242 ST. HELENA 



avenue of the Champs Elysdes, large statues had been raised, each 

 symbolical of some mental attitude, such as justice, valour, fortitude, 

 and the like, and between their colossal figures magnificent tripos 

 of a great height were erected, supporting vases which were filled 

 with flames. The spectacle had approached its crisis when I arrived 

 at the Place de la Concorde, and my position afforded me a good 

 view of the avenue. In the distance dense columns of horse and 

 foot soldiery were slowly marching, preceded by military bands 

 playing solemn music. 



" But where is he, the champion and the child, 



Of all that's great or little, wise or wild? 



Whose game was empires, and whose stakes were thrones ? 



Whose table earth whose dice was human bones ? 



Behold the grand result of yon lone isle 



And, as thy nature urges, weep or smile." 



BYRON. 



Column after column paraded by. The whole chivalry of France 

 had assembled to do honour to some dearly-loved object, for every 

 class of French soldier had sent its representative, and every depart- 

 ment of the kingdom its deputy. The procession appeared inter- 

 minable. On it came, in every variety of uniform, the soldiers of 

 Davoust, of Hoche, of Moreau, Jourdan, Massena, and Angereau, 

 Ney, Murat, Kleber and Kellerman. Fragments of all " arms " of 

 the Imperial Guard were there represented, strangely mingled with 

 the picturesque dresses of Mamelukes and guides. At length a 

 moving tower of sable plumes rolled by upon golden wheels, drawn 

 by sixteen horses. Immediately following came the Royal Family 

 of France and the great Ministers of State, decorated with glittering 

 stars and orders. Twenty years back I had witnessed the funeral 

 obsequies of this remarkable man, for, of course, by this time, I 

 knew that it was the second burial of Napoleon at which I was a 

 chance spectator. Since then a great alteration had taken place in 

 the affairs of Europe. A quarter of a century of profound peace 

 had rendered the entente cordiale apparently perfect. British ships 

 of war no longer muzzled the mouth of every French port from 

 Dunkerque to Toulon. The correction was done, and the rod was 

 burnt, and in the fulness of time came the crowning act of grace, 

 when, as M. de Remusat stated in the Chamber of Deputes, England 

 had magnanimously consented to the proposal of the French nation 

 to return the remains of Napoleon, thus surrendering the trophy 

 of the most unparalleled struggle in modern history. 



And yet, incredible as it may seem, when France was receiving 

 from British generosity a boon which she could not obtain by any 

 physical appliance, the law and medical students of Paris displayed 

 a base and infamous hostility against the country (which was in 

 the very act of returning with a noble and chivalrous sentiment 

 the undying token of her own supremacy and the humiliation of 

 her enemies) using such expressions as "A bas Palmerston," "A 

 bas les Anglais," which sounded oddly enough in an Englishman's 

 ears, with these recollections still throbbing in his memory. It was 

 to do honour to those precious remains that France, nay Europe, 



