The Idler in France
by
Marguerite Gardiner
Part 5 out of 6
all the polish and _savoir-vivre_ of the best foreign society without
having lost any of the more solid and fine qualities peculiar to the
most distinguished portion of his countrymen. Lord Pembroke maintains
the reputation of English taste in equipages by sporting horses and
carriages that excite the admiration, if not the envy, of the
Parisians, among whom he is, and deserves to be, very popular.
The Duke of Hamilton paid me a long visit to-day. We talked over old
times, and our mutual friend Dr. Parr, in whose society we formerly
passed such agreeable hours in St. James's Square. The Duke is a very
well-informed man, has read much, and remembers what he has read; and
the ceremoniousness of his manners, with which some people find fault,
I have got used to, and rather like than otherwise. The mixture of
chivalric sentiments, Scotch philosophy, and high breeding of the old
French school which meet in the Duke, render his conversation very
piquant.
He has, indeed, the dignity of his three dukedoms; the _fierte_ of that
of Chatelherault, the reserve of that of England, and the spirit of
that of Scotland: witness his dignified reproof to the Duc de Blacas at
Rome, when that very unpopular personage, then Ambassador from the
court of France, presumed to comment on the frequency of the Duke of
Hamilton's visits to the Princess Pauline Borghese, who, being a
Buonaparte, was looked on with a jealous eye by Blacas.
Monsieur Mignet spent last evening here. The more I see of him the more
I am pleased with his society. To a mind stored with knowledge he joins
a happy facility of bringing forth its treasures, never as if
ostentatious of his wealth, but in illustration of any topic that is
discussed, on which he brings it to bear most aptly and appropriately.
His countenance lights up with expression when he converses, and adds
force to an eloquence always interesting and often instructive.
Though Monsieur Mignet shines in monologue more than in dialogue, there
is nothing either dictatorial or pedantic in his manner, he utters
opinions new and original, which it is evident he has deeply reflected
on, and elucidates them to the comprehension of his auditors with great
felicity. I like listening to the conversation of such a man; and
clever people, when they find an attentive listener, are incited to
talk well.
In general society, in which many persons of totally opposite tastes,
pursuits, and opinions, are thrown together, a clever man has seldom an
opportunity of bringing forth the treasures of his mind. He can only
dispense the small coin, which is easily changed with those he comes in
contact with; but the weighty and valuable, metal is not brought into
use, because he knows the greater number of those, around him could
give him no equivalent in exchange.
----, conversing with Lady ---- to-day, she observed that in early life
conscience has less influence than in advanced life, and accounted for
it by the nearer approach to death rendering people more alarmed, and
consequently more disposed to listen to it. Some persons attribute all
good impulses to fear, as if mortals were more governed by its
influence than by that of love and gratitude.
If conscience is less frequently heard in youth, it is that the
tumultuous throbbing of the heart, and the wild suggestions of the
passions, prevent its "still small voice" from being audible; but in
the decline of life, when the heart beats languidly and the passions
slumber, it makes itself heard, and on its whispers depends our
happiness or misery.
My old acquaintance, Lord Palmerston, has arrived at Paris, and dined
here yesterday, to meet the Duc and Duchesse de Guiche, Count Valeski,
and Mr. Poulett Thomson. Seven years have produced no change in Lord
Palmerston. He is the same intelligent, sensible, and agreeable person
that I remember him to have been for many years.
Lord Palmerston has much more ability than people are disposed to give
him credit for. He is, or used to be, when I lived in England,
considered a good man of business, acute in the details, and quick in
the comprehension of complicated questions. Even this is no mean
praise, but I think him entitled to more; for, though constantly and
busily occupied with official duties, he has contrived to find time to
read every thing worth reading, and to make himself acquainted with the
politics of other countries.
Lively, well-bred, and unaffected, Lord Palmerston is a man that is so
well acquainted with the routine of official duties, performs them so
readily and pleasantly, and is so free from the assumption of
self-importance that too frequently appertains to adepts in them, that,
whether Whig or Tory government has the ascendant in England, his
services will be always considered a desideratum to be secured if
possible.
Lord Castlereagh, Mr. Cutlar Fergusson, and Count Valeski dined here
yesterday. Lord C. has just arrived from England, and is a good
specimen of the young men of the present day. He reminds me of his
uncle, the late Marquess of Londonderry, one of the most amiable and
well-bred men I ever knew. Lord C---- is very animated and piquant in
conversation, thinks for himself, and says what he thinks with a
frankness not often met with in our times. Yet there is no _brusquerie_
in his manners; _au contraire_, they are soft and very pleasing; and
this contrast between the originality and fearlessness of his opinions,
and the perfect good-breeding with which they are expressed, lend a
peculiar attraction to his manner. If Lord C---- were not a man of
fashion he would become something vastly better, for he has much of the
chivalrous spirit of his father and the tact of his uncle. Fashion is
the gulf in whose vortex so many fine natures are wrecked in England;
what a pity it is that they cannot be rescued from its dangers!
Mr. Cutlar Fergusson is a clever and amiable man, mild, well-informed,
and agreeable.
The Baron and Baroness de Ruysch spent yesterday with us. They are an
estimable couple, and very pleasant withal. His philosophy, which has
nothing of the ascetic in it, harmonises very well with her vivacity,
and her sprightliness never degenerates into levity. It is the gaiety
of a mind at ease, pleased with others, and content with self. How
unlike the exuberant spirits of ----, which always depress mine more
than a day's _tete-a-tete_ with the moodiest hypochondriac could do!
Nothing can be more dreary and cheerless than the weather; and a second
winter's residence at Paris has convinced me that London is infinitely
preferable at this season, except to those who consider gaiety an
equivalent for comfort. The negligence and bad management of the
persons whose duty it is to remove the snow or mud from the streets,
render them not only nearly impassable for pedestrians but exceedingly
disagreeable to those who have carriages.
Previously to the heavy fall of snow that occurred a week ago, and
which still encumbers the streets, a succession of wet days occasioned
an accumulation of mud that gave forth most unsavoury odours, and lent
a damp chilliness to the atmosphere which sent home to their sick
chambers, assailed by sore throats and all the other miseries peculiar
to colds, many of those who were so imprudent as to venture abroad. The
snow, instead of being swept away, is piled up on each side of the
streets, forming a wall that increases the gloom and chilliness that
reigns around. The fogs, too, rise from the Seine, and hover over the
Champs-Elysees and streets adjacent to it, rendering a passage through
them a service of danger.
Lord Castlereagh and Madame Grassini dined here last evening. He was
much amused with the raciness and originality of her remarks; and she
was greatly gratified by the polite attention with which he listened to
them. At one moment, she pronounced him to be "_la vraie image de ce
cher et bon Lord Castlereagh_," whom she had so much liked; and the
next she declared him to be exactly like "_ce preux chevalier, son
pere_," who was so irresistible that no female heart, or, as she said,
at least no Italian female heart, could resist him.
Then she spoke of "_ce cher et excellent Duc de Wellington_," who had
been so kind to her, asked a thousand questions about him, the tears
starting into her brilliant eyes as she dwelt on the reminiscences of
those days when, considered the finest singer and most beautiful woman
of her time, she received a homage accorded to her beauty and talent
never since so universally decreed to any other _prima donna_. The
Grassini cannot be known without being liked, she is so warm-hearted,
unaffected, and sincere.
The prettiest sight imaginable was a party of our friends in sledges,
who yesterday passed through the streets. This was the first time I had
ever seen this mode of conveyance, and nothing can be more picturesque.
The sledge of the Duc de Guiche, in which reclined the Duchesse, the
Duc seated behind her and holding, at each side of her, the reins of
the horse, presented the form of a swan, the feathers beautifully
sculptured. The back of this colossal swan being hollowed out, admitted
a seat, which, with the whole of the interior, was covered with fine
fur. The harness and trappings of the superb horse that drew it were
richly decorated, and innumerable silver bells were attached to it, the
sound of which was pleasant to the ear.
The Duchesse, wrapped in a pelisse of the finest Russian sable, never
looked handsomer than in her sledge, her fair cheeks tinged with a
bright pink by the cold air, and her luxuriant silken curls falling on
the dark fur that encircled her throat.
Count A. d'Orsay's sledge presented the form of a dragon, and the
accoutrements and horse were beautiful; the harness was of red morocco,
embroidered with gold. The Prince Poniatowski and Comte Valeski
followed in sledges of the ordinary Russian shape, and the whole
cavalcade had a most picturesque effect. The Parisians appeared to be
highly delighted with the sight, and, above all, with the beautiful
Duchesse borne along through the snow in her swan.
My medical adviser pressed me so much to accede to the wishes of my
friends and try the salutary effect of a drive in a sledge, that I
yesterday accompanied them to St.-Cloud, where we dined, and returned
at night by torch-light. Picturesque as is the appearance of the
sledges by day-light, it is infinitely more so by night, particularly
of those that have the form of animals or birds.
The swan of the Duchesse de Guiche had bright lamps in its eyes, which
sent forth a clear light that was reflected in prismatic colours on the
drifted snow, and ice-gemmed branches of the trees, as we drove through
the Bois de Boulogne. Grooms, bearing lighted torches, preceded each
sledge; and the sound of the bells in the Bois, silent and deserted at
that hour, made one fancy one's self transported to some far northern
region.
The dragon of Comte A. d'Orsay looked strangely fantastic at night. In
the mouth, as well as the eyes, was a brilliant red light; and to a
tiger-skin covering, that nearly concealed the cream-coloured horse,
revealing only the white mane and tail, was attached a double line of
silver gilt bells, the jingle of which was very musical and cheerful.
The shadows of the tall trees falling on an immense plain of snow, the
light flashing in fitful gleams from the torches and lamps as we were
hurried rapidly along, looked strange and unearthly, and reminded me of
some of the scenes described in those northern fictions perused in the
happy days of childhood.
This excursion and exposure to the wintry air procured me a good
night's sleep,--the first enjoyed since the severity of the weather has
deprived me of my usual exercise. This revival of an old fashion (for
in former days sledges were considered as indispensable in the winter
_remise_ of a grand seigneur in France as cabriolets or britchkas are
in the summer) has greatly pleased the Parisian world, and crowds flock
to see them as they pass along. The velocity of the movement, the
gaiety of the sound of the bells, and the cold bracing air, have a very
exhilarating effect on the spirits.
Met the Prince Polignac at the Duchesse de G----'s today. His
countenance is remarkably good, his air and manner _tres-distingue_,
and his conversation precisely what might be expected from an English
gentleman--mild, reasonable, and unaffected. If I had not previously
known him to be one or the most amiable men in the world, I should have
soon formed this judgment of him, for every expression of his
countenance, and every word he utters, give this impression.
The Prince Polignac has lived much in England, and seems to me to be
formed to live there, for his tastes are decidedly English. Twice
married, both his wives were English; so that it is no wonder that he
has adopted much of our modes of thinking. Highly as I am disposed to
estimate him, I do not think that he is precisely the person calculated
to cope with the difficulties that must beset a minister, and, above
all, a minister in France, in times like the present.
The very qualities that render him so beloved in private life, and
which make his domestic circle one of the happiest in the world, are
perhaps those which unfit him for so trying a post as the one he is now
called on to hold--a post requiring abilities so various, and
qualifications so manifold, that few, if any, could be found to possess
the rare union.
A spirit is rife in France that renders the position of _premier_ in it
almost untenable; and he must unite the firmness of a stoic, the
knowledge of a Machiavelli, and the boldness of a Napoleon, who could
hope to stem the tide that menaces to set in and sweep away the present
institutions. If honesty of intention, loyalty to his sovereign,
personal courage, attachment to his country, and perfect
disinterestedness could secure success, then might Prince Polignac
expect it.
CHAPTER XXII.
May.--Some months have elapsed since I noted down a line in this book.
Indisposition and its usual attendants, languor and lassitude, have
caused me to throw it by. Time that once rolled as pleasantly as
rapidly along, seems now to pace as slowly as sadly; and even the
approach of spring, that joyous season never before unwelcomed, now
awakens only painful recollections. Who can see the trees putting forth
their leaves without a dread that, ere they have yet expanded into
their full growth, some one may be snatched away who with us hailed
their first opening verdure?
When once Death has invaded our hearths and torn from us some dear
object on whose existence our happiness depended, we lose all the
confidence previously fondly and foolishly experienced in the stability
of the blessings we enjoy, and not only deeply mourn those lost, but
tremble for those yet spared to us. I once thought that I could never
behold this genial season without pleasure; alas! it now occasions only
gloom.
Captain William Anson, the brother of Lord Anson, dined here yesterday.
He is a very remarkable young man; highly distinguished in his
profession, being considered one of the best officers in the navy, and
possessing all the accomplishments of a finished gentleman. His reading
has been extensive, and his memory is very retentive. He has been in
most quarters of the globe, and has missed no opportunity of
cultivating his mind and of increasing his stock of knowledge. He is,
indeed, a worthy descendant of his great ancestor, who might well be
proud of such a scion to the ancient stock. Devoted to the arduous
duties of his profession, he studies every amelioration in it _con
amore_; and, if a long life be granted to him, will prove one of its
brightest ornaments.
The Marquis and Marquise de B---- spent last evening here, and several
people dropped in. Among them was the pretty Madame de la H----, as
piquant and lively as ever, as content with herself (and she has reason
to be so, being very good-looking and amusing) and as careless of the
suffrages of others. I like the young and the gay of my own sex, though
I am no longer either.
Prince Paul Lieven and Captain Cadogan[8] dined here yesterday. The
first is as _spirituel_ and clever as formerly, and the second is as
frank, high-spirited, and well-bred--the very _beau ideal_ of a son of
the sea, possessing all the attributes of that generous race, joined to
all those said to be peculiar to the high-born and well-educated.
I like the conversation of such men--men who, nursed in the lap of
luxury, are sent from the noble dwellings of their sires to be
"cabined, cribbed, confined," in (to my thinking) the most unbearable
of all prisons--a ship; pass months and years exposed to hardships,
privations, and dangers, from the endurance of which even the poor and
lowly born often shrink, and bring back to society the high breeding
and urbanity not to be surpassed in those whose lots have been exempt
from such trials; and, what is still more precious, the experience and
reflection acquired in their perilous profession, and in the many hours
of solitude and anxiety that appertain to it.
Sat a considerable time with the Duchesse de Guiche today. How amiable
and kind-hearted she is, and how unspoilt by all the brilliancy of her
position! While I was there the mother and son of a young page, for
whom the Duc and Duchesse have obtained that office at court, came to
thank her. The boy is a very fine youth, and the mother and sister seem
to dote on him. They reminded me of the mother and sister that a
sentimental writer would have created for the occasion, being
exceedingly interesting in their appearance and manner. The boy was
evidently as fond and proud of them as they were of him, and the group
formed a charming picture.
The warmth and gentleness of the manners of the Duchesse de G----, and
the remarkable beauty of her face and figure, never appeared more
captivating in my eyes than when I beheld her to-day, evincing such
good nature to the youthful page and his mother and sister; and I saw
by their eyes, when they took leave of her, that she sent away grateful
hearts.
_July_ 1830.--Indisposition has interrupted my journal for several
weeks, and idleness has prolonged the chasm. The noting down the daily
recurrence of uninteresting events is as dull as the endurance of them.
If reports may be credited, we are on the eve of some popular commotion
in France, and the present ministers are said to be either ignorant of
the danger that menaces, or unprepared to meet it. The conquest of
Algiers has produced much less exultation in the people than might have
naturally been expected; and this indifference to an event calculated
to gratify the _amour-propre_ which forms so peculiar a characteristic
of the nation, is considered a bad sign by those who affect to be
acquainted with the people. I have so often heard rumours of discontent
and revolts that I have grown incredulous, and I think and hope the
French are too wise to try any dangerous experiments.
_26th July_.--This morning General E---- came to breakfast with us, and
announced that the ordonnances were yesterday signed in council at St.-
Cloud. This good man and brave soldier expressed the liveliest regret
at this rash measure, and the utmost alarm at the consequences likely
to result from it. Is Charles the Tenth ignorant of the actual state of
things in Paris, and of the power of public opinion? or does he hope to
vanquish the resistance likely to be offered to this act? I hope his
majesty may not acquire this knowledge when it has become too late to
derive advantage from it.
The unpopularity of the present ministry, and above all of its leader,
the Prince Polignac, is surprising, when one considers how estimable
his private character is, and that theirs are irreproachable. They are
rendered responsible for the will of the sovereign, who, if report
speak truth, is very pertinacious in exacting a rigid fulfilment of it
whenever it is exercised.
The present are not times to try experiments how far the will of a
monarch can be pushed; and it is not in France, as in England, where
our law supposes that a king can do no wrong, for the French are prone
to pay no more respect to sovereigns than to their supposed advisers,
and both may suffer a heavy penalty for incurring the dislike of the
people.
The prosperity of France, which is acknowledged by all, has failed to
silence the murmurs of discontent which, loud and deep, are heard every
where save in the palace,--too frequently the last place where public
opinion gets an impartial hearing. The success of the Algerine
expedition has buoyed up the confidence of the ministry in their own
strength; but, if I may credit what I hear, it has by no means really
added to it.
Concessions too long delayed come with a bad grace when at length
extorted, and the change of ministry factiously demanded, even if
complied with, would have placed the sovereign in any thing but a
dignified position. The dissolution of the Chambers in March, after a
session of only ten days, might be considered as a demonstration of
discontent on the part of the monarch, as well as a want of power of
quelling the spirit that evoked it.
A circumstance, trivial in itself, added to this unpopularity, which
was, that several of the deputies were on their route to Paris when the
unexpected intelligence of the dissolution reached them, and they could
not pardon the expense to which they had been put by this unnecessary
_frais de route_, their places in the diligence being paid for. How
frequently do trifles exercise a powerful influence over grave affairs!
The portion of the public press that advocates the defence of the
government is even more injudicious than that which assails it; and the
monarchy has decidedly suffered in general opinion by the angry
excitement produced by the recrimination of both parties. The
prosecutions entered into against the editors of the liberal papers are
considered by the party to which they belong to be persecutions; and
the sentiments avowed by the _Gazette de France_ are received as those
of not only the government but of the sovereign. The discussions
occasioned by these prosecutions, as well as by the principles of
monarchical absolutism maintained by the adverse party, have greatly
extended the ranks of the liberals, who, looking on the editors who
expound or promulgate their opinions as martyrs, become more
exasperated against their opponents, and more reckless in the modes
likely to be adopted for marking their disapprobation.
_27th_.--On returning from a late drive last night we passed near the
hotel of the Minister _des Finances_, around which some fifty or sixty
persons, chiefly youths, were assembled, crying out "_Vive la charte!_"
"_A bas les ministres!_" A patrol passed close to these persons, but
made no attempt to disperse them, which I think was rather unwise, for,
encouraged by this impunity, their numbers, I am told, increased
rapidly.
I have just heard that the post of _gendarmes_ was tripled this
morning, and that a crowd of persons have assembled around the hotel of
the Prince Polignac, where a cabinet council was held. It is said that
the ministers were insulted as they entered. This looks ill;
nevertheless, I trust that it is nothing more than a demonstration of
the spirit that is rife in the people, and that no more violent ones
will be resorted to. The visitors I have seen to-day seem much alarmed.
The Duc de Guiche set off for St.-Cloud yesterday morning, the moment
he had read the ordonnances. Had his counsel been listened to, they
would never have been promulgated; for he is one of the few who, with a
freedom from prejudice that enables him to judge dispassionately of the
actual state of public opinion, has the moral courage to declare the
truth to his sovereign, however unpalatable that truth might be, or
however prejudicial to his own interests.
I have this moment returned from a drive through the streets, and,
though far from being an alarmist, I begin to think that affairs wear a
more serious aspect than I dreaded. Already has a collision taken place
between the populace and the soldiers, who attempted to disperse them
near the Palais-Royal; and it required the assistance of a charge of
cavalry to secure the dangerous victory to themselves.
Crowds were hurrying through the streets, many of the shops were
closed, and not above three or four carriages were to be seen. Never
did so great a change take place in the aspect of a city in so few
hours! Yesterday the business of life flowed on in its usual current.
The bees and the drones of this vast hive were buzzing about, and the
butterflies of fashion were expanding their gay wings in the sunshine.
To-day the industrious and orderly seem frightened from their usual
occupations, and scarcely a person of those termed fashionable is to be
seen. Where are all the household of Charles the Tenth, that vast and
well-paid crowd who were wont to fill the anterooms of the Tuileries on
gala days, obsequiously watching to catch a nod from the monarch, whose
slightest wish was to them as the laws of the Modes and Persians? Can
it be that they have disappeared at the first cloud that has darkened
the horizon of their sovereign, and increased the danger that menaces
him by shewing that they have not courage to meet it? Heaven send, for
the honour of France, that the _noblesse_ of the court of Charles the
Tenth may not follow the disgraceful example furnished by that of his
unfortunate brother, Louis the Sixteenth! In England how different
would it be if danger menaced the sovereign!
---- has just been here, and, in answer to my question of where are the
men on whose fidelity the king could count, and in whose military
experience he might confide in such a crisis as the present, he told me
that for the purposes of election interests all the general officers
who could be trusted had unfortunately been sent from the court.
The sound of firing has announced that order, far from being restored,
seems less likely than ever to be so. People are rushing wildly through
the streets proclaiming that several persons have been killed by the
military. All is confusion and alarm, and every one appears to dread
what the coming night may produce.
Intelligence has just reached us that the mob are demolishing the
lanterns, and that they have broken into the shops of the gunsmiths,
and seized all the arms they could find. The Duc de Raguse commands the
troops, and already several charges have taken place. This selection,
under present circumstances, is not considered to be a good one.
The people are forming barricades in various parts of the town, and
some of our servants, who have been out to collect intelligence, assert
that no hinderance seems to be opposed to this mischievous measure.
Where are the civil authorities during all this commotion? is the
natural question that suggests itself to one who knows how in London,
under any disturbance, they would oppose themselves to check such
proceedings. And why, if the civil authorities are too weak to resist
the torrent, is there not a sufficient military force to stem it? is
the next question that presents itself. No one seems to know where the
blame lies, but every one foretells a dangerous result from this
unaccountable state of things.
The promulgation of the ordonnances which had led to this tumult, ought
to have been accompanied by a display of force sufficient to maintain
their enactment. If a government _will_ try the hazardous measure of a
_coup d'etat_, it ought to be well prepared to meet the probable
consequences.
I feel so little disposed to sleep that, instead of seeking my pillow,
I occupy myself by noting down my impressions, occasionally looking out
of my window to catch the sounds that break the stillness of the night.
The heat is intense, but the sky is as pure and cloudless as if it
canopied a calm and slumbering multitude instead of a waking and
turbulent one, filled with the most angry emotions.
Comtes d'Orsay and Valeski have just returned, and state that they have
been as far as the Place de la Bourse, where they saw a scene of the
utmost confusion. The populace had assembled there in great force,
armed with every kind of weapon they could obtain, their arms bared up
to the shoulders, and the whole of them presenting the most wild and
motley appearance imaginable. They had set fire to the Corps-de-Garde,
the flames of which spread a light around as bright as day. Strange to
say, the populace evinced a perfect good-humour, and more resembled a
mob met to celebrate a saturnalia than to subvert a monarchy.
Comtes d'O---- and V---- were recognised by some of the people, who
seemed pleased at seeing them. On returning, they passed through the
Rue de Richelieu, which they found in total darkness, all the lanterns
having been broken. Comte d'O---- luckily found his cabriolet in the
Rue de Menars, where he had left it, not being able to take it farther,
owing to a portion of the pavement being broken up, and had only time
to reach the club-house in the Rue de Gramont, in the court of which he
placed his cab, before the populace rushed by, destroying every thing
they met, among which was the carriage of the Prince Tufiakin. A
considerable number of the members of the club were assembled, a few of
whom witnessed, from the balcony on the Boulevart, the burning of the
chairs placed there, the breaking of the lamps, and other depredations.
Some gentlemen went to the battalion of the guards stationed in front
of the Prince Polignac's, and suggested to the officer in command the
propriety of sending a few men to arrest the progress of the
insurgents, a thing then easily to be accomplished; but the officer,
having no orders, declined to take any step, and the populace continued
their depredations within three hundred yards of so imposing a force as
a battalion of the guards!
What may not to-morrow's sun witness, ere it goes down? But conjecture
is vain in a crisis in which every thing appears to go on in a mode so
wholly unaccountable. The exhibition of a powerful force might and
would, I am persuaded, have precluded the collision that has occurred
between the populace and the military. Blood has been shed on both
sides, and this has rendered the breach between people and sovereign
too wide to be repaired except by something almost miraculous, and
alas! the time of miracles is past.
I cannot help wondering at the calmness I feel on this occasion. I
experience no personal alarm; but I am apprehensive for my friends,
some of whom are deeply interested in this struggle. How may their
destinies, lately so brilliant, be overclouded by the change that
menaces to take place!
Well may Monsieur Salvandy have observed at the ball so recently given
by the Duc of Orleans to the royal families of France and Naples, "This
may be termed a Neapolitan _fete_, for they are dancing over a
volcano."
CHAPTER XXIII.
All now seems quiet, so I will go to bed. Heaven only knows if
to-morrow night we may be allowed to seek our pillows in safety.
_28th_.--My _femme-de-chambre_ undrew my curtains this morning, "with
such a face--so faint, so spiritless, so dull, so dead in look, so
woe-begone"--proclaiming that barricades had been erected during the
night, and that the bodies of those killed in the encounter yesterday
have been paraded through the streets in order to excite still more the
angry feelings of the people. This last measure reminds one of the
appalling exhibitions in the fearful and memorable Revolution of former
days; and the reminiscences it awakens are not calculated to
tranquillize the mind.
She states that the shops are all closed, and that no provisions can be
obtained; the cook complains that his stockpots want replenishing; and
the _femme de charge_ hints that the larder is not so well supplied as
it would have been had she known what was to occur. Each and all of
these functionaries seem wholly occupied by the dread of not being able
to furnish us with as copious repasts as usual, unmindful that a mighty
throne is tottering to its foundation, and that a struggle is going on
in which many lives may be sacrificed.
The Duc de Raguse has incurred great blame for his intercourse with the
supposed leaders of the Revolution. This conduct has had the effect of
destroying the confidence of the troops in their chief, and of
weakening their attachment to the cause they were to support. The
Marechal was the Commandant appointed by the King, and as such, bound
to treat as rebels those who opposed themselves to his government;
instead of which, he seemed more like the _confident_ of a party who,
it is alleged, owe their victory to his supineness.
The Duc de Guiche has not left his post, near the royal family, since
the 26th, except to pass and repass with instructions from the King to
the Duc de Raguse, twice or thrice a-day. He has been repeatedly
recognised by the people, though in plain clothes, and experienced at
their hands the respect so well merited by his honourable conduct and
devotion to his sovereign. How often have I heard this noble-minded man
censured for encouraging the liberal sentiments of the Dauphin; and
heard this, too, from some of those who are now the first to desert
Charles the Tenth in the emergency which is the result of the system
they advocated!
---- has been here; he tells me that to Marshal Marmont the king has
confided unlimited power, and that Paris has been declared in a state
of siege.
He says that the military dispositions are so defective, that there is
not a young officer in the army capable of committing a similar
mistake. The regiments are crowded into narrow streets, in which even
children may become dangerous enemies, by throwing from the windows
every missile within their reach on the heads of the soldiers. He is of
opinion that, in twenty-four hours, the populace will be in possession
of Paris. The tri-coloured flag is now floating from the towers of
Notre-Dame; while the white flag of the luckless Bourbons, as often
stained by the faithlessness of its followers, as by the blood of its
foes, still waves from the column of the Place Vendome,--that column
erected to commemorate the glory of the great chief now calmly sleeping
in his ocean-washed grave.
The civil authorities seem paralyzed: the troops have been twelve hours
on duly without any refreshment, except that afforded by the humanity
of the people, who have brought them wine and bread; can it be hoped
that these same soldiers will turn their arms against those who have
supplied their necessities?
The royal emblems are destroyed wherever they are found, and the bust
of the king has been trampled on. The disgusting exhibition of the dead
bodies has had the bad effect calculated upon, and all is tumult and
disorder. Every one wonders where are the authorities, and why a
sufficient military force does not appear, for there has been ample
time, since the disposition to insurrection manifested by the people,
to assemble the troops.
Every visitor, and, notwithstanding the disturbed state of Paris, we
have already had several to-day, announces some fresh disaster, each
representing it according to the political creed to which he adheres.
The Royalists assert that the outbreak is the result of a long and
grave conspiracy, fomented by those who expect to derive advantage from
it; while the Liberals maintain that it has arisen spontaneously and
simultaneously from the wounded spirit of liberty, lashed into a
frenzied resistance by the ordonnances. I pretend not to know which of
these statements is the most correct; but I believe that the favourite
opinion of the worthy Sir Roger de Coverley, that "much could be said
on both sides of the question," might now fairly be urged; for,
according to the march of events, it is but too probable that the
melodrama now enacting before our eyes has not been an impromptu; and
it is quite clear that the ordonnances have furnished the occasion, and
the excuse (if such were required), for the performance.
Well might a great Italian writer pronounce revolutions to be the
carnivals of history. This one seems to be not only a carnival but
Saturnalia, for the ebriety of the slaves of liberty is well calculated
to disgust the friends; and those who witness this intoxication are
reminded of the observation of Voltaire, that "_Les Francais goutent de
la liberte comme des liqueurs fortes avec lesquelles ils s'enivrent."_
A revolution affected by physical instead of moral force, is a grave
wound inflicted on social order and civilization--a wound which it
takes ages to heal.
When on the point of sitting down to our _dejeuner a la fourchette_
(for people will eat while thrones are crumbling), repeated knockings,
at the _porte-cochere_ induced us to look from the window in order to
see who the persons were who thus loudly demanded admittance, when it
was discovered that they were Doctors Pasquier and De Guise. They had
been dressing the wounded at the hospital in the Faubourg du Roule, and
finding on their return that the Champs-Elysees and Rue St.-Honore were
the scenes of combat, had bethought themselves of our vicinity, and
sought shelter. When our unexpected visitants, deeming themselves
fortunate in having found a refuge, prepared to join our repast, it was
ludicrous to observe the lengthened faces of our servants at this
addition to our party. They, having previously lamented the paucity of
provisions in the larder, and being aware of the difficulty, if not
impossibility, of procuring a further supply, looked on the new-comers
as interlopers, who would inevitably diminish the already too limited
stock.
We had not been seated above five minutes at table, when the report of
fire-arms announced that hostilities were renewed, and we hurried to
the drawing-room to observe what was going on. The servants looked as
if they rather enjoyed the interruption to the morning's meal, thinking
no doubt that it would preserve the provisions, now so precious in
their eyes, and they prepared to remove the viands with unusual
alacrity; but their visages lengthened when told to let them remain on
the table, and became still longer when we shortly after resumed our
places at the board.
An Englishwoman, in the kitchen establishment, has just performed a
feat that has elevated her into a heroine in the eyes of the rest of
the servants. Finding the larder not sufficiently supplied, she sallied
forth into the street, passed through the Rue St.-Honore, while the
fighting was going on, and returned bearing a basket of meat, obtained
certainly at the risk of her life, as shots were flying around her. As
none of the men offered to undertake this action, she is now considered
little less than an amazon, and her _amour-propre_ being excited by the
commendations bestowed on her courage, she declares that she will go
forth for all that may be required, as she despises fear.
We have now entrenched ourselves in the front drawing-rooms, with the
external shutters, which are stuffed to exclude noise, closed, but
which we open occasionally, in order to see what is going on. Sitting
in darkness, with the sound of firing, and the shouts of the people,
continually in our ears, I can hardly bring myself to think that all
that is now passing is not a dream.
The populace, ten minutes ago, rushed from the Rue St.-Honore towards
the Champs-Elysees, assailing the troops stationed in the latter place;
and were in turn assailed by these last, and forced to retreat to the
Rue St.-Honore. The scene was one of the utmost confusion.
The firing is going on; stragglers are rushing to and fro; a body of
troops are stationed at the bottom of this street, and some pieces of
cannon have been placed. A thousand rumours are afloat, each more
improbable than the other. One moment it is announced that several
regiments have fraternized with the people; another, that the royal
family have fled to Belgium; the next, that Paris is to be fired by the
insurgents; but it would be impossible to repeat one-half the wild
rumours in circulation.
There is a mixture of the sublime and of the ridiculous in the scenes
now passing before my eyes that is quite extraordinary. Looking from my
window, twenty minutes ago, I saw a troop of boys, amounting to about
fifty, the eldest of whom could not be more than ten or eleven years
old, and some who appeared under that age, march through our streets,
with wooden swords, and lances pointed with sharp nails, flags flying,
and crying, "_Vive la charte! Vive la liberte_!" The gravity and
intrepidity of these _gamins de Paris_ would, at any other period, have
elicited a smile; but now, this demonstration on the part of mere
children creates the reflection of how profound and general must be the
sympathy enlisted against the government and the sovereign in the
hearts of the people.
Many are those who, like their children, shout "_Vive la charte!_" and
"_Vive, la liberte!_" who are as ignorant of the true sense and value
of both as they are. Well might the victim, when being led to execution
in the days of the past revolution in France, exclaim, "O Liberty, what
crimes are committed in thy name!"
One of our servants has this moment informal me that the children,
whose warlike demeanour I was disposed to smile at an hour ago, have
rendered (_not_ the state, but the popular cause) some service. The
troops, more amused than surprised at the appearance of these mimic
soldiers, suffered them to approach closer than prudence warranted, and
the urchins, rushing among the horses, wounded several of the poor
animals severely, and effected their retreat before the soldiers were
aware of what had occurred.
A fatality seems to prevail in the preset crisis that is little less
than marvellous. A want of provisions for the troops is now added to
the catalogue of excitements against the cause of royalty. Harassed by
the repeated attacks of the populace, and exhausted by long exposure to
the intense heat of a burning sun, they are little prone to consider as
enemies those who approach them with food to allay the pangs of hunger,
and drink to cool their scorching thirst. ----, and others who have
mingled with the crowd, tell me that they have beheld repeated examples
of soldiers throwing down their arms, to embrace those who came to
seduce them with the most irresistible of all seductions--refreshment,
when they were nearly exhausted by the want of it.
I shall begin to consider myself half a heroine, after an exploit I
performed this evening. The men who shared our dinner having gone out
to observe what was passing, I determined, _coute que coute_, to pay a
visit to my friend Madame Craufurd. I attired myself as simply as
possible, and, attended by a _valet de pied_, sallied forth. Having
traversed the short distance that separates this house from the Rue
St.-Honore, I arrived at the barricade erected in front of the entrance
to the Rue Verte, and I confess this obstacle seemed to me, for the
first minute or two that I contemplated it, insurmountable. My servant,
too, expressed his belief of the difficulty, if not impossibility, of
climbing over this mountain of loose stones, that I felt half disposed
to retrace my steps.
The shouts of a mob approaching along the Rue St.-Honore quickly
decided me on the course to pursue; I clambered up as best I could, not
without considerable risk; nor was the danger and difficulty of the
descent on the other side of this rude pyramid less imminent. The
evening was more sultry than I ever experienced an evening to be, even
in Italy; the houses were all closed, the streets deserted, except when
a few occasional stragglers rushed along, glancing at me with surprise,
and uttering their comments on my courage. Now and then a dog ran by,
with a terrified air and drooping tail, keeping close to the houses as
if for protection. One might have fancied oneself in some city ravaged
by the plague, and the burning heat of the atmosphere, and lurid red of
the clouds, might have strengthened the notion.
It more than once occurred to me how singular it was for me, a woman
and a stranger, to find myself with only one attendant in the streets,
on foot, in a city declared to be in a state of siege, and with the
noise of firing in the distance, and the shouts of the populace,
continually breaking on my ears.
Having passed the Rue de la Ville-l'Eveque, and entered the Rue
d'Anjou, I soon reached the _porte-cochere_ of my friend. My servant
knocked, and very loudly, but before the Swiss porter would open the
door, he reconnoitred from the window in the _entresol_ of his lodge.
He could hardly credit his eyes when he saw me; and while he unbolted
and unchained the door, an operation which took him more time than I
thought necessary, I could hear him muttering that, "_Les dames
Anglaises n'ont peur de rien, positivement rien_." I was not sorry when
I heard the massive door closed after me, with its bolts and chains
again secured; but, as I crossed the courtyard, the different aspect of
the house, with its closed windows, reminded me so forcibly of the
change that had occurred since my last visit, only three days
previously, that I felt more agitated than while traversing the
streets.
When I entered the drawing-room, in which a large circle were
assembled, Madame Craufurd, though the servants announced my name,
could hardly believe I was indeed come. She wept bitterly while
embracing me, and observed on the hardship of a person so aged as
herself being called on to witness two revolutions. All the horrors of
the first are recalled vividly to her mind, and her terror of what may
occur is proportioned to what she remembers to have formerly taken
place. Nothing seemed to pacify her terror so much as the fact of my
having been permitted to pass unmolested to her house, though she
considered me little less than insane to have undertaken the task.
"For myself," said Madame C----, "I have little fear (though her
blanched cheek and trembling hand told another story); but for those
dearer to me than life, what have I not to dread? You who know the
chivalrous sentiments of the Duc de Guiche, and the attachment
entertained by him and my granddaughter for the royal family, will
understand how much I have to dread for them from the vengeance which
their devotion to their sovereign may draw on their heads. _They_ are
not, as you are aware, time-servers, like so many others, who will
desert their king in his hour of need. No; they will brave death, I am
assured, rather than forsake in adversity those whose prosperity they
shared."
The marquis d'Aligre, one of, it not the, richest landed proprietors in
France, was among the circle at Madame Craufurd's, and evinced no
little composure and courage in the circumstances in which we found
ourselves. He joined me in endeavouring to soothe her fears; and
probably the fact of his having so immense a stake to risk in the
crisis now taking place, added not a little weight to the arguments he
urged to quiet her alarms. When people have so much to lose, their
calmness has an imposing effect; and the rhetoric of the most
accomplished orator would have probably been less successful than was
the composed manner of the marquis d'Aligre, in restoring the wonted
courage of our amiable hostess.
When I rose to take leave, Madame C---- tried all her efforts to
persuade me to remain to sleep at her house, and I had no little
difficulty to escape from her importunity. She would fain send all her
men servants to escort me home, and the Marquis d'Aligre also
pressingly offered his services; but I was obstinate in my refusal to
allow anyone to accompany me, being convinced that there was even less
danger in proceeding with a single servant than more numerously
attended. I tore myself from the embraces of Madame C----, whose tears
flowed afresh, and bedewed my cheeks, and I once more passed through
the court-yard, followed to the porter's lodge by the _dames de
compagnie, femmes de chambre_, and _valets de chambre_, wondering at my
courage, offering up their prayers for my safety, and proclaiming that
only an Englishwoman would have faced such danger. The old Swiss porter
would not risk opening the gate until he had assured himself, from the
window, that the coast was clear, and closed it so rapidly when I had
passed it as almost to have endangered my heels.
On returning, I found a cord drawn across the street in front of the
barrack in the Rue Verte, and some forty or fifty ill-dressed and
riotous men assembled, half-a-dozen of whom held the cord. Having
approached close to it, I paused, and, looking calmly at those who held
it, I appealed by looks to their politeness. Some of them laughed
aloud, and asked me if I could not leap over the barrier that impeded
my progress, drawing the rope still higher while they spoke. I
answered, though I trembled at being exposed to their rude mirth, and
still more rude gaze, "That I felt sure Frenchmen would not compel me
to such an unfeminine exertion, or give me cause to tell my compatriots
when I returned to England that deference to women no longer existed in
France."
"Let her pass! let her pass!" exclaimed nearly all the voices of the
group; "she is courageous, and she speaks rightly, _Vivent les
Anglaises! Vivent les Anglaises!_" and the cord was instantly lowered
to the ground, and I hastily stepped over it, glad to get out of
hearing of the rough compliments bestowed on me.
My servant had attempted to address them before I spoke, but they one
and all assailed him with a torrent of reproach, demanding if he was
not ashamed to wear a livery, the badge of servitude, when all his
countrymen were fighting for their liberty. I had again to clamber over
the barricade, assisted by my servant, and, before I could cross the
Rue St.-Honore, encountered various groups of men rushing along, all of
whom uttered such invectives against my footman that I determined not
again to go out attended by this symbol of aristocracy.
On reaching my home, the porter observed, with a self-complacency his
prudence could not conceal, that he "knew Madame la Comtesse had
nothing to dread from the people, they were brave and _bons enfans_,
and would not injure a lady;"--a commendation that clearly indicated
the state of his feelings.
CHAPTER XXIV.
I have observed a striking change in the manners of the servants during
the last three days. They are more familiar, without, however, evincing
the least insolence; their spirits seem unusually exhilarated, and they
betray an interest in the struggle in which the people are engaged that
leaves no doubt as to the side that excites their sympathy. Every
rumour of the success of the insurgents is repeated by them with
ill-suppressed animation and pleasure, and the power of the people is
exaggerated far beyond the bounds of truth. I confess this folly on
their part annoys me, and the more especially as the class to which
they belong, are totally incapacitated by ignorance from being able to
comprehend even the causes alleged for this popular outbreak.
Misguided men! can they hope that servitude will be lightened by their
being employed by some _parvenus_, elevated from the dregs of the
people by a revolution which sets floating to the top the worst
ingredients of the reeking caldron from which it is formed, instead of
owning the more gentle and infinitely less degrading sway of those born
to, and accustomed to rule?
Comte ---- and ---- have just come in, and report that the last story
current is, that fifty thousand men from Rouen are marching to Paris to
espouse the cause of the _people_. They say there is no end to the
desertions among the troops.
The people--the people! I hear of nothing but the people; but those who
speak of them as all and every thing, seem to me to mistake the
populace for the people, yet surely the words are not synonymous. The
people, according to my acceptation of the word, are the sober and
respectable portion of the community of all countries, including the
husbandmen who till the earth, and the artisans who fabricate the
objects applicable to our positive wants, and superfluous luxuries. How
different are these from the populace who fill the streets shouting for
liberty, by which they mean license; fighting for a charter of the real
meaning of which they are ignorant; and rendering themselves the blind
instruments by which a revolution is to be accomplished, that will
leave them rather worse off than it found them; for when did those who
profit by such events remember with gratitude the tools by which it was
effected?
_Thursday_.--Repeated knocking at the gate drew me to the window ten
minutes ago. The intruder presented a strange mixture of the terrible
and the ridiculous, the former predominating. Wearing only his shirt
and trousers, both stained with gore, and the sleeves of the former
turned up nearly to the shoulder, a crimson handkerchief was bound
round his head, and another encircled his waist. He brandished a huge
sword with a black leather string wound round his wrist, with one hand,
while with the other he assailed the knocker. Hearing the window
opened, he looked up, and exclaimed, "Ah! madame, order the gate to be
opened, that I may lay at the feet of my generous master the trophies I
have won with this trusty sword," waving the said sword over his head,
and pointing to a pair of silver-mounted pistols and a sabre that he
had placed on the ground while he knocked at the gate.
I recognised in this man a helper in the stables of Comte A. d'Orsay,
of whom it had a short time previously been reported to us, that when a
party of the populace had attempted to force the gate of the stable
offices, which are situated in the Rue Verte, and the English grooms
and coachman were in excessive alarm, this man presented himself at the
window, sword in hand, declaring that he, though engaged in the same
cause as themselves, would defend, to the last moment of his life, the
horses of his master, and the Englishmen whom he considered to be under
his protection. This speech elicited thunders of applause from the
crowd who retreated, leaving the alarmed servants, whose protector he
had avowed himself, impressed with the conviction that he is little
short of a hero.
This man--these same servants, only a few days ago, looked on as the
stable drudge, who was to perform all the dirty work, while they,
attired in smart liveries, and receiving triple the wages given to him,
were far more ornamental than useful in the establishment of their
employer. They offered him money as a reward for his spirited conduct
(the English of all classes, but more especially of that to which they
appertain, think that money pays all manner of debts), but he
indignantly refused the proffered gift. This revolutionary hero had
been fighting for several hours to-day, and is said to have evinced a
courage and enthusiasm that remind one of all we read of the spirit of
the old Imperial Guard, when animated by the presence of their mighty
chief.
---- has just brought the intelligence, that the Tuileries and the
Louvre are taken by the people! Comte A. d'O---- sent two of his
servants (Brement, formerly drill-serjeant in the Guards, and now his
porter, and Charles who was an hussar, and a brave soldier) to the
Tuileries to endeavour to save the portrait of the Dauphin by Sir
Thomas Lawrence--an admirable picture. His instructions as to its
_emplacement_ were so correct, that the servants found it instantly,
but torn in pieces, and the fragments strewed on the floor.
These men report that even in this feat a strange mixture of the
terrible and the comic was exhibited, for _while_ a dead body was
placed on the throne of Charles the Tenth, some men appeared in the
windows of the palace attired in the gold and silver tissue dresses of
the Duchesse de Berri, with feathers and flowers in their heads, and
fans in their hands, which they waved to the multitude beneath, with
all the coquettish airs and graces of _would-be-fine_ ladies.
The busts of Charles the Tenth were broken and trampled upon; the
wardrobes of the royal family were scattered, torn, and thrown among
the people, who seemed to regard them only as trophies of the victory
they had achieved, and not for their intrinsic value.
The palace of the Archbishop of Paris has been sacked, and every object
in it demolished. ---- told me that the ribaldry and coarse jests of
the mob on this occasion were disgusting beyond measure; and that they
ceased not to utter the most obscene falsehoods, while they wreaked
their vengeance on the property of this venerable prelate, against whom
they can bring no charge, except the suspicion of jesuitical
principles, and of having encouraged the king to issue the ordonnances.
---- and ---- have just been here. They state that Charles the Tenth
sent a deputation to the provisional government offering to withdraw
the ordonnances, and to form a new ministry. The offer came too late,
and was rejected. Concessions from the vanquished are seldom valued;
and to offer terms to those who are now in the position to dictate them
is as unavailing as it is undignified. ---- and ---- say that the
general opinion is, that if the Duchesse de Berri was now to present
herself, with her son, to the people, her popularity, and his youth and
innocence, would accomplish an event that would satisfy most parties;
namely, the calling of the Duc de Bordeaux to the throne. The Duchesse
de Berri has courage enough to take this step; what a pity it is that
she has not wisdom enough to adopt it!
While the fighting was going on in the streets, ---- and ---- met our
ambassador, Lord Stuart de Rothesay, walking along as usual. The
secretaries and _attaches_, too, of the English embassy have been
continually seen in places where their presence evinced more courage
and curiosity than caution; but fear is, I firmly believe, an unknown
guest in the breast of English gentlemen.
Comte ---- has just been here; he has been to the College of Ste.-Barbe
to take charge of the sons of the Duc de Guiche, in order to conduct
them to the country; a service of no little danger, as all connected
with the court, and known to be faithful to the royal family are liable
to be maltreated. How painful and trying a part is the Duc de Guiche
now called on to act: compelled to leave his wife and family in a town
in a state of siege, or to desert the monarch to whom he has sworn
fealty! But he will perform it nobly; and if Charles the Tenth had many
such men to rally round him in the present hour, his throne might still
be preserved.
The Duchesse de Guiche, in the trying situation in which she finds
herself, has displayed a courage worthy of olden times. The devotion of
her husband and self to the royal family is so well known that their
house has been a marked one during the last three days, the mob
repeatedly stopping before the gate uttering cries and menaces. All her
friends have urged her to leave Paris, and to remove with her children
to the country, for she would not consent to seek an asylum with her
grandmother or brother; urging, as a reason, that, in the absence of
the Duc, she felt it her duty to remain, that her presence might induce
the household to a more strict discharge of theirs, in protecting the
property of the Dauphin.
---- and ---- have been here, and have told us that the provisional
government were installed in the Hotel-de-Ville, General La Fayette at
its head, and my old acquaintance Monsieur Alexandra de Laborde taking
an active part. How all this is to end I cannot imagine; the cry for a
republic, though strongly echoed, will, I think, be unavailing; and the
reasonable part of the community cannot desire that it should be
otherwise, inasmuch as the tyranny of the many must ever be more
insupportable than that of one, admitting that even a despotic monarchy
could in our day exercise a tyranny, which I am not disposed to admit.
The tri-coloured flag now floats on many of the churches, while that of
the _Fleur-de-lis_ still waves from the column in the Place Vendome, on
other public buildings, and the Tuileries. What a strange state of
things! but every thing is strange in this eventful crisis.
---- has just been here, and reports that yesterday a meeting of the
Deputies took place at the house of M. Casimir Perier, in order to
consult on what measures they ought to pursue in the present state of
affairs. He says, that pusillanimity, and want of decision consequent
on it, marked the conduct of the assembly. They lost the time, so
precious in a crisis like the actual one, in disputing about words,
when deeds ought to have been had recourse to. They are accused of
being influenced by a dread of offending the now tottering power, lest
it should once more be solidly reinstated, and yet of being anxious to
remain well with those opposed to it; and they are said to have
temporised with both, allowing the time for serving either to have
passed away.
A bitter feeling towards the royal family seems to pervade the minds of
the populace; and this has been fomented by the most gross and
disgusting falsehoods dispensed around by the medium of obscene
_brochures_, and songs which are sung and distributed through the
streets. Even now beneath my window two men are offering, and crying
aloud, the Amours of the Duchesse d'Angouleme and the Archbishop of
Paris. The most spotless woman in France and the most devout man! The
same hand that would pull down the throne would raze the altar!
---- and ---- have been among the fighting, and report wonders of the
bravery of the populace. They fight with an enthusiasm and courage
worthy of a better cause, and have evinced a humanity to their wounded
adversaries that elicits admiration even from those who are the most
opposed to the cause they have espoused. The citizens, and the women
too, have come forth from the sanctuaries of their dwellings to dress
the wounds, and administer refreshment to the combatants, without
distinction with regard to the side on which they were engaged.
This amalgamation of soldiers and people has been destructive to the
cause of royalty, for the humanity experienced has induced the former
to throw down their arms rather than use them against generous foes,
and cries of "_Vive la Ligne_!" are often heard from those so lately
opposed to it. All parties agree in stating that not a single example
of pillage, except in the instances of the gunsmiths' shops, has
occurred. Various houses have been entered by the people for the
purpose of firing from the windows; and, having effected their object,
they have retired without taking a single article of the many tempting
ones scattered around in these dwellings.
This revolution, if indeed the result should prove it to be such, will
offer a striking contrast to that fearful one that has ever since left
so black a stain on France, and Frenchmen. Heroic courage, great
humanity, and a perfect freedom from cupidity, are the peculiar
attributes that mark those who are now subverting the throne of the
Bourbons; what a pity it is that such qualities should not have found a
better cause for developing themselves!
_29th_.--The subject now circulated and believed is, that Lafayette and
his followers have placed themselves at the head of the people. This
rumour has quieted the fears of many, for his name exercises a great
influence. The fighting is still going on, and the report of the guns
comes booming on the ear continually.
Hearing a noise in the street, ten minutes ago, I looked forth, and
beheld some four or five men covered with stains of blood, their faces
blackened by gunpowder, and streaming with perspiration, endeavouring
to draw away a piece of cannon, of which they had taken possession in
the Champs-Elysees. Hearing the opening of my window, they entreated
me, if there were any men in the house, to send them to their
assistance, in order to draw away the gun from the reach of the enemy.
"And if there are no men," continued the speaker, "let the women come
out and help us in the good cause." While they yet spoke, a party of
soldiers were seen rushing to the rescue of the gun, and its temporary
conquerors were compelled to make a rapid retreat towards the Rue
St.-Honore.
The name of M. Laffitte is now mixed with that of Lafayette among the
crowds in the streets, and has a great effect on them. His vast wealth,
and the frequent and extensive aid it has afforded to the working
classes, have rendered him one of, if not the most popular man in
Paris: so that those most conversant with the actual state of affairs,
pronounce that with Lafayette and Laffitte now rest the destiny of
France. How strange is the alteration which has occurred within so
short a space of time! Five days ago, Charles the Tenth reigned in the
Tuileries; at present, on Lafayette and Laffitte it depends whether he
ever enters his palace again! The tocsin is now sounding! How
strangely, how awfully it strikes on the ear! All this appears like a
dream.
The formation of a provisional government is to-day spoken of. The cry
of "_Vive Napoleon!_" has been heard repeatedly shouted from one mass
of people, while "_Vive la republique!_" has been as loudly vociferated
by another. Various persons connected with both the royalist and
popular party, have been here to-day, so that I hear the opinions
entertained by the adherents of both sides of the question. Which to
credit I know not: there is but one point on which both agree, and that
is in praising the bravery and forbearance of the people.
When I look around on the precious objects that cover the tables,
consoles, and cabinets in the salon where I am now writing, and reflect
that these same people are not only in arms, but I may say masters of
the town, I cannot help wondering at their total avoidance of pillage
when such rich booties might be so easily acquired. Perhaps there is no
European city in which so many and such splendid collections of rare
and precious articles are to be found, as at Paris. In England, our
nobility possess equal treasures, but they are contained in their
country seats; whereas it is in the Parisian dwellings of the French
noblesse, that their valuable possessions of rare objects are to be
found, and at the present crisis, how soon could an armed mass seize
them!
_28th_.--The Duchesse de Guiche was exposed to considerable danger to
day, and evinced a courage nearly allied to temerity in speaking her
sentiments on the occasion. Alarmed for the safety of her eldest son,
she was proceeding to his college in search of him, when she was
stopped by a vast crowd of people assembled around the house of one of
the tradespeople of the royal family, over whose door were the arms of
France.
The frightened tradesman was in the act of removing this badge, of
which only a few days previously he had been so proud, when the
duchesse, seeing him so employed, remarked aloud, that "after having so
often solicited permission to place the royal arms over his door, he
ought to have had the courage to defend them." The populace, enraged at
this reproof, hissed and yelled; but seeing that she remained unmoved,
the greater number cheered her, exclaiming "that young woman is as
courageous as she is beautiful; let us shew her that we know how lo
value courage, and protect her to her home," They placed themselves
around her, and with every mark of respect, escorted her, to the gate
of her dwelling.
A person among the crowd who witnessed this incident, told me that
never had he seen the Duchesse de Guiche look so dazzlingly beautiful,
as when she was reproving the tradesman--her tall and majestic figure
elevated even above its usual height by the indignation she experienced
at the insult offered to the royal family, to whom in these their days
of trial, she is even more chivalrously devoted than when they reigned
with undisputed sway, and thousands of those who now desert, professed
to worship them.
Before the duchesse regained her abode, she encountered several
skirmishing parlies in the streets who were absolutely fighting, and
probably owed her safety lo the protection afforded her by those whom
her courage had won to be her champions.
The intelligence reached us two hours ago, that the populace had
attacked the hotel of the Duc de Guiche, and placed two pieces of
cannon before the gate. My terror may more easily be imagined than
described, for the duchesse and her youngest children are in the house,
and the duc is with the royal family. I hardly knew whether to be
thankful or sorry, that her brother Count Alfred d'Orsay was not at
home when this news reached us, for he would certainly have proceeded
to her house, and would probably have, by his presence and
interference, rendered her danger still greater.
Fearful of compromising the safety of her children, the duchesse left
the hotel by another gate, opening into the Rue de Montaigne, and is, I
trust, ere this, safe on her route to St.-Germain, where her
father-in-law, the Duc de Gramont, has a residence.
How like a troubled dream all this appears! Would that it were but a
dream, and that those whom I so much love, were not exposed to pay
dearly for their fidelity to a sovereign, whose measures their
enlightened minds are the last to approve, but whose misfortunes, if
they cannot ameliorate, they will at least share!
I know not a more painful position than that of the Duc and Duchesse de
Guiche, at the present moment. With highly cultivated minds and liberal
opinions, possessing a knowledge of the world, and of the actual state
of public opinion in France, they must be aware of the utter
hopelessness of the cause in which they find themselves embarked, yet
such is their chivalrous sentiments of honour, that they will sacrifice
every thing rather than abandon those whose prosperity they have
partaken, and thus incur all the penalty of the acts of a government
whose policy they did not approve. Had Charles the Tenth many such
devoted adherents, he would not find himself deserted in his hour of
need.
CHAPTER XXV.
I have but just returned from the Rue d'Anjou, and now that I find
myself once more within the sanctuary of my home, I am surprised at my
own courage in having ventured to pass through the streets, and
_alone_, too, at such a moment. I do not think I should have risked it,
had I not known how much my excellent friend Madame C---- stood in need
of consolation, after having seen her grandchildren and great
grandchildren driven from their late peaceful and happy dwelling,
uncertain when she may behold them again, as they have determined on
not forsaking the royal family.
I had ascended nearly to the top of the barricade at the entrance to
the Rue Verte when a head and shoulders rose from the opposite side so
suddenly as to alarm me not a little. My trepidation was infinitely
increased when I discovered that the individual to whom the said head
and shoulders appertained, was in a state of extreme intoxication, and
when with rolling eyes, flushed checks, and thick articulation he
addressed me with a familiarity, yet good nature, that I would most
willingly have dispensed with.
"Give me your hand, _ma belle_, fear nothing, I am one of the _bons
enfans_ of the revolution, take my arm and no one will molest you. We,
_les braves des braves_, wage no war against women; _au contraire_, we
love the pretty creatures. Here take my hand, and I will assist you
over the barricades."
Suiting his action to the word, he extended his hand towards me, and
reaching forward lost his equilibrium and rolled over; at which moment,
the proprietor of a wine shop at the corner of the Rue Verte came to my
assistance, and leading me through his house, opened a door on the
other side of the barricade, through which I hastily passed, he civilly
offering to open the same door when I returned if I would knock at it.
And here, _en passant_, let me render justice to the politeness I have
invariably experienced from all classes of men, and on all occasions,
in France--a politeness so general that I should be ungrateful if I did
not record it.
When I passed the barrack in the Rue Verte, it was in the possession of
the people, who had seized it by the right of conquest an hour or two
previously. Proud of the achievement, they were looking out of the
windows, shouting, singing the Marseillaise, embracing each other, and
proclaiming that they were _les bons enfans_, etc. They paid me many
homely compliments as I passed, but not a single indelicate allusion
escaped their lips; and I hurried on, not meeting a human being until I
entered the courtyard of Madame C----'s hotel, into which I found
considerable difficulty to penetrate, owing to the extreme caution of
her Swiss porter who seemed to think it very dangerous to open even the
little door to admit me.
I found dear, good Madame C---- depressed and agitated. I rejoiced to
find that she was ignorant of the scene that took place between her
grand-daughter and the populace, for a knowledge of it would have
served to increase her alarm. She was surrounded by the usual circle of
_habitues_ who endeavoured in vain to calm her fears, but my presence
re-assured her a little, and Count Valeski, who came in soon after,
succeeded in mitigating her terror. Having witnessed the horrors of the
former revolution, it is no wonder she should tremble at the thoughts
of another, and she looks on my calmness and courage as little short of
heroism.
I remained a couple of hours with her, and having resisted all her
persuasions to induce me to stay all night, I left the Rue d'Anjou, and
had reached the Rue Verte, when I heard the report of guns, and saw a
party of soldiers attacking the barracks, out of the windows of which
the people, who had taken forcible possession of it some hours before,
were firing on their assailants. I retraced my steps as hastily as
possible, fear lending swiftness to my feet, and returned to the Rue de
Matignon by the Faubourg du Roule and the Rue St.-Honore. Our trusty
porter, having heard the shots, and knowing they proceeded from the
_quartier_ through which my route lay, was much alarmed for my safety,
and evinced great pleasure when he saw me safe again within the portal
under his charge, while I congratulated myself on having once more
proved my friendship to my dear old friend, by a personal exertion
entailing no more disagreeable consequences than a temporary alarm.
---- and ---- have just been here: they say that it is reported that a
negotiation has been opened between the king and the provisional
government, and that even still a reconciliation may be effected. I do
not believe it, though I wish it were true. The blood that has flowed
during the last days has, I fear, created an impassable gulf between
the sovereign and the people. Each party has made discoveries fatal to
the good understanding necessary to subsist between both: one having
proved his want of power to carry his wishes into effect, and the other
having but too well evinced its power of resistance.
While the negotiations are pending, the royal cause becomes every hour
more hopeless. Success has rendered the people less tractable; and the
concession implied by the king's holding out terms to them, has less
chance of producing a favourable result.
The populace attempted to force an entrance into the _Hotel des Pages_,
and, having fired through the iron gate, killed a fine youth, the son
of General Jacquinot, one of the royal pages, and a protege of the Duc
de Guiche. It was of this general that the Emperor Napoleon
said--"_Celui-la est brave tous les jours, en mon absence comme sous
mes yeux_." It is not more than ten days ago, since I met the mother
and sister of this promising youth with him at the Duchesse de
Guiche's. They came to return thanks to her and the duc for the
generous protection they had afforded to him; they were elate with joy
at his promotion, looked forward to his further advancement, and now--.
My heart bleeds for the poor mother who doted on her son!
Count Alfred d'Orsay, having heard that he had no relations in Paris at
this moment, has gone to arrange for the interment of this poor youth,
who yet scarcely more than a child, has lost his life at but a short
distance from the threshold of that door where he had been so often
received with kindness. How glad I am that the duchesse was spared the
horror of being so near the scene of this murder, and that she and her
children are safe from the reach of personal violence!
The interesting countenance of this fine youth, as I lately saw it,
haunts me. Beaming with affection towards his mother and sister, and
with gratitude towards his friends, it was pleasant to behold it; and
now,--how fearful is the change produced in so brief a space! That
bereaved mother and fond sister will never more look on that face so
dear;--before the fatal intelligence can have reached them, he will
have been consigned to the grave, and will owe to a stranger those last
rites which they little dream are now performing.
The number of persons killed during the last three days has excited
much less interest in my feelings than the death of this poor youth. I
cannot picture to my mind's eye any other distinct image among the
slain. They present only a ghastly mass, with all the revolting
accompaniments of gaping wounds and blood-stained garments, I never saw
them in life,--knew not the faces that will be steeped in tears, or
convulsed in agony at their deaths; but this poor boy, so young, so
fair, and so beloved, and his fond mother and gentle sister seem ever
to stand before me!
I remember reading, long years ago, the example given of a person
recounting all the details of a great battle, in which hundreds were
slain, and the listeners hearing the account unmoved, until the relater
described one individual who had been killed, and drew a vivid picture,
when those who had heard of the death of hundreds without any deeper
emotion than general pity, were melted to tears. This is my case, with
regard to the poor young page, cut off in the morning of his life; for,
having his image present to my mind, his death seems more grievous to
me than that of hundreds whom I have never seen.
_30th_.--The last news is, that the Dauphin has been named
Generalissimo, that he has placed himself at the head of the vast body
of troops that still adhere to their allegiance, and that he is to
advance on Paris. This determination has been adopted too late, and can
now, in my opinion, avail but little.
Comte d'O---- has just returned from seeing the last sad duties paid to
the remains of the poor young page. He brings the intelligence that the
royal family left St.-Cloud last night, and are now at Versailles. This
step proves that they consider their case hopeless. Unhappy Bourbons! a
fatality seems to impend over the race; and Charles the Tenth appears
doomed to die, as he has lived the greater portion of his life, in
exile. The absence of the Dauphine at this eventful period has been
peculiarly unfortunate for her family; for, with her firmness of
character and promptitude of decision, her counsel might have served,
while her presence would have given an impetus to, their cause.
I have just seen ----, who told me, that on the King's departure for
Versailles he left the Dauphin in command of the troops that still
adhered to their allegiance, and that the Prince placed himself at the
head of a battalion of the _garde royale_, charged the enemy on the
Pont de Sevres, and took possession of it; but the troops, with the
exception of a few officers, refused to follow, and left him to receive
the fire of the insurgents, which it is wonderful that he escaped. With
what feelings must he have bent his course to Versailles, deserted by
troops on whom he had bestowed so many favours and acts of munificence,
to meet his sovereign and father, with the sad news of their revolt!
I have just had the gratifying intelligence that the Duchesse de Guiche
and her children reached St.-Germain's in safety. This is a great
relief to my mind. The royal arms on the carriage, and the liveries,
were recognised at the Barriere, and the populace crowded around, many
of them expressing their dissatisfaction at beholding these memorials
of a family so lately respected, if not beloved. It had been
represented to the Duchesse, previously to her leaving Paris, that she
ran no inconsiderable risk in venturing out with the royal arms on her
carriage;[9] but she declared that she would not consent to their being
effaced. She courageously, and with a calm dignity, addressed the angry
crowd, explained her sentiments and feelings to them in a few brief
words, and they, won by her beauty and noble bearing, even perhaps
still more than by her courage (though intrepidity has always a
peculiar charm for Frenchmen), cheered her, and suffered the carriage
to proceed unmolested.
_July 30th_.--I am again alarmed for the safety of the Duchesse de
Guiche. The populace having yesterday assembled at the Place
St.-Germain, in which is the residence of her father-in-law, the Duc de
Gramont, they evinced so hostile a feeling towards all attached to the
royal family, that a friend, becoming apprehensive of violence, scaled
the wall of the garden, and entering the house, implored the Duchesse,
ere it was yet too late, to seek safety by flight.
Alarmed for her children--for this noble-minded woman is a stranger to
personal fear--she sought refuge with them in the Forest of
St.-Germain, in the Chateau du Val, the abode of the Princesse de Poix,
where she experiences all the kindness and hospitality which her
amiable hostess can practise, in order to soothe the anxiety of her
guest.
What a change in the position of the Duchesse, and in so brief a space!
A fugitive in that forest where, every year during the _Fete des
Loges_, she dispensed kindness to the poor, and amiability to all,
doing the honours of the Duc de Gramont's house, where her
condescension and goodness were the themes of every tongue! And now,
harassed in mind and body, terrified for the safety of her husband, who
is with the royal family, and for her two eldest sons, who are in their
college, in the Rue St.-Marceau, which is rendered inaccessible, owing
to the barricades.
_31st_.--Lafayette is now said to be the oracle of the provisional
government, and the idol of the populace. Advanced far in the vale of
life, his energies and vigour are gone, and his _name_ serves the party
more than his counsel can; for with the republicans, at least, it is a
guarantee for honest motives. What a strange destiny has his
been--called on to perform so conspicuous a part in two revolutions!
---- has just been here, and announced that the Duc d'Orleans is named
Lieutenant-general of France. It is asserted, that this appointment has
been effected by the influence of General Lafayette over the
provisional government; but how little in accordance is this measure
with the well-known Utopian scheme of a republic, which has for years
been the favourite dream of this venerable visionary?
_August 1st_. ---- now has brought the intelligence that Charles the
Tenth has nominated the Duc d'Orleans Lieutenant-general, so that his
Royal Highness has been chosen by both sides--a flattering proof of the
confidence reposed in him by each. Were he ambitious, here is an
opportunity of indulging this "infirmity of noble minds," though at the
expense of the elder branch of his family; but he will not, I am sure,
betray the trust they have confided to him. Order seems now to be in a
great measure restored; the people appear in good-humour; but there is
a consciousness of power evident in their hilarity that too forcibly
reminds one of their victory.
The Duc of Orleans has been to the Hotel-de-Ville, where he presented
himself to the people from the balcony; embraced General Lafayette, who
stood by his side; and was applauded with enthusiasm by the immense
multitude who witnessed the _accolade_.
_2nd_.--The news of the day is, that Charles the Tenth has abdicated
the crown in favour of the Duc de Bordeaux, who is now styled Henri V.
This act might, four or five days ago, have produced some salutary
effect; but it now comes too late--at least, so think those who profess
to know more on the subject than I do. The position of the
Lieutenant-general, in this case, reminds me of that of a _confidante_
in a quarrel between lovers, in which the interest of the absent is too
often sacrificed, owing to the dangerous opportunity furnished for
forwarding that of the supposed friend.
_3d_.--Again, considerable excitement has prevailed in the town,
produced by the proclamation, that the dethroned sovereign had
determined to take up his position, with the strong military force that
still adheres to him, at Rambouillet. The publicity given to this news
was a very injudicious measure, if conciliation, or even forbearance to
the deposed family, was desired.
The populace, that many-headed monster, only seen abroad when evil
passions dictate violence, again rush through the streets, breathing
vengeance against the poor old man, whose grey hairs, more exposed by
the absence of the crown his _ci-devant_ subjects have wrested from his
head, should have claimed more respect at their hands. Truly has the
poet said,
"He who has worn crown,
When less than king is less than other men,--
A fallen star, extinguish'd, leaving blank
Its place in heaven."
This fickle people, or, at least, the dregs of them, for it would be
unjust to confound all in their enormities, will efface the credit they
have gained by the forbearance from crime that has as yet characterised
this revolution, by some act of brutality towards the royal family. But
even the very dregs of the people have not appeared desirous to adopt
any such course, until excited into it by the wicked rumours set
afloat, that Charles the Tenth had carried off all the crown jewels--a
rumour peculiarly calculated to excite their ire and meet a ready
credence, each individual of the motley train looking on himself as
having an interest in these national riches, and judging from _self_,
of the possibility--nay, more, probability, of so vile an action. How
little can such minds identify themselves with the feelings of those
who, sated with the gewgaws and trappings of grandeur, forget them in
the deep, the powerful excitement of beholding a throne crumbling into
ruin beneath them--a diadem rudely torn from their brows--the power
they wielded, even that of doing good, wrested violently, with the
sceptre, from their hands; and more than all, behold the loved, the
_trusted_--those on whom they had showered benefits with prodigality,
turn from them in their hour of need and join their foes!
"If thou canst hate, as, oh! that soul must hate
Which loves the virtuous and reveres the great;
If thou canst loathe and execrate with me
That gallic garbage of philosophy,--
That nauseous slaver of these frantic times,
With which false liberty dilutes her crimes;
If thou hast got within thy free-born breast
One pulse that beats more proudly than the rest
With honest scorn for that inglorious soul
Which creeps and winds beneath a mob's control.
Which courts the rabble's smile, the rabble's nod,
And makes, like Egypt, every beast its God!"
_August 4th_.--The King has left Rambouillot, alarmed by the report of
the approach of the vast multitude who had left, or were leaving,
Paris, with hostile intentions towards the royal family. The scenes
that took place then, previously to his departure, are represented as
being most affecting.
An old man, overpowered by mental and bodily sufferings, remembering
the terrible days of a former revolution, brought with a fearful
vividness to his mind by the appalling change effected within the last
few eventful days, he had lost all presence of mind, and with it his
confidence in those whom he might have safely trusted, while he yielded
it to those whose interests were wholly opposed to his. Nor is the
deplorable effect produced on his mind by recent events to be wondered
at.
Adversity is the only school in which monarchs can acquire wisdom, and
it almost always comes too late to enable them to profit by its bitter
lessons. The defection of those hitherto supposed to be devoted
friends, the altered looks of faces never before beheld without being
dressed in smiles, the unceremoniousness of courtiers who never
previously had dared to have an opinion before royalty had decided what
it should be, might well have shook firmer nerves, and touched a
sterner heart, than belonged to the old, grey-headed monarch, who saw
himself betrayed without comprehending by whom, and who used his
authority as sovereign and father, over his religiously obedient son,
to extort an abdication of his right, as well as an approval of the
resignation of his own.
Like another Lear, this poor old man has been driven forth "to bide the
pelting of the pitiless storm" of a revolution, followed by his widowed
daughter-in-law and her helpless son, that child orphaned ere yet he
saw the light, and by Frenchmen who now condemn him to exile!
They have taken the route to Cherbourg, there to embark; and of those
who lately bent the knee before them, how few have followed their now
gloomy fortunes! One, at least, has not left, and will not forsake
them. The Duc de Guiche, the kindest husband and father perhaps in
France, sacrifices his feelings of domestic affection to his sense of
duty, and accompanies the exiled family!
CHAPTER XXVI.
_August 5th_.--There are rumours today that the son of the Emperor
Napoleon will be called to fill the vacant throne. This seems to me to
be very improbable, when I reflect that General Lafayette, whose
influence is omnipotent at present, appears wholly devoted to the Duc
d'Orleans. The minds of the people are as yet wholly unsettled; a dread
of how their late exploits may be looked on by the foreign powers
allied to the deposed sovereign, pervades the multitude, and the
republicans begin to discover that their Utopian schemes are little
likely to be advanced by the revolution effected.
I was forcibly struck this morning on reading, in an Italian writer,
the following passage, which is strongly applicable to the present
time:
"When a revolution is ripe, men are always found who are
ready to commence it, and make their bodies the steps to the
throne of him who is to profit by their labours, without
having shared their dangers."
I have a presentiment that the truth of this axiom will be verified in
France.
_August 6th_.--Reports are now afloat that the crown of France has been
offered to the Duke of Orleans, but that the offer was not unanimous,
and that consequently he has not accepted it. Other rumours state, that
if he should be induced to do so, it will only be to hold it as a
sacred deposit to be restored to the rightful owner when, with safety
to both parties, it can be transferred. Should this be the case, then
will the Duke of Orleans deserve well of the elder branch of his family
who have behaved so kindly towards him, but I confess I am not one of
those who believe in the likelihood of such an abnegation of self, as
this voluntary abdication would display.
Rich possessions are seldom if ever willingly resigned, and a crown is
one said to have such irresistible charms to the person who has once
worn it, that history furnishes but few examples like that of Charles
the Fifth, or Christina of Sweden. Time will prove whether
Louis-Philippe d'Orleans will offer a _pendant_!
I walked with Comte d'O---- this evening into the Champs-Elysees, and
great was the change effected there within the last few days. It looks
ruined and desolate, the ground cut up by the pieces of cannon, and
troops as well as the mobs that have made it a thoroughfare, and many
of the trees greatly injured, if not destroyed.
A crowd was assembled around a man who was reading aloud for their
edification a proclamation nailed to one of the trees. We paused for a
moment to hear it, when some of the persons recognising my companion,
shouted aloud, "_Vive le Comte d'Orsay! Vive le Comte d'Orsay!"_ and
the cry being taken up by the mass, the reader was deserted, the fickle
multitude directing ail their attention and enthusiasm to tho new
comer. We had some difficulty in escaping from these troublesome and
unexpected demonstrations of good will; and, while hurrying from the
scene of this impromptu ovation to the unsought popularity of my
companion, I made him smile by hinting at the danger in which he stood
of being raised to the vacant throne by those who seem not to know or
care who is to fill it.
Comte d'O---- was as much puzzled as I was how to account for this
burst of enthusiasm, for, taking no part in politics, and all his
family being attached to the legitimate cause, this demonstration of
regard appears more inexplicable. It seems, however, to establish one
fact, and that is, that though the monarch has fallen into disrepute
with the people, the aristocracy have not, and this alone proves how
totally different are the feelings of those who have effected the
present revolution with those of the persons who were engaged in the
former one, a difference, perhaps, not more to be attributed to the
change produced in the people by the extension of education, than in
the _noblesse_ by the same cause, aided by the habits and feelings it
engenders. Whatever may be the cause, the effect is salutary, for the
good understanding evident between the two classes tends greatly to the
amelioration and advantage of both. There is something very contagious
in popular feeling. It resembles an epidemic from which few of the
class more peculiarly exposed to it escape.
Walked into the streets to-day, for a carriage cannot yet pass through
them. Never did any town, not actually sacked, present a more changed
aspect. Houses damaged by shots, windows smashed, pavements destroyed,
and trees cut down or mutilated, meet the eye along the Boulevards. The
destruction of the trees excited more regret in my mind than that of
the houses. There, many of them lay on the ground shorn of their leafy
honours, offering obstructions on the spots which they so lately
ornamented, while others stood bare and desolate, their giant limbs
lopped off, their trunks shattered by bullets, and retaining only a few
slight branches oh high, to which still adhered the parched,
discoloured, and withered leaves, sole remnants of their lately
luxuriant foliage.
The houses may be rebuilt and the streets newly paved, but how many
years will it take before these trees can be replaced! Those who loved
to repose beneath their shade, or who, pent in a city, were solaced by
beholding them and thinking of the country of which they brought
pleasant recollections, will grieve to miss them, and, like me, own
with a sigh, while contemplating the ravages occasioned by the events
of the last few days, that if good ever is effected by that most
dangerous of all experiments, a revolution, it is too dearly bought.
The people seem as proud and pleased as possible with the
accomplishment of the task they took in hand. How long will they
continue so? They are like a too-spirited horse who, having mastered
his rider, requires a bolder and more expert hand to subjugate him
again to obedience, and the training will be all the more painful from
the previous insubordination. Of one thing the people may be proud, and
that is, their having not stained this revolution with any of the
crimes that have left so indelible a blot on the former one.
How soon does the mind habituate itself to an unnatural state of
excitement! My _femme de chambre_ positively looked blank and
disappointed this morning, when, on entering my _chambre a coucher_,
she answered in reply to my question, whether any thing new had
occurred during the night, "_Non, miladi, positivement rien_." Strange
to say, I too felt _desoeuvre_ by the want of having something to be
alarmed or to hope about,--I, who meddle not with politics, and wish
all the world to be as quiet and as calm as myself. Every one I see
appears to experience this same flatness, just like the reaction
produced on the spirits the first day or two after the Italian
Carnival, when the cessation of gaiety, though felt to be a relief to
the frame, leaves the mind unfitted for repose.
I find this feeling is generally experienced, for several of the
shop-keepers, whose profit,--nay, whose very bread, depends on the
restoration of social order, confess it. One person, the wife of a
jeweller, owned to me to-day that Paris was now beginning to be very
_triste_.
"To be sure they were no longer afraid to open their shops, and
commerce they hoped would soon become active again, but there was no
more the same interest continually awakened, as when every hour,--nay,
every minute brought some new event, and she and her neighbours looked
out to behold the fighting in the streets, the wounded and the dying
dropping around, and trembled for their own lives, and for the safety
of those dear to them." In short, as she admitted, the want of
excitement was experienced by all those who had lately become
accustomed to it, as much as it is felt by the habitual gamester who
cannot live without play.
This is a dangerous state for the people of a great city to find
themselves in. Vastly more dangerous than if subdued by a
long-continued excess of excitement, their moral as well as their
physical force required repose, and they gladly resigned themselves to
it.
To a sober-minded denizen of England, the ungovernable pride,
insatiable vanity, and love of fighting, inherent in the French, appear
really little short of insanity, to so great an excess do they push
these manias. This will always render them so difficult to be governed,
that it will require no ordinary abilities and firmness in him who
undertakes the arduous task of ruling them. Yet the very excess of
these passions renders the French the most able, as they decidedly are
the most willing, instruments to be employed in achieving the aims of
the wildest ambition, or the most glorious enterprises. He will the
longest and most securely govern them, who calls these passions into
action, provided always that they meet no check, for the French not
only bear adversity impatiently, but soon turn against him who has
exposed them to it: witness their conduct to the Emperor Napoleon, who,
while success frowned his banner, was their idol.
Playing at soldiers is the favourite game of Frenchmen of every class
and description, and every opportunity afforded them of indulging it is
gladly seized. When I compare the reluctance with which the yeomanry of
Ireland, or the local militia of England, leave their homes and their
business to "assume the spear and shield," with the enthusiasm evinced
by the _Garde Nationale_ when they are called to leave their
_boutiques_ and don their uniforms, I am more than ever struck with the
remarkable difference existing between two nations separated by so
short a distance. The English local militia man will fight when
occasion requires, and with determined courage, too, because he
believes it to be his duty, but the French National Guard will combat
for the mere love of combating, and forget home and interest in the
pleasure of the excitement.
The Duchesse de Guiche has returned to Paris, while her amiable and
noble-minded husband has accompanied the royal family to Cherbourg,
where they are to embark for England. Nothing can exceed the courage
and dignity with which she supports her altered fortunes. She thinks
only of those to whom the Duc and herself have been so long and so
truly devoted; and in her chagrin for their sufferings forgets her own.
The Duc has such a perfect confidence in her good sense and tact, that
he has sent her his _procuration_ to act for him in his absence. No
sooner had she arrived at her abode, than she sent to demand the
protection of General Gerard[10] for the house and stables of the
Dauphin, and ho immediately ordered a guard to be placed there. Heaven
grant that she may not be exposed to any annoyance during the absence
of her husband!
The Duchesse de Guiche gave a new proof of her courage and presence of
mind yesterday. Early in the morning, having heard a noise in the
courtyard of her dwelling, she beheld from the window of her chamber an
officer gesticulating with violence, and menacing the grooms of the
Dauphin. The upper servant entered at the moment, and announced that
the officer insisted on seizing six of the finest horses in the stable,
by order of General Lafayette.
The Duchesse descended to the courtyard, informed the officer that the
whole establishment was under the protection of General Gerard, without
whose orders no horse should leave the stables. He attempted to enforce
his pretensions; but the Duchesse desired the head groom to call out
his assistants, about thirty in number, who, armed with pitchforks and
other implements of their calling, soon came forth; and the Duchesse
assured the intruder that, unless he immediately retired, he should be
forcibly expelled.
Seeing the courage and determination of this high-spirited and
beautiful woman, the officer withdrew, and the horses were saved. It
has since been ascertained, as the Duchesse anticipated, that General
Lafayette had never given any orders to the officer who had used his
name.
_7th_.--The Duke of Orleans has at length accepted the crown; and
various are the conjectures and reports to which his doing so has given
rise. Many of them, as may be easily imagined, are not creditable to
him; but on this occasion, as on most others, the least charitable
motives are generally assigned to those whose conduct is judged by the
mass often wholly ignorant of the reasons on which it is based. The
vast wealth of the Duke of Orleans has a powerful influence; and those
who a few days ago exclaimed against royalty, and vaunted the superior
advantages of a government without a king, are now reconciled to having
one whose immense private fortune will exempt the nation from the
necessity of furnishing funds for a civil list. Should the new
sovereign hereafter demand one, his popularity will be endangered; and
the King of the French, as he is styled, will be likely to find as
little favour in the eyes of his subjects as the King of France
experienced.
Popularity, always, and in all countries, an unstable possession, is in
France infinitely more so; and Louis-Philippe must have more luck, as
well as more wisdom, than falls to the lot of mankind, to retain this
fleeting good when the novelty of his reign has worn away. That he is a
man of great ability no one seems to entertain a doubt; but his wisdom
would, in my opinion at least, have been more surely manifested had he
declined instead of accepting the crown.
Those who profess to be best acquainted with his sentiments declare,
that he only acceded to the wishes of the people in ascending the
vacant throne, in order to preserve the charter, and to preclude the
dangerous theoretical experiments into which the republican party was
so desirous to plunge. It remains to be proved whether, in a few years
hence, those who have subverted one monarchy by violence may not be
tempted to have recourse to a similar measure in order to free
themselves from the successor they have chosen; for even already it
appears clear to me, that the expectations entertained, not only by the
partisans of Louis-Philippe, but by the generality of the people, are
such as he never can fulfil. He may be their idol for a brief space,
but, like all other idols, he will be expected to perform miracles; and
not having the sanctity with which time invests even false gods, he may
be thrown from the pedestal to which he has been elevated as
unceremoniously as he was raised to it.
I saw General Lafayette to-day, and never felt more disappointed, as
his appearance does not at all correspond with what I had imagined it
to be. The "Lafayette _aux cheveux blancs_," as the popular song
describes him to be, is, _au contraire_, a plain old man, with a dark
brown scratch wig, that conceals his forehead, and, consequently, gives
a very common and, to my thinking, a disagreeable expression to his
countenance. The _cheveux blancs_ would be a great improvement; for,
independently of the song thus describing him, one looks for the
venerable mark of age in this Nestor of revolutions, who in his youth
has seen his idol, Liberty, commit fearful crimes in France as well as
great deeds in America, and who now, when on the threshold of the
grave, in which ere long he must repose, beholds her regeneration in
his native land, redeemed from the cruelty that formerly stained her
course.
"_Voila le grand Lafayette_!" exclaimed one of the people as he passed
to-day; "_Oui, la ganache des deux mondes_," replied the other. Such is
popular favour!
I walked in the Palais-Royal to-day; and felt much more disposed to
pity than envy the King of the French, as Louis-Philippe is styled,
when I beheld a crowd of idle miscreants, assembled in front of his
dwelling, rudely and boisterously vociferating his name, and in a tone
much more resembling command than entreaty, desiring his presence. He
at length came forward, bowed repeatedly, pressed his hand to his
heart, and then withdrew, looking, as I thought, rather ashamed of the
_role_ he was called on to enact, while his riotous audience seemed
elated at exhibiting his docility.
The Queen was then called for, and, after some delay, was handed
forward by Louis-Philippe. It made me sad to look on the altered
countenance of this amiable woman, whom all parties allow to be a most
faultless wife and mother. She is hardly to be recognised as the same
being who only a very few months ago looked the personification of
happiness. Already have deep care and anxiety left their furrows on her
brow, proving that
A diadem, howe'er so bright it be,
Brings cares that frighten gentle sleep away,
E'en when from buried ancestors it comes,
Who bless'd when they bequeath it to their heir;
For great is the responsibility
Of those who wear the symbol of a king,
In regular succession handed down
From sire to son through long antiquity.
But when th' anointed head that wore it once
Sleeps not in death--but exiled, worse than death--
And scions legitimate live to claim
Their birthright, oh! how heavy is that crown
(Though loose it fits), which well the wearer knows,
A people's breath may blow from of his brow,
Sear'd by the burning weight, it yet would guard,
E'n though it crush him.
I am told that no day passes in which a crowd does not assemble beneath
the windows of Louis-Philippe and loudly vociferate for his presence.
M. Laffitte is not unfrequently seen with the king on these occasions,
and when they embrace the crowd applauds.
I cannot imagine a more painful position than that of the Queen of the
French. Devotedly attached to her husband and family, she will have
often to tremble for their safety, exposed, as it must be, to the
inconstancy and evil passions _soi-disant_ subjects, who may, ere long,
be disposed to pull down the throne they have erected for
Louis-Philippe as rapidly as they raised the barricades for its
elevation.
Had the King of the French succeeded to the throne by the natural
demise of those who stood between him and it, how different would be
his position; for it is agreed by all who know him, that he has many
qualities that eminently fit him to fill it with credit to himself and
advantage to the people; but as it is, I foresee nothing but trouble
and anxiety for him,--a melancholy change from the domestic happiness
he formerly enjoyed. Any attempt to check the turbulence of the people
will be resented as an act of the utmost ingratitude to those who
placed the crown on his head; and if he suffers it with impunity, he
will not only lose his empire over them, but incur the contempt of the
more elevated of his subjects.
I saw the King of the French walking through the Place Vendome to-day,
attended only by one person. He was recognised, and cheered, and
returned the salutation very graciously. And there stood the column
erected to commemorate the victories of one now sleeping in a foreign
grave; one whose very name was once the talisman that excited all
Parisian hearts into the wildest enthusiasm!
Louis-Philippe passed near the base of the column, which seemed to
return a sullen echo to the voices that cheered him; did he, or those
around him, remember their vicinity to this striking memorial of the
inconstancy of the nation? The scene awakened more reflections in my
mind than I dare say it did in that of those whose voices rent the air;
but though it might be only fancy, I thought the King of the French
looked very grave.
Monsieur Mignet spent last evening here; his conversation is full of
interest, being the overflowing of a rich mind, free from prejudices,
and his ideas, though methodically arranged and subjected to the ordeal
of a sober judgment, bear the warm tint of a brilliant imagination,
that might have rendered him a poet, had he not chosen to be a
historian. The Revolution has produced no visible change in this clever
and agreeable man, who, filling the office of Keeper of the Archives,
devotes his time to studies and researches in harmony with the pursuits
to which he has many years been accustomed, and hears the success of
the popular cause, to which he has long been attached, with a
moderation and equanimity highly indicative of a philosophical mind,
allied to an amiable disposition. There is something so striking in the
appearance of Monsieur Mignet, that all strangers, who meet him here,
remark the fine character of his head and the expression of his
countenance.
The celebrated General Peppe dined here yesterday, and is very unlike
the revolutionary hero I had pictured him to be. Mild, well-bred, and
amiable in his manner, he seems much more suited to command a regiment
in support of a legitimate monarchy, than to subvert one. Although
liberty appears to be with him a monomania, the warmth with which he
advocates it in conversation never urges him beyond the bounds of good
breeding.
It is a strange infatuation to suppose that as civilisation extends its
influence, men will have faith in the Utopian schemes of well-meaning
visionaries, and risk evils they know not, in exchange for a state
which, if not quite faultless, has at least much of good. How many
brave and honourable men become the dupes of heated imaginations and
erroneous opinions, which, urging them to effect an amelioration of
some grievances, incur the penalty of imparting greater ones! General
Peppe is liked by all who know him, though all lament the monomania
that has gained such an ascendency over his mind. His brother, General
Florestan Peppe at Naples, whom we esteem so much, is one of the most
excellent men I ever knew.
The Duc de Guiche has returned to Paris, after having seen the royal
family safely embarked at Cherbourg. The departure of the aged monarch
presented a melancholy scene. At his time of life, he can never hope to
behold his country again, and the sudden change from the throne of a
great kingdom to a compelled exile in a foreign land is a reverse of
fortune that demands a philosophy to support, with which few are blest.
There is something touching in the attachment of the Duc and Duchesse
de Guiche to this unfortunate family, and above all, to the Dauphin and
Dauphine. Always aware of their affection for them, I never imagined
the strength of it, until the adversity which has sent so many of those
who had previously loudly professed their devotion to them away, but
which has increased the feelings of reverence towards them in this
estimable couple, by mingling with it a sentiment of deep
commiseration, that induces a still greater display of respect, now
that so many others dispense with evincing it. The Duc is charged with
the disposal of the property of the Dauphin; and, when this task is
accomplished, he and his family will follow the fallen fortunes of
Charles the Tenth, and join him at Holyrood.
Loving France as they do, and wishing their sons to be brought up in
the land of their birth, strong indeed must be the affection that
induces them to abandon it, in order to devote themselves to the exiled
Bourbons. This devotion to the fallen is the more meritorious when the
liberality of the Duc's political opinions is taken into consideration.
How few sovereigns find such devotion in adversity! and how seldom are
men to be met with capable of sacrificing their own interests and the
future prospects of their children to a sense of duty!
* * * * *
A lapse in my journal.--All seems now settled. The foreign powers have
acknowledged the King of the French; and this acknowledgment has not
only delighted his subjects, but confirmed them in the belief of their
own right to make or unmake sovereigns according to their will and
pleasure.
The English are very popular in Paris at this moment, and the ready
recognition of Louis-Philippe by our government has increased this good
feeling. A vast crowd escorted the carriage of Mr. Hamilton, the
Secretary of the Embassy, to his door, as he returned from his first
accredited audience of the new monarch, and cries of _Vivent les
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