description of which I had had the good luck to hear from two young Prussian officers, eye-witnesses of it, one of whom became the celebrated Marshal von Moltke; and also all I learnt about the Eastern question on my visits to the Embassies, to Therapia and Buyukdere.  There I had met all the chief members of the diplomatic corps, which consisted during my stay of two French ambassadors, succeeding each other, both of them instability personified—­one was Admiral Roussin, a distinguished sailor, the other M. de Pontois, a professional diplomat—­both of them very kind, but neither, as a result of their instability, having any real influence.  Beside them two men of tenacity and steadfastness admirably personified two great powers.  Lord Ponsonby, a tall, blunt, haughty, unsociable old man, represented British perseverance and Lord Palmerston’s prejudices, while M. de Boutenieff, a charming, kindly, and witty man, liked by everybody and making game somewhat of all, stood for the great destinies of the Russian people, and the mighty will of the Emperor Nicholas.  An armed Russian intervention in the Bosphorus was no longer in question, but it was unforeseen as yet that Russia and England would agree to ruin the work of Mehemet Ali, the last strength in reality of the Mussulman world, and that the whole of Europe would join these two powers in their willing alliance for the isolation and humiliation of France, revolutionary France!  No more allies for us, since we have gone into that mill!  We sacrificed 200,000 men in the Crimea.  What did we get by it?  The garter for Napoleon III.  One word or deed of sympathy for all our reverses?  Not the shadow of one!  Revolutionary France has been asked for help.  But none has ever been given her.  Would it be rendered her now?  God grant it!

CHAPTER VII

1840-1841

I left Constantinople with a farewell glance, full of pleasant memories, over its forest of minarets, over the Bosphorus and the smiling Princes Islands, and at the snowy peak too of Mount Olympus, which, with my taste for mountaineering, I had climbed but a short time previously.  An interesting ascent it had been, first of all through that Eastern Switzerland around the pretty town of Broussa, and then over the snow and rocky debris to the summit, whence a matchless panorama is to be seen.  The squadrons, one French and one English, forming a strong force of ships, were at that time on guard at the mouth of the Dardanelles.  I went back to my duty in ours, which was still as active and incessantly drilled as ever.  The English squadron, commanded by Sir Robert Stopford, a handsome white-haired old man, was less restless.  But the fleets dispersed before long.  Ours sailed for Smyrna, whence the Admiral sent the Belle-Poule under my command, and the Triton, Captain Hamelin, back to France.  We sailed in company, and after a somewhat lengthy winter passage, we got to Toulon only to find