberg, where he had taken his degree as doctor of Philosophy, to pa.s.s a week in the country at a charming old Elizabethan place, said to have been the original Bleak House. Everything there was perfectly delightful. There were two or three charming young ladies. I remember among them a Miss Oliphaunt.
There was a glorious picnic, to which I and all walked eight miles and back. I admired on this occasion for the first time the pedestrian powers of English girls.