This time I varied my route to Paris, by passing thro’ St Omer, Douay and Cambray.  At Cambray I was present at a ball given by the municipality.  The Duke of Wellington was there.  He had in his hand an extraordinary sort of hat which had something of a shape of a folding cocked hat, with divers red crosses and figures on it, so that it resembled a conjurer’s cap.  I understand it is a hat given to his Grace by magnanimous Alexander; St Nicholas perhaps commissioned the Emperor to present it to Wellington, for his Grace is entitled to the eternal gratitude of the different Saints, as well as of the different sovereigns, for having maintained them respectively in their celestial and terrestrial dominions; and it is to be hoped, after his death, that the latter will celebrate for him a brilliant apotheosis, and the former be as complaisant to him and make room for him in the Empyreum as Virgil requests the Scorpion to do for Augustus: 

  ...Ipse tibi jam brachia contrahit ardens
  Scorpios, et coeli jusia plus parts reliquit.[59]

I met with an adventure in my journey from St Quentin to Compiegne, which, had it happened a hundred years ago in France, would have alarmed me much for my personal safety.  It was as follows.  I had taken my place at St Quentin to go to Paris; but all the diligences being filled, the bureau expedited a caleche to convey me as far as Compiegne, there to meet the Paris diligence at nine the next morning.  It was a very dark cold night, and snowed very hard.

Between eleven and twelve o’clock at night, half way between St Quentin and Compiegne, the axle tree of the carriage broke; we were at least two miles from any village one way and three the other; but a lone house was close to the spot where the accident happened.  We had, therefore, the choice of going forward or backward, the postillion and myself helping the carriage on with our hands, or to take refuge at the lone house till dawn of day.  I preferred the latter; we knocked several times at the door of the lone house, but the owner refused to admit us, saying that he was sure we were gens de mauvaise vie, and that he would shoot us if we did not go away.  The postillion and I then determined on retrograding two miles, the distance of the nearest village, and remaining there till morning.  We arrived there with no small difficulty and labour, for it snowed very fast and heavily, and it required a good deal of bodily exertion to push on the carriage.  Arrived at the village, we knocked at the door of a small cottage, the owner of which sold some brandy.  He received me very civilly, gave me some eggs and bacon for supper, and a very fair bed.

The next morning, after having the axle tree repaired, we proceeded on our journey to Compiegne.  I suffered much from the cold during this adventure, and did not sleep well, having fallen into a train of thought which prevented me from so doing; and I could not help bringing to my recollection the adventure of Raymond in the forest near Strassburg, in the romance of The Monk.  Nothing worthy of note occurred during the rest of the journey; but this adventure obliged me to remain one day at Compiegne to wait for the next diligence.