Paris, and in our old apartment, 20th of July.
Unforeseen circumstances have postponed till next spring our ride to Italy, when I will continue these notes for you, and we shall go as heretofore, except that John will no longer be of the party; his disposition has become so warlike that we intend sending him back to Ireland.
History of the Abbey of St. Denis, by Doublet.
Departure under an unlucky star--Essonne--Petit Bourg--The Czar Peter--Fontainebleau--Palace--Apartments of the Emperor Charles the Fifth--Chamber where Pius the Seventh said mass daily--Chapel founded in the seventh century--Cypher of the Saviour and Virgin placed beside those of Henry the Second and Diana of Poitiers--Princess Mary of Orleans--Napoleon's apartments--Marie Antoinette's boudoir--Carving by Louis the Sixteenth's hand--Monaldeschi, favourite of Queen Christina--Gallery where he was murdered--Account of his murder by the Monk who confessed him, of his burial at dusk in the church of Avon--Window thrown open by Henry the Fourth, to announce Louis the Thirteenth's birth--Gallery of Henry the Second, called Galerie des Réformés--Petition in which they took the name presented here by Coligny--Open chamber above the Donjon--Arch where Louis the Thirteenth was publicly baptized--Biron's tower--His treason--His denial--His last interview with Henry the Fourth--Napoleon--The forest--The Comte de Moret, last inhabitant of the Hermitage of Franchard--Fanny's sagacity--Croix du Grand Veneur-The spectre hunt--Apparition and warning to Henry the Fourth, corroborated by Sully--Avon--Monaldeschi, Christina's fickle lover--The old church--The fat porter--The grave beneath the Bénitier--The Englishmen's sacrilege--Monaldeschi their relative--Precautions against travellers.
Set forth once more on the second, under an unlucky star, for the rain commenced as we passed the barrier, and having received it on our heads during a walk of four hours, (for over the broken pavement, or through the three-foot-thick mud at its sides it was impossible to trot,) we were glad to take refuge in a wretched auberge at Essonne. I think I mentioned to you "a country inn" in England where we stopped, tempted by its quiet appearance, and charmed by the brilliantly white curtains of the tiny bed-room: but alas! the farmers were returning from Tewkesbury fair, and they drank and sang in the kitchen below. We rejoiced that this could not pass a certain hour, but they had smoked, and the fumes of tobacco rose to our room through the chinks of the floor, and there being no chimney could not get out again; then the family put the house to rights; then we heard the horses kick all night, there being in the shed next theirs pigs, with whom they would not fraternize; and the rats galloped to and fro, and squeaked at our very pillows, and when these were quiet, at dawn up rose mine host and hostess, and the maid of all work to scour the house from top to bottom, and run about it in pattens. All this is comfort, compared to a country auberge in France. Arriving wet and weary, to stand in the middle of a great brick-floored room, in which there has been no fire all the winter, in expectation of seeing damp faggots burn; and finding when they do that the door into the corridor must be left wide open, that the draught may conduct towards the chimney the smoke, and the steam of wet clothes and damp sheets which must be dried there, as the economical kitchen hearth exhibits only a few dying embers,--this was our case. The good old woman to be sure offered a remedy, as she said that we might, if we liked, take a dry pair of sheets, which had been slept in only once, and recommended hanging the dripping habit and cloaks in the grenier, whose unglazed windows let in full as much rain as wind. Add to my previous enumeration a dinner of dry bouilli, and greasy cabbage, a faggot for our feet serving as a rug, and dirty alcove with plenty of cobwebs but no curtains.