The divorce from Josephine and the
murder of the Duc D'Enghien, are events that only recur more impressively
to the mind of the spectator because uncommemorated. From the career of
military genius which transformed the destinies of France, we pass to
apartments where still breathes the vestiges of legitimacy as in the hour
of its prime. The equestrian statue of Louis XIV. in the court-yard, his
bed and crown, his clock and chair in the long suite of rooms kept sacred
to his memory, typify the age when genius and beauty mingled their charms
in the corrupt atmosphere of intrigue and profligacy. The noble expanse of
wood, water, and meadow; the paths lined with stately myrtles and ancient
box, spread as invitingly to the eye from this embayed window, as when the
_grand monarque_ stood there to watch the graceful walk of La Valliere, or
the staid carriage of Maintenon. The abandonment and quietude of these
chambers, mirrored, tapestried, and solitary, owe not a little of the
spell they exercise over the imagination, to the vicinity of the galleries
devoted to the men of the Revolution and the campaigns of '92; amid the
smoke of conflict ever appears that resolute, olive face with the dark eye
fixed and the thin lip curved in decision or expectancy.
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