One of the most interesting things I saw in 1873, just before my marriage, was the court-martial of Marshal Bazaine for treachery at Metz--giving up his army and the city without any attempt to break through the enemy's lines, or in fact any resistance of any kind. The court was held at the Grand Trianon, Versailles, a place so associated with a pleasure-loving court, and the fanciful devices of a gay young queen, that it was difficult to realise the drama that was being enacted, when the honour of a Marshal of France--almost an army of France, was to be judged. It was an impressive scene, the hall packed, and people at all the doors and entrances clamouring for seats. The public was curious, a little of everything--members of the National Assembly, officers all in uniform, pretty women of all categories--the group of journalists with keen eager faces watching every change of expression of the marshal's face--some well-known faces, wives of members or leading political and literary men, a fair amount of the frailer sisterhood, actresses and demi-mondaines, making a great effect of waving plumes and diamonds. The court was presided over by the Duc d'Aumale, who accepted the office after much hesitation. He was a fine, soldierly figure as he came in, in full uniform, a group of officers behind him, all with stern, set faces. The impression of the public was generally hostile to the marshal; one felt it all through the trial. He was dressed in full uniform, with the grand cordon of the Legion of Honour. It was melancholy to hear the report of his career when it was read by his counsel,--long years of active service, many wounds, often mentioned for brave conduct under fire, having the "Médaille Militaire"--the grand cordon of the Legion d'Honneur, the baton de Maréchal de France,--all the honours his country could give him--to end so miserably, judged not only by the court but by the country, as a traitor, false to his trust, when his country was in the death-throes of defeat and humiliation. His attitude at the trial was curious. He sat very still in his armchair, looking straight before him, only raising his head and looking at the Duc d'Aumale when some grave accusation was made against him. His explanation brought the famous reply from the duc, when he said it was impossible to act or to treat; there was nothing left in France--no government, no orders--nothing. The due answered: "Il y avait toujours la France." He didn't look overwhelmed, rather like some one who was detached from the whole proceedings. I saw his face quite well; it was neither false nor weak--ordinary. It is difficult to believe that a French general with a brilliant record behind him should have been guilty of such treachery, sacrificing his men and his honour. His friends (they were not many) say he lost his head, was nearly crazy with the utterly unforeseen defeat of the French, but even a moment of insanity would hardly account for such extraordinary weakness. W. and