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THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.
A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS.
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VOL. I.—APRIL, 1858.—NO. VI.
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THE HUNDRED DAYS.
PERSONAL REMINISCENCES.
That period of history between the 20th of March and the 28th of June,1815, being the interregnum in the reign of Louis the Eighteenth,caused by the arrival of Napoleon from Elba and his assumption of thegovernment of France, is known as "The Hundred Days."
It is as interesting as it was eventful, and has been duly chronicledwherever facts have been gathered to gratify a curiosity that is not yetweary of dwelling on the point of time which saw the Star of Destinyonce more in the ascendant before it sank forever.
Whatever is connected with this remarkable epoch is worthy ofremembrance, and whoever can add the interest of a personal experience,though it be limited and unimportant, should be satisfied, in therecital, to adopt that familiar form which may give to his recollectionsthe strongest impress of reality.
I was at that time a schoolboy in Paris. The institution to which I wasattached was connected with one of the National Lyceums, which werecolleges where students resided in large numbers, and where classes fromprivate schools also regularly attended, each studying in its respectiveplace and going to the Lyceum at hours of lecture or recitation. Allthese establishments were, under Napoleon, to a certain degree military.The roll of the drum roused the scholar to his daily work; a uniformwith the imperial button was the only dress allowed to be worn; and thephysical as well as the intellectual training was such, that very littleadditional preparation was required to qualify the inmate of the Lyceumfor the duties and privations of the soldier's life. The transitionwas not unnatural; and the boy who breakfasted in the open air, inmidwinter, on a piece of dry bread and as much water as he chose to pumpfor himself,—who was turned adrift, without cap or overcoat, from thestudy-room into the storm or sunshine of an open enclosure, to amusehimself in his recess as he best might,—whose continual talk with hiscomrades was of the bivouac or the battle-field,—and who considered thegreat object of life to be the development of faculties best fitted toexcel in the art of destruction, would not be astonished to find himselfsleeping on the bare ground with a levy of raw conscripts.
I was in daily intercourse with several hundred young men, and itmay not be uninteresting to dwell a moment on the character of mycompanions, especially as they may be considered a fair type of theyouth of France generally at that time. It is, moreover, a topic withwhich few are familiar. There were not many Americans in that country atthat period. I knew of only one at school in Paris beside myself.
If the brilliant glories of the Empire dazzled the mature mind ofage, they wrought into delirium the impulsive brain of youth, whoseimpressions do not wait for any aid from the judgment, but burn into thesoul, never to be totally effaced. The early boyhood of those with whomI was associated had been one of continual excitement. Hardly had thehasty but eloquent bulletin told the Parisians that the name of anotherbloody field was to be inscribed among the victories of France, and thecannon of the Invalides