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And, truly, if they could have paused to study it, that panorama of the
states of Europe which was outstretched before their eyes, was conspicuous
for the fantastic resemblances with which Nature on the one hand,
and international relations on the other, have associated them.
There was England, marching like some stately dame towards the east,
trailing her ample skirts and coroneted with the cluster of her
little islets; Sweden and Norway, with their bristling spine
of mountains, seemed like a splendid lion eager to spring down from
the bosom of the ice-bound north; Russia, a gigantic polar bear,
stood with its head towards Asia, its left paw resting upon Turkey,
its right upon Mount Caucasus; Austria resembled a huge cat curled
up and sleeping a watchful sleep; Spain, with Portugal as a pennant,
like an unfurled banner, floated from the extremity of the continent;
Turkey, like an insolent cock, appeared to clutch the shores of Asia
with the one claw, and the land of Greece with the other; Italy, as it
were a foot and leg encased in a tight-fitting boot, was juggling deftly
with the islands of Sicily, Sardinia, and Corsica; Prussia, a formidable
hatchet imbedded in the heart of Germany, its edge just grazing
the frontiers of France; whilst France itself suggested a vigorous
torso with Paris at its breast.
All at once Ben Zoof breaks the silence: "Montmartre! I see Montmartre!"
And, smile at the absurdity as others might, nothing could induce the worthy
orderly to surrender his belief that he could actually make out the features
of his beloved home.
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