1816: the Grandest Tour

France: Chapter 22

Fontainebleau was a pleasant little town not far from the Seine's banks. The tourists found an inn to supply their victuals, then took the food wrapped to the chateau's park so they could eat their meal sur l'herbe. Driving up to the palace from the south they found a piece of parkland appropriately named the jardin anglais, which they thought it only fitting to colonize for a brief spell.

Munching through his cold roast beef and baguette, Robert addressed a rare question to Tobias:

"You said old Boney surrendered here in '14. Why'd he do it? Didn't he still have his army together and all?"

"His army was still with him, yes," said Tobias, honored to have his knowledge called upon. "But, crucially, his generals mutinied. Marshall Ney and the other officers refused to march on Paris and subject her to a bombardment and general slaughter. The troops and non-commissioned officers would have followed their Emperor to the gates of Tartarus, but without their divisional commanders they'd have lacked all organization, so it was hopeless."

"I see," said Robert, raising his eyebrows in mild interest. "Just as well, I suppose."

"I quite agree," said Tobias, buttering a scone with renewed energy. "Bonaparte was distraught of course. He tried to take his own life with some poison he'd brought on the Russian campaign. But after so long the drug's power had worn off. So he signed the Treaty of Fontainebleau, abdicating the throne, and then gave his famous farewell to his 'Old Guard,' just out there in the court."

The four fell silent, considering the vastness of history and its chain of unforeseeable shocks.

"Always a master of histrionics," said Hugh with a scoff. "Typical Frenchman."

They finished their meal in the peaceful afternoon, admiring the south wing's facade.

"Well then," said George, "shall we take a turn in the grounds?"

Although the four would have been glad to see the chateau's interior, they knew this wouldn't give them time to reach Troyes at a decent hour. And with France's new government only a year old, the question of whether visitors were even allowed inside was wholly uncertain. Instead they walked in a clockwise direction around the walls, remarking on Louis XIII's horseshoe-shaped staircase in the Cour de Cheval Blanc. During their circumambulation, Tobias read out a few more noteworthy events from the palace's history, including the reigning Pope, Pius VII's, imprisonment there for a year and a half. The Pope's captivity had ended January 1814, just months before Napoleon's fall.

After viewing more picturesque gardens, manicured lawns, and a great pond full of carp, the boys felt they'd seen enough. They bought more provisions they could eat on the way and regained the road towards Troyes.

On leaving the chateau, the young gentlemen were full of optimism that they could reach Troyes by midnight or even earlier. After a few hours, however, the valets saw the sky had taken a singular dislike to this plan.

"Storm in the offing," Dick called back to Isaac. "We'll have to tell the gentlemen. Best to stop somewhere before it hits." Dick Blackford's sailoring instincts made him wary of any tempest, even on dry land. He inquired of Hercule if there were any substantial towns between here and their destination. The driver gave his opinion, and Dick rapped on the window to get the gentlemen's attention, at which George stuck his head out.

"Hercule here says we should bait at Sens before the storm breaks. What say you, sirs?"

George was a little discouraged, and put the question to the other three. They went around for a few minutes without agreement, but then a great thunderclap above made up their minds.