Holidays in Eastern France | Page 5

territory--not a stone of our fortresses," when in

conference with Bismarck and Moltke in 1870. It is said that a peasant
who showed them the way meditated assassinating all three, and was
only prevented by the fear of his village being made the scene of
vengeance. Already, German tourists are finding their way back to
these country resorts, and the sound of the German tongue is no longer
unbearable to French ears. It is to be hoped that this outward
reconciliation of the two nationalities may mean something deeper, and
that the good feeling may increase.
The diligence passes our garden gate early in the morning, and in an
hour and a half takes us to Meaux, former capital of the province of La
Brie, bishopric of the famous Bossuet, and one of the early strongholds
of the Reformation. The neighbouring country, pays Meldois as it is
called, is one vast fruit and vegetable garden, bringing in enormous
returns. From our vantage ground, for, of course, we get outside the
vehicle, we survey the shifting landscape, wood and valley and plain,
soon seeing the city with its imposing Cathedral, flashing like marble,
high above the winding river and fields of green and gold on either side.
I know nothing that gives the mind an idea of fertility and wealth more
than this scene, and it is no wonder that the Prussians, in 1871, here
levied a heavy toll; their sojourn at Meaux having cost the inhabitants
not less than a million and a half of francs. All now is peace and
prosperity, and here, as in the neighbouring towns, rags, want, and
beggary are not found. The evident well-being of all classes is
delightful to behold.
Meaux, with its shady boulevards and pleasant public gardens, must be
an agreeable place to live in, nor would intellectual resources be
wanting. We strolled into the spacious town library, open, of course, to
all strangers, and could wish for no better occupation than to con the
curious old books and the manuscripts that it contains. One incident
amused me greatly. The employé, having shown me the busts adorning
the walls of the principal rooms, took me into a side closet, where,
ignominiously put out of sight, were the busts of Charles the Tenth and
Louis-Philippe.
"But," said our informant, "we have more busts in the garret. The

Emperor Napoleon III., the Empress and the Prince Imperial!"
Naturally enough, on the proclamation of the Republic, these busts
were considered at least supererogatory, and it is to be hoped they will
stay where they are. The Evêché, or Bishop's Palace, is the principal
sight at Meaux. It is full of historic associations, besides being very
curious in itself. Here have slept many noteworthy personages, Louis
XVI. and Marie Antoinette when on their return from Varennes, June
24th, 1791, Napoleon in 1814, Charles X. in 1828, later, General
Moltke in 1870, who said upon that occasion,
"In three days, or a week at most, we shall be in Paris;" not counting on
the possibilities of a siege.
The room occupied by the unfortunate Louis XVI and his little son, still
bears the name of "La Chambre du Roi," and cannot be entered without
sadness. The gardens, designed by Le Nôtre, are magnificent and very
quaint, as quaint and characteristic, perhaps, as any of the same period;
a broad, open, sunny flower-garden below, above terraced walks so
shaded with closely-planted plane trees that the sun can hardly
penetrate them on this July day. These green walks, where the
nightingale and the oriole were singing, were otherwise as quiet as the
Evêché itself; but the acmé of quiet and solitude was only to be found
in the avenue of yews, called Bossuet's Walk. Here it is said the great
orator used to pace backwards and forwards when composing his
famous discourses, like another celebrated French writer, Balzac,
wholly secluding himself from the world whilst thus occupied. A little
garden-house in which he ate and slept leads out of this delightful walk,
a cloister of greenery, the high square-cut walls of yew shutting out
everything but the sky. What would some of us give for such a retreat
as this! an ideal of perfect tranquillity and isolation from the outer
world that might have satisfied the soul of Schopenhauer himself.
But the good things of life are not equally divided. The present Bishop,
an octogenarian, who has long been quite blind, would perhaps prefer
to hear more echoes from without. It happened that in one party was a
little child of six, who, with the inquisitiveness of childhood, followed
the servant in-doors, whilst the rest waited at the door for permission to

visit the palace. "I hear the footsteps of a child" said the old man, and
bidding his young visitor approach,