# Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands 1842/The Presentation

THE PRESENTATION.
Put on your best, my countrymen, and turn
Your steeds toward the palace. You can have
No just objection to a call, I trust,
Upon the king and queen. For though you're all
Such staunch republicans, 't is plain to see
You 've quite a curiosity to know
How those who wear a crown deport themselves.
Well, there's no harm in that.
 But what a show
Our sober, unambitious gentry make
In regimentals, with their laced chapeaus,
En militaire! I'm sure the friends at home
Would never know them, and their babes would be
As much alarmed as Hector's, when he shrank
Back from the hero's helm and nodding plumes,
Into his nurse's arms. I'm quite well versed
In that most classic scene, which oft was wrought
In bright embroidery, where I went to school.
And I have seen it framed, and glazed, and hung
On parlor walls, when I was fain to think,
Asking the pardon of the ones who spent
Eyesight and silks upon it, that its style
Artistical, and anatomical,
Was quite a libel on the Trojan chief,
And likewise on his wife Andromache,
And all their line. I worked a piece myself,
Equally shocking, of an ark and child,
And two strange-looking women, and a slice
Of a cream-colored palace, trees and grass,
Mixed indigo, and umber, and gamboge,
To show the fervor of Egyptian suns,
As I suppose, and this my teacher called
The infant Moses in the bulrushes.
I labored on it most industriously;
But since, when innocent children have been scared,
As waking suddenly from cradle-dreams,
They fixed their eyes upon it, I've eschewed
The deed most heartily, and felt ashamed
That sacred themes should be distorted so.
And now I wonder what odd trains of thought
Must needs bring back those hideous images,
At such a time as this.
 Friends, have a care,
And do not let the unaccustomed sword
Embarrass your best bow, when the French court
Shall give its welcome to you. Pray, make haste,—
Our kind ambassador with open doors
Awaits our coming, and 't would be indeed
But payment poor for all his courtesy,
To plunge his carriage in the gathering throng,
And have it locked for hours. See, brilliant lights
Stream from the Tuileries, and in full ranks
Its officers and servitors are ranged,
To do their nation's honors. From the walls
Gleam forth, in pictured bravery and pride,
The gallant chiefs of France. On those we gazed
With critical remark, and on the groups
That promenaded through the spacious halls,
In costume rich, the elite of many lands.
Ere long from lip to lip the murmur spread,
"The king! the king!" and so the throng drew back,
Each foreign region ranging 'neath the wing
Of its own minister. Can that be he?
So fresh in feature and of step so firm,
So little worn by time and adverse years,
So little wearied with his toils to rule
The restive war-horse of a changeful realm,
Mad on the rein? Courteous he passes down
The extended line, with fitting phrase for all.
Methought, with freer word and favoring glance,
He scanned the natives of that western clime,
Where, in the exile of his clouded youth,
He found a wanderer's home. 'T was sweet to hear,
In the bright throne-room of the Tuileries,
And from the lip of Europe's wisest king,
The name of my own river, and the spot
Where I was born, coupled with kindly words,
As one tenacious of their scenery,
Through many a lustrum.
 Then the graceful queen,
With gentleness and dignity combined,
Came in his steps. On her pale brow she bore
An impress of that goodness, which hath made
Her, as a wife and mother, still the praise
And pattern of her kingdom.
 Then passed on
At intervals each with their separate suite,
Princes and princess, and the beauteous bride
Of him of Orleans, in an English tongue
Giving fair greeting. So the pageant closed,
And home we drove, well pleased at what we saw,
Nor with ourselves dissatisfied. We found
More of simplicity than we had deemed
Abode in courts; and this to us, who love
Our plain republic, was a circumstance
Not to be overlooked. With earnest warmth
Of the chief Lady of the realm we spake,
And of her matron virtues, and that charm
Of manner which approves those virtues well
To every eye.
 And I was pleased to see
She had the queenly grace of prudence too,
In lesser things; and on this wintry night
Drew downward to the wrist the lengthened sleeve,
And bade her satin robe protect the chest,
Deeming most justly, that vitality
And health outweighed the tinsel modes of dress,
Coined by the milliner. And I have heard
From good authority, and am right glad
To tell it here, that many a leading belle
Of fashion and nobility in France
Abjure the corset, and maintain a form
Erect and graceful, without busk or cord,
Ambitious to bequeath a name, unstained
By suicide. Would that my friends at home,
Those sweet young blossoms on my country's stem,
Might credit the report, and give their lungs
And heart fair play, and earn a hope to reach
The dignity of threescore years and ten,
Free from the taint of self-derived disease.
Thursday, January 5, 1841.
"Our kind ambassador."
How justly is this adjective applied to General Cass, and all his family. His unwearied attentions to travellers from his native country, during the whole time that he has represented its interests at the court of France, are deeply felt and fervently acknowledged. Without reference to political creed, or other adventitious distinction, he not only gathers them around him with liberal and elegant hospitality, but, aided by his whole household, strives to teach them the luxury of home-feelings in a foreign land.
"The name of my own river."
"In what part of New England do you reside?" the king inquired. "In Connecticut." "Ah! I have been in Connecticut. It has a fine river. And I have been in Norwich, and New London, and New Haven. They are all pleasant places." Passing on a step or two, he turned and said, "And I have been in Hartford too. That also is a pleasant place."
Louis Philippe's recollections are exceedingly vivid and acute of his travels in the United States, of their geographical localities, and even of the names of individuals whom he then met; and he recurs to those recollections with the greater pleasure, from perceiving that they give pleasure to others. He has a peculiar tact in addressing appropriate remarks to those with whom he converses, and putting them quite at their ease. This is almost invariably remarked by Americans. In observing his florid complexion and animated manner, it is difficult to realize that nearly seventy years have passed over him. He is undoubtedly the most remarkable sovereign in Europe, whether we consider his native endowments, the adversity which in early llfe ripened his energies, or the firmness with which he surmounts the dangers that have long beset his throne.
The queen is graceful and truly polite, and her virtues and piety are appreciated, even by that portion of the people who retain strong prejudices against the ​king. Madame Adelaide, the sister of Louis Philippe, has a countenance beaming with good feelings; and her fond affection for her royal brother forms a distinguishing trait in her character. The Duke of Orleans has exceedingly fine manners, and is a favorite with the nation. The princess Clementine and the younger brothers make their passing compliments to strangers in an agreeable way. In this they are assisted by a perfect knowledge of the English language, which appertains to the whole family. Their domestic education has been conducted judiciously, under the careful supervision of both parents, and has produced happy results. Louise, the queen of the Belgians, is exceedingly respected, and the late Princess Marie, who married Alexander, Duke of Wirtemburg, was eminent for native talent and taste in the fine arts, especially for her spirited performances in sculpture, and died deeply lamented.
The beauty of the young bride of the Duke de Nemours, who was Victoria of Saxe Coburg, and has made her first appearance at the French court the present winter, is acknowledged by all. The royal family of France give an amiable example of those domestic attachments and that true home-happiness, which exercise so decided an influence on the character in the period of its formation, as well as throughout the whole of life. Such virtues have not always been indigenous in the soil of courts, and it is therefore the more delightful to see them here, with a vigorous root and healthful bloom.
​ In traversing the splendid apartments of the Tuileries, now the favorite residence of a peaceful dynasty, the mind involuntarily turns to those vestiges of the past, which have given it prominence in history. Among the structures of the capital of France, it early attracts the notice of the traveller. Stretching along the banks of the Seine, it is connected with the Louvre by a gallery commenced during the reign of Henry the Fourth, and completed under the auspices of Louis the Fourteenth. Three sides of an immense parallelogram are thus formed, and it was the intention of Bonaparte to have added the fourth, and completed the most magnificent edifice of the kind, that modern Europe can boast.
As the eye fixes involuntarily upon the central pavilion, past scenes and events of other days sweep by, like living pictures. Francis the First seems to pass proudly in his royal robes, and leaning upon his arm his intriguing mother, Louise of Savoy, for whom he purchased the hotel which originally occupied the site of this palace, somewhat more than three centuries since.
Ninety years after, we see Henry the Third hurrying from its walls to escape a tumult of the people. Assisted by his groom, he hastily mounts his horse, his dress disarranged, and the spurs but half fastened to his boots. Forty arquebusiers take aim at him as he passes out by the Ponte Neuve; and when he finds himself free from the perilous neighborhood of the ​city, he indulges in wrathful gestures and imprecations of vengeance, like the vindictive Marmion, who on quitting the castle of the haughty Douglas,
"Turned and raised his clenched hand,
And shout of loud defiance pours,
And shook his gauntlet at the towers."
We shrink, as we imagine gliding among these scenes, the form of the ambitious Catharine de Medicis, who built for her son's residence this very central pavilion, with its wings. There, there is the window from whence the infamous Charles the Ninth, whom his mother "Jezebel stirred up," fired upon his own people, on the terrible August 29th, 1572; and while the groans of the murdered Protestants resounded in his ears, continued to excite his ruffian soldiers, with the hoarse and horrible cry of "Kill! kill!"
At the summer solstice, two hundred and twenty years after this massacre of St. Bartholomew, the Tuileries again reëchoed with the howling of an infuriated mob, and the shrieks of the dying. Throngs of laborers, and the terrible women from the faubourg St. Antoine, with the brewer Santerre at their head, swelling, as they passed along, to twenty thousand, beat down the gates of the palace, hewed their way through the doors with hatchets, trampled through the royal apartments, brandishing their cutlasses, poles, and knives, rifled the bureaus in the bed-chambers, and ​alarmed the unfortunate Marie Antoinette, with the most disgusting and brutal threats. The king, Louis the Sixteenth, adventured his person among the mob, and was miraculously preserved, after enduring great rudeness and indignity.
On the 10th of August, of this same memorable 1791, the dreadful immolation of the Swiss Guards deluged the grand stair-case, the council-chamber, the chapel, and the throne-room, with blood.
Emerging from these gates on the 19th of March, 1815, Louis the Eighteenth appeared at midnight, attended by only a few persons, and moving feebly, with sadness depicted on his countenance, abdicated his palace, and the throne of his ancestors. Behind him was the sound of the banners of the Corsican, rushing from Elba, and the scarce suppressed hozannas of a fickle crowd. In a few hours Bonaparte entered the Tuileries in triumph, and seated himself on the throne of the Bourbons, losing the memory of his exile in the enthusiastic acclamations of "Vive l'Empereur," and in the reign of the hundred days.