It
soon bore not the smallest resemblance to itself; what Art had, in the
space of a century, employed a thousand hands to produce, was in a short
time, and by very few, defaced and destroyed. The strongest iron doors
to the vaults were broken open, the walls stripped of their decorations
and emblems of mourning, the last tributes of grief and affection
annihilated, and every atom of wood thrown into the watch-fire; so that
the living could no longer know where to look for the remains of the
deceased objects of their love. The elegant rails, with which the
generality of the graves were encompassed, for the most part
disappeared, and the only vestiges of them to be found were their ashes,
or the relics of the reeking brands of the watch-fire. On the 19th this
wretched bulwark also was stormed, and thrown down as easily as a
fowler's net. The carcasses of horses now replaced upon the graves the
monuments of mourning for the peaceful dead. After the battle part of
the French prisoners were confined in this place. The church of St.
John, which stands in it, had, as early as the month of May, been
converted into an hospital, which, ever since the beginning of October,
was crowded with sick. It could hold no more; the sick and prisoners
were therefore intermingled, and lay down pell-mell among the graves.
What had hitherto been spared was now completely destroyed.
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