desirable of all blessings is repose, seclusion, a little spot we can call
our own." When La Bruyere expressed himself so bitterly, when he spoke of
the court "which satisfies no one," but "prevents one from being satisfied
anywhere else," of the court, "that country where the joys are visible but
false, and the sorrows hidden, but real," he had before him the brilliant
Palace of Versailles, the unrivalled glory of the Sun King, a monarchy
which thought itself immovable and eternal. What would he say in this
century when dynasties fail like autumn leaves, and it takes much less
than thirty years to destroy the giants of power; when the exile of to-day
repeats to the exile of the morrow the motto of the churchyard: _Hodie
mihi, eras tibi?_ What would this Christian philosopher say at a time when
royal and imperial palaces have been like caravansaries through which
sovereigns have passed like travellers, when their brief resting-places
have been consumed by the blaze of petroleum and are now but a heap of
ashes?

The study of any court is sure to teach wisdom and indifference to human
glories. In our France of the nineteenth century, fickle as it has been,
inconstant, fertile in revolutions, recantations, and changes of every
sort, this lesson is more impressive than it has been at any period of our
history. Never has Providence shown more clearly the nothingness of this
world's grandeur and magnificence. Never has the saying of Ecclesiastes
been more exactly verified: "Vanity of vanities; all is vanity!" We have
before us the task of describing one of the most sumptuous courts that has
ever existed, and of reviewing splendors all the more brilliant for their
brevity. To this court of Napoleon and Josephine, to this majestic court,
resplendent with glory, wealth, and fame, may well be applied Corneille's
lines:--

"All your happiness