264 The Story of a IVfiite Camellia. 



There was a German musician who visited the garden at Malmaison, at the tim'C 

 when the shrubs were planted, which afterwards extended so protectingly their 

 branches, concealing the asylum of the abandoned from the eye of a curious and 

 merciless world. 



Friedrich Reichardt writes, on the 29th March, 1803, concerning Malmaison, to a 

 friend in Berlin, as follows : " We drove towards this melancholy place, where stood 

 the insignificant, poorly-built country house, in a barren, open field upon the high- 

 way, surrounded by an intrenchment and inclosed by a wall. We would gladly have 

 taken a closer view of it, but had scarcely reached the spot when Bonaparte, with his 

 family and suite, drove thither for their abode during the beautiful spring-time, and 

 we accordingly turned rapidly away. ^Bonaparte himself drove, from the foremost 

 box, an open coach with four horses. Beside him was seated an officer in a red 

 habit, probably a 'prefect du palais, and in the coach were seated his wife and her 

 daughter, Madame Louis Bonaparte. 



"Madame carried a large bunch of violets in her hand. A number of mounted 

 gens d'armes rode in advance and behind the coach, besides several generals and high 

 officers. 



"Many grooms* rode so near to the coach horses, that, to an observer, they ap- 

 peared to be holding the reins of the same. A strong guard already held possession 

 of the entrance and fore court, whilst patrolmen rode round the walls, scanning nar- 

 rowly the intrenchments, though it was yet daylight. 



" Over the whole remaining way we were met by a multitude of carriages filled 

 with actors from the French Theater, and musicians and singers, on their way to give 

 entertainment that evening, for the first time, in the little House-Theater at Malmai- 

 son. However elegant and artistically adorned the interior of the old house may be, 

 the external surroundings were bare and almost sterile. The planting of a young 

 forest here is begun, and in the greenhouses are to be reared all kinds of plants. 



" They tell of an exotic white flower, the care of which Madame Bonaparte herself 

 supervised. Do you not remember the lovely parks at St. Cloud ? To forsake them 

 and the excellent dwellings there for Malmaison would be something incomprehensi- 

 ble to us, did we not know how gladly the first consul isolates himself. 



"Near the house, in the direction of Paris, stand large barracks for the Consul's 

 guard, filled with soldiers. The barracks are probably six times the size and far 

 better built than the dwelling of the first consul." 



What a picture is presented by this plain account of the German musician ! Like 

 &fata morgana, it ascends and passes like a panorama before our eyes. 



On a clear night in spring lies Malmaison enveloped in moonlight. In the garden 

 are blooming violets and cherry trees, whilst nightingales are trilling their emulative 

 songs. On the broad graveled walks, even the little stones are discernible by the 

 silvery light that is spread like a mantle over them. The blooming branches cast 

 their transparent shadows over the garden-beds. The lights in the windows are 

 extinguished, excepting in the right wing, from which it shines brightly forth, casting 

 a reddish lustre over the turfy lawn. This is the study of the first consul. A world 

 of dauntless thoughts and plans are lodged in this head, which is supported by a 

 small white hand. This wonderful C;esar-profile is seen in a dim light. 



