ITINERARY OF THE PRISONERS.
47
moderate laughter, were taking down mirrors, pictures, engravings, carrying away books, furniture, ornaments, in short, making the house as empty as possible.[1]
Half an hour before dinner, the officers
- ↑ They took even the children's toys; and among the number of Chruszczew's forty waggons, loaded with spoils, there was one which contained only those playthings. This confused heap of wooden horses, wooden carriages, pasteboard castles, and all sorts of dolls, placed at random one over the other, presented a grotesque sight. Little Iwan, Chruszczew's son, was the richest child in the world in dolls; thus at the age of seven years he was already satiated with every juvenile pleasure. Wherever we stopped, those treasures were displayed before him; he amused himself for some time, then soon became tired with everything. He took one doll after the other, looked at it, then broke its arms and legs, and threw it on the floor. He mounted a wooden horse, balanced himself on it for an instant, and was, likewise, disgusted with it. He was a true Beaujon in his house of the Champs Elysées, in the midst of his millions, splendid furniture, mistresses, tired with everything, as much with the world as himself, and yawning in his cradle suspended with garlands of roses.—(Note of the Author.)
