The Complete Writings, vol 2 | Page 9

the pool or
otherwise, it is impossible to raise any excitement. The day I went out,
the Champs Elysees, on both sides, its whole length, was crowded with
people, rows and ranks of them sitting in chairs and on benches. The
Avenue de l'Imperatrice, from the Arc de l'Etoile to the entrance of the
Bois, was full of promenaders; and the main avenues of the Bois, from
the chief entrance to the race-course, were lined with people, who stood
or sat, simply to see the passing show. There could not have been less
than ten miles of spectators, in double or triple rows, who had taken
places that afternoon to watch the turnouts of fashion and rank. These
great avenues were at all times, from three till seven, filled with
vehicles; and at certain points, and late in the day, there was, or would
have been anywhere else except in Paris, a jam. I saw a great many
splendid horses, but not so many fine liveries as one will see on a
swell-day in London. There was one that I liked. A handsome carriage,
with one seat, was drawn by four large and elegant black horses, the
two near horses ridden by postilions in blue and silver,--blue
roundabouts, white breeches and topboots, a round- topped silver cap,
and the hair, or wig, powdered, and showing just a little behind. A
footman mounted behind, seated, wore the same colors; and the whole
establishment was exceedingly tonnish.
The race-track (Longchamps, as it is called), broad and beautiful
springy turf, is not different from some others, except that the inclosed
oblong space is not flat, but undulating just enough for beauty, and so
framed in by graceful woods, and looked on by chateaux and upland
forests, that I thought I had never seen a sweeter bit of greensward. St.
Cloud overlooks it, and villas also regard it from other heights. The day
I saw it, the horse-chestnuts were in bloom; and there was, on the edges,
a cloud of pink and white blossoms, that gave a soft and charming
appearance to the entire landscape. The crowd in the grounds, in front
of the stands for judges, royalty, and people who are privileged or will

pay for places, was, I suppose, much as usual,--an excited throng of
young and jockey-looking men, with a few women-gamblers in their
midst, making up the pool; a pack of carriages along the circuit of the
track, with all sorts of people, except the very good; and conspicuous
the elegantly habited daughters of sin and satin, with servants in livery,
as if they had been born to it; gentlemen and ladies strolling about, or
reclining on the sward, and a refreshment-stand in lively operation.
When the bell rang, we all cleared out from the track, and I happened to
get a position by the railing. I was looking over to the Pavilion, where I
supposed the Emperor to be, when the man next to me cried, "Voila!"
and, looking up, two horses brushed right by my face, of which I saw
about two tails and one neck, and they were gone. Pretty soon they
came round again, and one was ahead, as is apt to be the case; and
somebody cried, "Bully for Therise!" or French to that effect, and it
was all over. Then we rushed across to the Emperor's Pavilion, except
that I walked with all the dignitV consistent with rapidity, and there, in
the midst of his suite, sat the Man of December, a stout, broad, and
heavy-faced man as you know, but a man who impresses one with a
sense of force and purpose,--sat, as I say, and looked at us through his
narrow, half-shut eyes, till he was satisfied that I had got his features
through my glass, when he deliberately arose and went in.
All Paris was out that day,--it is always out, by the way, when the sun
shines, and in whatever part of the city you happen to be; and it seemed
to me there was a special throng clear down to the gate of the Tuileries,
to see the Emperor and the rest of us come home. He went round by the
Rue Rivoli, but I walked through the gardens. The soldiers from Africa
sat by the gilded portals, as usual,--aliens, and yet always with the port
of conquerors here in Paris. Their nonchalant indifference and soldierly
bearing always remind me of the sort of force the Emperor has at hand
to secure his throne. I think the blouses must look askance at these
satraps of the desert. The single jet fountain in the basin was springing
its highest,--a quivering pillar of water to match the stone shaft of
Egypt which stands close by. The sun illuminated it, and threw a