CHAPTER VII.

THE BOULEVARDS.

From the Bastille to the Madeleine--Boulevard

Beaumarchais--Beaumarchais--The _Marriage of Figaro_--The

Bastille--The Drama in Paris--Adrienne Lecouvreur--Vincennes--The Duc

d'Enghien--Duelling--Louis XVI.

The most important, the most interesting, the most absorbing

thoroughfare on the right bank of the Seine, and, therefore, in Paris

generally is that of the boulevards, in which the whole of the gay

capital may be said to be concentrated. Numbers of Parisians pass almost

the whole of their life on the Boulevard des Italiens; or between the

Boulevard Montmartre to the east, and the Boulevard de la Madeleine to

the west of what, to the fashionable Parisian, is the central boulevard.

Nothing can be easier than to breakfast and dine on the boulevards; and

it is along their length or in their immediate neighbourhood that not

only the best restaurants, but the finest theatres are to be found.

Stroll about the boulevards for a few hours--an occupation of which the

true boulevardier seems never to get tired--and you will meet everyone

you know in Paris.

If, moreover, the upper boulevards, those of the Madeleine, the

Capucines, and the Italiens, represent fashionable Paris, the lower

boulevards, from the Boulevard Montmartre to the Boulevard Beaumarchais,

represent the Paris of commerce and of industry; so that the line of

boulevards, as a whole, from the Madeleine to the Bastille, gives a fair

epitome of the French capital.

The poorest of the boulevards are at the eastern end of the line, and

the richest at the western; and the difference in character between the

inhabitants of these opposite extremes is shown by a military regulation

instituted under the Second Empire. Neither the district inhabited by

the needy workmen of the east nor the western district, where dwelt

the richest class of shop-keepers, was allowed to furnish the usual

contingent of National Guards. The artisans were too turbulent to be

entrusted with arms, while the tradespeople were equally unreliable,

because from timidity they allowed their arms to be taken from them.

Beginning at what most visitors to Paris will consider the wrong end

of the line of boulevards, we find that on the Boulevard Beaumarchais

Paris has a very different physiognomy from that which she presents on

the Boulevard de la Madeleine, which the visitor may reach by omnibus,

though it is more interesting to travel in some hired vehicle which may

now and then be stopped, and more interesting still to make the whole of

the three-mile journey on foot.

At either end of the line of boulevards is a _Place_, or open space,

which, for want of a better word, may be called a square: Place de

la Bastille to the east, Place de la Madeleine to the west. The

omnibuses which ply between the two extremities bear the inscription

"Madeleine--Bastille"; and, beginning at the Bastille, the traveller

passes eleven different boulevards, or, rather, one boulevard bearing in

succession eleven different names: Beaumarchais, des Filles du Calvaire,

du Temple, Saint-Martin, Saint-Denis, Bonne-Nouvelle, Poissonnière,

Montmartre, des Italiens, des Capucines, and de la Madeleine.

Advancing from the Bastille to the Madeleine, we find the appearance of

the shops constantly improving, until, from poor at one end, they become

magnificent at the other. What the military authorities of Germany

call "necessary luxuries" (such as coffee, tea, and sugar), as well as

luxuries in a more absolute sense (such as costly articles of attire,

sweetmeats, and champagne), are sold all along the line. But at the

Bastille end one notices here and there a little sacrifice to the useful

and the indispensable. Indeed, on the lower boulevards grocers' shops

are to be found, though nothing so commonplace offends the eye on the

boulevards to which the name of "upper" is given.

In like manner, the importance of the theatres increases as you proceed

from the Bastille westward. Nearly half the playhouses of Paris are

on the boulevards: ten on the north side, and three on the south.

Many other theatres, if not entered direct from the boulevards, are

in their close vicinity. The theatre nearest the Madeleine is the new

Opera House; that nearest the Place de la Bastille is the Théâtre

Beaumarchais. The Boulevard Beaumarchais owes its name to the brilliant

dramatist who, among other works, wrote the _Barber of Seville_ and

the _Marriage of Figaro_, still familiar to all Europe in their musical

form. From 1760 to 1831 what is now called the Boulevard Beaumarchais

was known as the Boulevard St.-Antoine. In the last-named year, however,

under the government of Louis Philippe, it was determined to render

homage to the author of the best comedies in the French language after

those of Molière by naming a boulevard after him.

The _Marriage of Figaro_ was played in public for the first time on

April 27th, 1784. "The description of the first performance is," says

M. de Loménie, "in every history of the period"; for which insufficient

reason M. de Loménie omits it in his own history of "Beaumarchais and

his Times." For at least two years before the _Marriage of Figaro_ was

played in public the work must have been well known in the aristocratic

and literary circles of Paris. The brilliant comedy, which was not to

be brought out until April, 1784, had been accepted at the Théâtre

Français in October, 1781. "As soon as the actors," writes Beaumarchais,

"had received, by acclamation, my poor _Marriage_, which has since had

so many opponents, I begged M. Lenoir (the Lieutenant of Police) to

appoint a censor; at the same time asking him, as a special favour,

that the piece might be examined by no one else: which he readily

promised; assuring me that neither secretary nor clerk should touch the

manuscript, and that the play should be read in his own cabinet. It was

so read by M. Coqueley, advocate, and I begged M. Lenoir to notify what

he retrenched, objected to, or approved. Six weeks afterwards I learnt

in society that my piece had been read at all the soirées of Versailles,

and I was in despair at this complaisance--perhaps forced--of the

magistrate in regard to a work which still belonged to me; for such was

certainly not the austere, discreet, and loyal course which belongs to

the serious duty of a censor. Well or ill read--perhaps maliciously

mutilated--the piece was pronounced detestable; and not knowing in what

respect I had sinned (for according to custom nothing was specified),

I stood before the inquisition obliged to guess my crimes, but aware,

nevertheless, that I was already tacitly proscribed. As, however, this

proscription by the court only irritated the curiosity of the town,

I was condemned to readings without number. Whenever one party was

discovered, another would immediately be formed."

At the beginning of 1782 it was already a question who could obtain

the privilege of hearing the play read by Beaumarchais--an admirable

reciter--whether at his own house or in some brilliant _salon_. "Every

day," writes Madame Campan, "persons were heard to say: 'I was present,

or I shall be present, at a reading of Beaumarchais's piece.'"

The first performance of the _Marriage of Figaro_ was thus described by

a competent judge. "Never," says Grimm, in one of the letters addressed

by him and by Diderot to the Grand Duke of Saxe-Gotha, "never did a

piece attract such crowds to the Théâtre Français. All Paris wished to

see this famous 'marriage,' and the house was crammed almost the very

moment the doors were opened to the public. Scarcely half of those

who had besieged the doors since eight in the morning succeeded in

finding places. Most persons got in by force or by throwing money to

the porters. It is impossible to be more humble, more audacious, more

eager in view of obtaining a favour from the Court than were all our

young lords to ensure themselves a place at the first representation of

_Figaro_. More than one duchess considered herself too happy that day to

find in the balconies, where ladies are seldom seen, a wretched stool

side by side with Madame Duthé, Carline, and company."

Ladies of the highest rank dined in the actresses' rooms, in order to

be sure of places. "Cordons bleus," says Bachaumont, "mixed up in the

crowd, elbowing with Savoyards--the guard being dispersed, and the

iron gates broken by the efforts of the assailants." La Harpe, in one

of his series of letters to the Grand Duke Paul of Russia and Count

Schouvaloff, declares that three porters were killed; being "one more

than were killed at the production of Scudéry's last piece." "On the

stage, when the curtain was raised, there was seen," says De Loménie,

"perhaps the most splendid assemblage of talent that was ever contained

within the walls of the Théâtre Français, employed in promoting the

success of a comedy which sparkled with wit, which carried the audience

along by its dramatic movement and audacity, and which, if it shocked or

startled some of the private boxes, excited and enchanted, inflamed and

electrified the pit."

All the parts were entrusted to performers of the first merit.

Mademoiselle Sainval, who was the tragic actress then in vogue, had, at

the urgent request of Beaumarchais, accepted the part of the Countess

Almaviva, in which she displayed a talent the more striking from being

quite unexpected. Mademoiselle Contat enchanted the public in the

character of Susanna by her grace, the refinement of her acting, and the

charms of her beauty and her voice. A very young and pretty actress,

destined soon afterwards, at the age of eighteen, to be nipped in the

bud by death--Mademoiselle Olivier, whose talent, says a contemporary,

"was as naïve and fresh as her face"--lent her _naïveté_ and her

freshness to the seemingly ingenuous character of Cherubino. Molè

acted the part of Count Almaviva with the elegance and dignity which

distinguished him. Dazincourt represented Figaro with all his wit, and

relieved the character from any appearance of vulgarity. Old Préville,

who was not less successful in the part of Bridoison, gave it up after

a few days to Dugazon, who interpreted it with more power and equal

intelligence. Delessarts, with his rich humour, gave relief to the

personage of Bartholo, which is thrown somewhat into the background.

The secondary parts of Basil and Antonio were equally well played by

Vanhove and Bellemont. Finally, through a singular caprice, a somewhat

celebrated tragedian, Larive, not wishing tragedy to be represented in

the piece by Mademoiselle Sainval alone, asked for the insignificant

little part of Grippe-soleil.

[Illustration: PLACE DE LA BASTILLE AND COLUMN OF JULY.]

"The success of this Aristophanic comedy," writes De Loménie, "while

it filled some persons with anxiety and alarm, naturally roused the

curious crowd, who are never wanting, particularly when a successful

person takes a pleasure in spreading his fame abroad--and this foible of

Beaumarchais is well known. It was in the midst of a fire of epigrams in

prose and verse that the author of the _Marriage of Figaro_ pursued his

career, pouring out on his enemies not torrents of fire and light, but

torrents of liveliness and fun."

Beaumarchais, on the famous first night, sat in a _loge grillée_--a

private box, that is to say, with lattice-work in front--between

two abbés, with whom he had been dining, and whose presence seemed

indispensable to him, in order, as he said, that they might administer

to him _des secours très spirituels_ in case of death.

The _Marriage of Figaro_ was represented sixty-eight times in

succession, and each time with the greatest possible success. In

eight months, from April 27th, 1784, till January 10th, 1785, the

piece brought the Théâtre Français, without counting the fiftieth

representation (which, at Beaumarchais's request, was given for the

poor), no less than 346,197 livres or francs; an immense sum for that

period. When all expenses had been paid, there remained a profit of

293,755 livres for division amongst the actors, after the deduction from

it of Beaumarchais's share as author, amounting to 41,469 livres.

All sorts of anecdotes were told in connection with the success of

the work. A gentleman--whom gossip transformed into a duke--wrote to

Beaumarchais, asking for a _loge grillée_ for himself and two ladies who

wished to see the piece without being seen. Beaumarchais replied that

he had no sympathy with persons who wished to combine "the honours of

virtue with the pleasures of vice"; and, moreover, that his comedy was

not a work which honourable persons need be ashamed to see.

The Boulevard Beaumarchais of the present day was (as already mentioned)

called, until some fifty years after the Revolution, Boulevard

St.-Antoine; where, until 1789, the year of its destruction, stood the

celebrated fortress and prison of the Bastille. The destruction of

the Bastille was the first event in the French Revolution; and many

have asked why the fury of the crowd was particularly directed against

a building which, monument of tyranny though it was, had never been

employed against the people at large, but almost always against members

of the aristocracy, on whose behalf the Revolutionists were certainly

not fighting. But although the dungeons of the Bastille were for the

most part filled with political offenders, persons of every station in

life did, from time to time, find themselves enclosed within its walls.

The too celebrated fortress was originally built to protect the east of

Paris, as the Louvre was constructed to guard the west. It stood on the

south side of the boulevard now known by the name of Beaumarchais, and

consisted of eight towers, four of which looked towards the town--that

is to say, the Rue St.-Antoine--and four towards the country--that is to

say, the Faubourg St.-Antoine.

Above the shop of the wine-seller who inhabits No. 232 in the Rue

St.-Antoine, at the corner of the newly-built Rue Jacques-Coeur, a

marble tablet sets forth that the house in question occupies the site of

the outlying building into which the assailants, on the 14th of July,

1789, made their way before storming the fortress itself. The café which

stands at the corner of the street and of the square bears for its sign,

"The Cannon of the Bastille."

It was less as a fortress than as a State prison that the Bastille was

known, and by the nation at large execrated. Prisoners were taken to

the Bastille on a simple _lettre de cachet_: a sealed order or warrant,

which was sometimes given out blank, so that the favoured recipient

might make whatever use of it he pleased, against no matter whom. The

victims were introduced secretly into the fortress; and the soldiers on

guard had instructions to turn aside when any prisoner was being brought

in, so that they might not afterwards recognise him. Once inside the

dungeon, he was liable to undergo frequent interrogations without even

knowing on what charge, or even suspicion, he had been arrested. The

treatment in prison depended absolutely on the will of the governor.

Those under detention were kept in solitary confinement, without anyone

outside being able to obtain news as to whether they even existed.

They were not allowed to receive letters from their family or friends.

The internal regulations of the Bastille are sufficiently well known

to us by the numerous chronicles and memoirs published in connection

with it, including, in particular, those of Linguet. "During the seven

years that I passed in the Bastille," says M. Pelissery, quoted by

Linguet, "I had no air even in fine weather, and in winter they gave me

nothing in the way of fuel except wood just taken from the river. My

bed was intolerable, and the bedclothes dirty and worm-eaten. I drank,

or rather poisoned myself with, foul stagnant water. What food they

brought me! Famished dogs would not have touched it. Accordingly, my

body was soon covered with pustules, my legs gave way beneath me, I spat

blood, and became scorbutic. The dungeons received neither light nor

air, except by one narrow window pierced in a wall nearly five metres

thick, and traversed by a triple row of bars, between which there were

intervals of only five centimetres. Even on the most beautiful days

the prisoners received but feeble rays of light. In the winter these

fatal caves resembled ice-houses, being sufficiently raised for the

cold to penetrate; while in summer they were like damp stoves, in

which it was difficult not to be stifled, since the walls are so thick

as to keep out the heat necessary for drying the interior. There are

some rooms--and mine was one of them--which look out directly upon the

moat into which flows the great sewer of the Rue St.-Antoine. Thence

ascends a pestilential exhalation, which, when once it has entered these

rooms, can only with much difficulty be got out again. It is in such an

atmosphere that the prisoner has to breathe. There, not to be absolutely

stifled, he is obliged to pass his nights and days glued to the inside

bars of the little window in the door, through which a glimmer of light

and a breath of air may reach him."

"The history of the Bastille as a State prison," says Mongin, "might

almost be said to include everything intellectual and political in

France. Into its dungeons were thrown, one after the other, Hugues;

Aubriot, who himself founded the Bastille, and who expiated by perpetual

imprisonment his alleged heresy and his love relations with a Jewess;

Jacques d'Armagnac, Duke of Nemours, in 1475; with many high and

powerful noblemen in the time of Louis XI. and Richelieu. Here also were

confined Marshal de Biron and Fouquet, the Superintendent of Finances,

besides more than one officer of distinction under Louis XIV."

When the Bastille had done its work on the last remains of feudalism and

on the Court aristocracy, the turn came of the people--the precursors

of the Republic, the martyrs of the Revolution. After the revocation of

the Edict of Nantes, the Bastille was filled with Protestants. Here were

shut up the Jansenists and the fanatics known as the Convulsionnaires.

Here, too, suffered, until he was taken to the scaffold, the brave

Governor of India under the French domination, Lally, who had given

offence to the Court rather than to the sovereign. Voltaire, Mirabeau,

Linguet (who, after making his escape, published in London his eloquent

account of the cruelties to which prisoners in the Bastille were

subjected), Latude, and numberless other men distinguished in different

walks of life.

The 14th of July, 1789, saw the first blow struck by the Revolutionists

against that monument which, to them, symbolised all that was hateful in

the ancient monarchy. War had already virtually been declared between

the two sides. Everything seemed in favour of the king, the Court, the

nobility, and the monarchical party generally. "If Paris must be burnt,"

one of the Ministers had said, "we will burn it."

Paris was, indeed, surrounded with foreign troops; and whatever might be

the attitude of the French regiments, commanded by officers some of whom

were Royalists and others Republicans, it was certain that the popular

movement would have to count with the Swiss, Austrian, and German troops

stationed at Charenton, Sèvres, Versailles, at the Military School, and

elsewhere in the immediate neighbourhood of the capital.

On the 8th of July the National Assembly had, on the motion of Mirabeau,

demanded from the king the removal of the foreign troops. The king's

only reply, a few days afterwards, was to dismiss Necker, the popular

Minister. The news of this tyrannical step fell upon Paris on Sunday,

July 12th, like a spark on a barrel of gunpowder. The Palais Royal,

which might be regarded as the head-quarters of the Revolution, became

violently agitated. It was twelve o'clock on a hot summer's day when

suddenly the midday cannon, with its lens above the touch-hole, was

fired by the blazing sun.

A superstitious importance was attached to the familiar incident; and

the Revolutionists, with the people around them, saw in the ordinary

explosion of a midday gun, intended only to interest the public by

marking the time, the signal for an uprising against the ancient

monarchy. A young man of twenty, then absolutely unknown, but who

was afterwards to be remembered as Camille Desmoulins, rushed out of

the Café Foy, sprang upon a table just outside, and in impassioned

language addressed the crowd. "Citizens," he cried, "there is not a

moment to lose! I have just come from Versailles. Necker is dismissed,

and his dismissal is the signal for a new massacre of St. Bartholomew.

This evening all the Swiss and German battalions will march from the

Champ-de-Mars to put to death every patriot. We have but one resource:

to rise to arms, after assuming cockades by which we may recognise each

other. What colours do you prefer--green, the colour of hope, or the

blue of Cincinnatus, the colour of American liberty and of democracy?"

"Green, green!" cried the crowd.

"Friends," continued the young man, in a sonorous voice, "the signal is

already given. I see staring me in the face the spies and satellites

of the police. But I will not fall alive into their hands. Let every

citizen follow my example." He waved in the air two pistols, fastened

a green ribbon to his hat, and descending from his chair, urged those

present to take, as signs of recognition, leaves from the trees around

them. Soon the trees of the Palais Royal garden were stripped. The

excitement and enthusiasm spread in every direction. Arms were seized

wherever they could be found. The busts of Necker and of the Duke of

Orleans, idols of the moment, were carried through the streets veiled

with black crape. More than one detachment of the French Guards joined

the crowd. In the Tuileries Gardens several persons were killed by a

cavalry charge under the command of Prince de Lambesc, of which the

chief effect was to exasperate the insurgents to the utmost. Partial

engagements now took place at various points. At the gates of Paris,

the barriers where a tax was levied on provisions brought into the

city were set in flames. Towards evening committees were formed in

all the districts of the capital "for preventing tumult." The shops

were now everywhere closed, and the theatres gave no performances.

During the night the district assemblies held a general meeting, at

which it was resolved to urge all who possessed arms to bring them to

district head-quarters, that militia companies, to be promptly formed

for the occasion, might be furnished therewith in a regular manner.

These militia bands were intended to act on behalf of the nation; if

necessary, against the populace. But the general excitement was too

great to allow of such formal measures being taken as the well-to-do

citizens of the hurriedly constituted district assemblies thought

advisable. To all recommendations of prudence there was but one reply:

"To Arms!" The Provost of the Paris merchants, De Flesselles by name,

who had been elected president of the district assemblies, endeavoured

to stay the spirit of revolution, now spreading so widely; but to no

purpose. The Hôtel de Ville, from which he held forth, was now occupied

in every corner by armed men, who had no intention of giving their

weapons up for the equipment of any imaginary militia company; and as

yet these companies were unformed. An order to evacuate the Hôtel de

Ville met with no attention, and deliberations were now carried on

beneath the eyes and under the pressure of the enraged mob.

[Illustration: JUNCTION OF GRAND BOULEVARDS AND RUE AND FAUBOURG

MONTMARTRE.]

In place of the green colour adopted in the first instance by the

insurgents of the Palais Royal, which the day afterwards was rejected

as the family colour of the Counts of Artois, the tricolour had now

been assumed: blue, in the new flag, being held to signify hope; red,

the blood of sacrifice; and white, the ancient monarchy, against which

war had not yet been declared. It was against the abuses of the ancient

system, and in view of a thorough reform, that the people were rising.

[Illustration: THE BASTILLE.]

Camille Desmoulins had begun the Revolution on Sunday, the 12th of July,

at noon. On the morning of Monday, July 13th, the alarm bell was rung

in every church, and the drum beaten in every street. Bands were now

formed, without much system, under the names of Volunteers of the Palais

Royal, of the Tuileries, etc. Women were everywhere making blue and

red cockades--the white was not absolutely essential; the blacksmiths

were forging arms; and it has been calculated that in thirty-six hours

fifty thousand pikes were made. Tumultuous meetings were held in the

churches, with a view to some regular organisation of the movement. A

Government dépôt of arms was invaded, and plundered of its contents. The

Place de la Grève became an important centre to which arms taken from

gunsmiths' shops or from Government stores, sacks of wheat and flour

(stopped at the barriers), and even herds of cattle and flocks of sheep,

were brought. Paris was being turned into a camp. The citizens of the

district assemblies, carried away by the ardour of the people whose

impetuosity they had sought to restrain, the students of the various

schools, the clerks of the public offices, the workmen of the faubourgs:

all hurried to the Hôtel de Ville, swearing to conquer or to die. The

fact that Paris was threatened by Swiss, German, and various kinds

of Austrian troops could not but awaken the patriotism of Frenchmen

generally. The first enemy to be fought was the army of foreigners

waiting to swoop down on the city. An important collection of arms,

formed by those who had obeyed the first recommendations of the district

assemblies, was reported to exist at the Invalides; and an enormous

quantity of powder which was being sent out of Paris by way of the River

Seine, apparently under the orders of the timid citizens composing the

aforesaid assemblies, was seized, carried to the Hôtel de Ville, and

partially distributed.

No movement, meanwhile, had been made by the foreign troops, who

were for the most part encamped or quartered in the École Militaire;

the inaction being attributable to divided counsels among the king's

ministers, and to hesitation on the part of the king himself. The one

thing decided upon was to stop the entrance of provisions into Paris: a

sure means, it was thought, of reducing the tumult, which at the outset

was scarcely looked upon as serious. The National Assembly was behaving,

meanwhile, in the most heroic manner. Threatened with dissolution and

arrest, and quite at the mercy of the foreign troops, it voted an

expression of regret at the dismissal of Necker, a demand that the

foreign troops be forthwith sent away from Paris, and a declaration that

the king's ministers, whatever their rank, would be held personally

responsible for any misfortunes that might result from the present

condition of things.

On the morning of the 14th of July Paris was surrounded at all points

by foreign troops, and was at the same time threatened with famine.

But one course was open to the insurgents: that of immediate action.

There was a general feeling that an attack must be made, and the object

unanimously chosen for the first assault was the Bastille: symbol of

everything hateful in the government it was proposed to overturn. "_A

la Bastille!_" was now the universal cry. But a dearth of muskets

retarded the impulse, and it was determined in the first instance to

attack the Hôtel des Invalides, where arms in large numbers were known

to be stored away. Thirty thousand men hurried to the asylum of aged

soldiers; when, without much time being wasted in parleying with the

governor, the sentinels were seized and the place entered by force. In

the cellars twenty-eight thousand muskets were discovered concealed

beneath hay and straw; and with these the invaders, whose numbers had

gradually increased, hastened to arm themselves. Five years before,

the king, on consenting to the liberation of Latude, had promised that

henceforth no one should be sent to the Bastille except for a definite

period, and after formal conviction on a positive charge. But this

engagement had not been kept; people had been arrested, and incarcerated

(as at the present time in Russia) on the simple denunciation of police

officers and spies; sometimes on mere suspicion, at others without even

suspicion, and simply for the gratification of private malice. The

terrible _lettre de cachet_, on the strength of which arrests were made

without further explanation, had indeed become a purchasable thing, with

a fixed price, like any other article of commerce. It was doubtless,

however, the memory of a long course of ancient wrongs that, above all,

animated the people in their rage against the Bastille. There was,

moreover, however, a strategical reason. As a fortress, the Bastille

commanded the Rue St.-Antoine and the adjoining faubourg, and indeed

dominated all Paris. To destroy it, therefore, was considered at once a

good moral and a good military act.

The governor, De Launay, had already prepared his defence; and in

addition to the guns of position in the towers, he had placed a number

in the interior courtyard. The gates and the outer walls had been

loopholed and armed with wall-pieces, and a quantity of paving-stones,

cannon-balls, and lumps of iron had been carried up to the towers, in

order to be hurled down upon the heads of the expected assailants.

The garrison consisted only of 114 men, 32 of whom were Swiss, while

the other 82 were old pensioners. The defenders, indeed, were nearly

all of them aged, but experienced, soldiers. Their material appliances

and the strength of their position were such that the governor looked

upon the fortress as impregnable against a mob of people who had neither

the art nor the time to undertake regular siege operations. With his

powerful batteries, De Launay could lay the whole quarter in ruins; and

foreseeing this possibility, the committee of the Hôtel de Ville sent

a deputation to the governor, promising not to attack him if he would

withdraw the cannon, and promise not on his side to begin hostilities.

A man of more energy, Thuriot de la Rozière, called, in the name of

his district, upon the governor, and demanded the surrender of the

fortress. His account of what was taking place in Paris astonished De

Launay, and gained the sympathy of the French portion of the garrison.

His final demand was that the Bastille should be occupied by some of

the newly-formed bands conjointly with troops of the regular army. But

this proposition, though more advanced than the feeble one made by the

committee of the Hôtel de Ville, was by no means on a level with popular

demands; and Thuriot, on leaving the Bastille, was threatened by the

armed bands assembled outside, who demanded, not the occupation of the

Bastille, but its destruction.

A few brave men got into the outer yard through the roof of the

guard-house, and at once destroyed with hatchets the chains of the

drawbridge leading to the inner yard. They were followed by others, and

soon the outer gates were forced. A terrible fire had been opened on the

crowd of assailants, and it was resolved once more to approach De Launay

by means of a deputation, which, however, was unable to reach him. At

this moment the besiegers set fire to several carts of hay and manure,

in order to burn the buildings which masked the fortress and to smoke

out the defenders. At the same time, a constant fire was kept up from

the windows and roofs of the neighbouring houses. All this, however,

had but little effect on the garrison. A new deputation was now sent

forward, bearing a white flag. A white flag was displayed in reply from

the Bastille, and the soldiers reversed their muskets. An officer of

the Swiss troops passed forward a note, by means of a crane, with these

words: "We have twenty thousand pounds of powder, and we will blow up

the fortress and the whole of the neighbourhood unless you accept a

capitulation."

The Commissaries of the Hôtel de Ville, believing in the pacific

demonstrations of the garrison, were already urging the people to

retire, when suddenly there was a discharge of musketry from the

fortress, which laid low a good number of the insurgents. It was

apparently the Swiss who had fired, heedless of the conciliatory

attitude assumed by the French portion of the defending force. The

whole garrison was held responsible for this act of treachery. The

exasperation of the people had now gone beyond all bounds, and there

was but one cry heard: "Down with the Bastille!" A number of the

French guards seized five of the guns which had been brought from the

Invalides, and pointed them at the fortress. The fire of the artillery

proved more effective than that of the musketry, and the drawbridge was

now swept by cannon-balls.

Meanwhile, the garrison was divided against itself. The pensioners

wished the contest, of which the end could now be foreseen, to cease,

whereas the Swiss mercenaries, careless about the effusion of French

blood (and, it must be admitted, full of a more youthful courage), were

determined to resist to the last.

There was another reason which made it unadvisable to prolong the

defence. The fortress contained abundance of ammunition, but little

or no food; and the numbers, constantly increasing, of the besiegers

rendered it impossible to renew the supply. It was evident that all

Paris demanded the fall of the Bastille. The Swiss, however, would

hear of no surrender. As for De Launay, he felt that he was personally

detested, not only for the blood he was uselessly shedding, but even

more for his persecution of the prisoners under his charge. The

_Memoirs_ of Linguet and other revelations had made his name odious

throughout Europe. Thus the vengeful cries of the people seemed directed

against himself personally. Wild with terror, he seized a match, and was

about to explode his powder magazine, when two non-commissioned officers

drove him back at point of bayonet. Outside, a sort of organisation

had now established itself. Many bands of volunteers had been moving

together since the first uprising, with the volunteers of the Palais

Royal, under Camille Desmoulins, among them. These bands were under the

command of officers of the French Guards, or of energetic men who were

afterwards to distinguish themselves in the military career.

According to some accounts, the surrender of the fortress took place

immediately after the episode of the note thrust forward on a crane, or,

according to another version, pushed through a loophole. The moment in

any case arrived when, promised by some of the French Guards that their

lives should be spared, the garrison agreed formally to surrender. The

drawbridges were now lowered, and the Bastille was occupied in force.

On being recognised, De Launay was arrested and led off towards the

Hôtel de Ville. Hulin, afterwards one of Napoleon's generals and nobles,

took charge of the prisoner, and, forming an escort, did his best to

convey him safely through the infuriated mob, which, with execrations,

pressed towards him from all sides. More than once De Launay was thrown

down. Having lost his hat, he was now an easier mark than ever for the

assaults of the crowd. That he might not so readily be distinguished,

Hulin gave him his own hat, thus running the risk of being himself

mistaken for the odious governor. At last Hulin and several members of

the escort were thrown together to the ground; and when Hulin managed

to rise, the head of the hated governor was being carried aloft on the

point of a pike.

Within the Bastille the invaders were, meanwhile, breaking open the

dungeons. Only seven prisoners, however, were found, two of whom

had become insane. One of the latter had a long white beard falling

to his waist, and fancied himself still under the reign of Louis

XV., who had been dead fifteen years. Instruments of torture were

discovered. Shocking as this detail may be to a reader of the present

day, it should be remembered that under the old monarchy torture was

constantly employed in criminal process. It is only just to add that

it was formally abolished a few years before the Revolution, and not

afterwards, as is generally supposed.

The archives of the prison were in part destroyed. All that was

preserved of them was afterwards published, in order once more to throw

light on the iniquity of the system under which such an institution as

the Bastille could exist.

The taking of the Bastille cost the assailants eighty-three killed on

the spot, and fifteen who died from their injuries, besides sixty-three

wounded. The garrison, on their side, protected by the walls of the

fortress, lost but one killed and one wounded during a struggle which

lasted five hours.

The major of the garrison, De Losme, shared the fate of the governor,

except that, instead of being put to death summarily by an enraged mob,

he was taken deliberately to the famous _lanterne_, or lamp of the Place

de la Grève, and hanged. Two of the pensioners, accused, like the major,

of having pointed the guns of the fortress against the people, were also

strung up. These were the first victims of the cry "_À la lanterne!_"

afterwards to be heard so often in the streets of Paris. The _lanterne_

in question was attached to an iron gibbet; and it was on this gibbet

that the victims of popular fury were hoisted aloft.

The lives of all the other defenders were spared. They were set at

liberty and a subscription opened for them, as they had now no means of

earning an honest penny.

The news of the capture of the Bastille caused great excitement at

Versailles, where Louis XVI., in his habitual state of indecision,

seemed unable to give an order of any kind. He had gone to bed at his

usual hour, but was awakened early the next morning by the Duke de

Liancourt, who enjoyed the privilege of entering the royal bedchamber at

any time. The Duke informed his sovereign of what was taking place at

Paris, and impressed upon him the necessity of putting himself in accord

with the nation and with the Assembly.

"Is it a revolt, then?" asked Louis XVI., with his eyes half open. "No,

Sire," replied the duke; "it is a revolution." In these words, destined

to become celebrated, the astonished king was informed that the ancient

monarchy was at an end.

The Bastille was now pulled down: partly in the natural course of

things, partly in virtue of a formal resolution. The stones were broken

up into little pieces, and worn by ladies as jewellery; ornaments and

playthings were also made from the remains of the detested edifice.

The conquerors of the Bastille formed a special corps, which had its

recognised place in all public ceremonies. A medal was struck in their

honour, and each of them was commissioned with an office. During the

Revolution the ground on which the Bastille stood became a favourite

place for public meetings. The Bronze Column which now lifts its head in

the Place de la Bastille was erected under the reign of Louis Philippe,

in memory of the Revolution of 1789 and of the lesser revolt of 1830.

Although the Revolution began in Paris, the revolutionary spirit spread

rapidly to the provinces. This is clearly set forth in Arthur Young's

account of what took place at Strasburg, where he had just arrived when

news of the Revolution reached him.

[Illustration: THE CONQUERORS OF THE BASTILLE.

(_From the Painting by François Flaming._)]

"I arrived there," he writes, "at a critical moment, which I thought

would have broken my neck: a detachment of horse, with their trumpets,

on one side, a party of infantry, with their drums beating, on the

other, and a great mob hallooing, frightened my French mare, and I

could scarcely keep her from trampling on Messrs. the _tiers état_. On

arriving at the inn, one heard the interesting news of the revolt of

Paris; the _Garde Française_ joining the people; the unreliability of

the rest of the troops; the taking of the Bastille; and the institution

of the _milice bourgeoise_--in a word, the absolute overthrow of

the old government. Everything being now decided, and the kingdom

absolutely in the hands of the Assembly, they have the power to make a

new constitution such as they think proper; and it will be a spectacle

for the world to view in this enlightened age the representatives of

twenty-five millions of people sitting on the construction of a new

and better fabric of liberty than Europe has yet offered. It will now

be seen whether they will copy the constitution of England, freed

from its faults, or attempt from theory to frame something absolutely

speculative. In the former case they will prove a blessing to their

country; in the latter they will probably involve it in inextricable

confusion and civil wars: perhaps not immediately, but certainly

in the future. I hear nothing of their removing from Versailles. If

they stay there under the control of an armed mob, they must make a

government that will please the mob; but they will, I suppose, be wise

enough to move to some central town--Tours, Blois, or Orleans, where

their deliberations may be free. But the Parisian spirit of commotion

spreads rapidly; it is here; the troops that were near breaking my

neck are employed to keep an eye on the people who show signs of an

intended revolt. They have broken the windows of some magistrates who

are no favourites; and a great mob of them is at this moment assembled,

demanding clamorously to have meat at five sous a pound. They have

a cry among them that will conduct them to good lengths: '_Point

d'impôt et vivent les états!_' I have spent some time at the _Cabinet

Littéraire_ reading the gazettes and journals that give an account of

the transactions at Paris; and I have had some conversation with several

sensible and intelligent men in the present revolution. The spirit of

revolt is gone forth into various parts of the kingdom; the price of

bread has prepared the populace everywhere for all sorts of violence; at

Lyons there have been commotions as furious as at Paris, and likewise at

a great many other places. Dauphiné is in arms, and Bretagne in absolute

rebellion. The idea is that hunger will drive the people to revolt, and

that when once they find any other means of subsistence than honest

labour everything will have to be feared. Of such consequence it is to

a country to have a policy on the subject of corn: one that shall, by

securing a high price to the farmer, encourage his culture sufficiently

to secure the people from famine. I have been witness to a scene curious

to a foreigner, but dreadful to those Frenchmen who consider. Passing

through the square of the _Hôtel de Ville_, the mob were breaking the

windows with stones, notwithstanding that an officer and a detachment of

horse were on the spot. Observing not only that their numbers increased,

but that they grew bolder and bolder every moment, I thought it worth

staying to see how the thing would end, and clambered on to the roof of

a row of low stalls opposite the building against which their malice

was directed. Here I could view the whole scene. Perceiving that the

troops would not attack them except in words and menaces, they grew

more violent, and furiously attempted to beat the door in pieces with

iron crows, placing ladders to the windows. In about a quarter of an

hour, which gave time for the assembled magistrates to escape by a back

door, they burst everything open, and entered like a torrent, amid a

universal shout of triumph. From that minute a medley of casements,

sashes, shutters, chairs, tables, sofas, books, papers, pictures,

etc., rained down incessantly from all the windows of the house, which

is seventy or eighty feet long; this being succeeded by a shower of

tiles, skirting-boards, banisters, framework, and whatever parts of

the building force could detach. The troops, both horse and foot, were

quiet spectators. They were at first too few to interpose, and when they

became more numerous the mischief was too far advanced to admit of any

other course than that of guarding every avenue around, permitting no

fresh arrivals on the scene of action, but letting everyone that pleased

retire with his plunder; guards at the same time being placed at the

doors of the churches and all public buildings. I was for two hours a

spectator of this scene: secure myself from the falling furniture, but

near enough to see a fine lad of about fourteen crushed to death by

some object as he was handing plunder to a woman--I suppose his mother,

from the horror pictured in her countenance. I remarked several common

soldiers with their white cockades among the plunderers, and instigating

the mob even in sight of the officers of the detachment. Mixed in the

crowd, there were people so decently dressed that I regarded them with

no small surprise. The public archives were destroyed, and the streets

for some way around strewed with papers. This was a wanton mischief, for

it will be the ruin of many families unconnected with the magistrates."

Although at the critical moment the first object of the revolutionists'

attack was the Bastille, that hateful building did not, according to

Mercier, inspire the common people with any peculiar indignation. It

will be seen from his own words that he was in this particular a less

keen-sighted observer than he is generally reputed to have been. Writing

just before the Revolution, Mercier saw well that his fellow-countrymen

were oppressed, but believed they were too much inured to this

oppression ever to rise against it.

"I have already observed," he writes, "that the Parisians in general

are totally indifferent as to their political interest; nor is this

to be wondered at in a place where a man is hardly allowed to think

for himself. A coercive silence, imposed upon every Frenchman from the

hour of his birth on whatever regards the affairs of government, grows

with him into a habit which the fear of the Bastille and his natural

indolence daily strengthen, till the man is totally lost in the slave.

Kingly prerogative knows no bounds, because no one ever dared to resist

the monarch's despotic commands. It is true that at times, in the words

of the proverb, the galled horse has winced. The Parisians have at times

attempted to withstand tyranny; but popular commotions amongst them

have had very much the air of a boyish mutiny at school; a rod with

the latter, the butt end of a firelock with the former, quiets all,

because neither act with the spirit and resolution of _men_ who assert

their natural rights. What would cost the minister his life in those

unhappy countries where self-denial and passive obedience are unknown is

done off in Paris by a witty epigram, a smart song, etc.; the authors

of which, however, take the greatest care to remain concealed, having

continually the fear of ministerial runners before their eyes; nor has a

_bon mot_ unfrequently occasioned the captivity of its author."

Mercier at the same time points out that never since the days of Henri

IV. had France been so mildly governed as under Louis XVI. One of the

last acts of Louis XV. had been to cast into the Bastille all the

volumes of the Encyclopædia. One of the first acts of Louis XVI. was

to liberate from the Bastille all prisoners who had not been guilty of

serious, recognisable offences.

"At the accession of his present Majesty," writes Mercier, "his new

ministers, actuated by humanity, signalised the beginning of their

administration with an act of justice and mercy, ordering the registers

of the Bastille to be laid before them, when a great number of prisoners

were set at large." Among those liberated was a man of whom Mercier

tells the same story that was afterwards to be told of one of the seven

prisoners who were freed at the taking of the Bastille.

"Their number included a venerable old man, who for forty-seven years

had remained shut up between four walls. Hardened by adversity, which

steels the heart when it does not break it, he had supported his long

and tedious captivity with unexampled constancy and fortitude; and

he thought no more of liberty. The day is come. The door of his tomb

turns upon its rusty hinges, it opens not ajar, as usual, but wide, for

liberty, and an unknown voice acquaints him that he may now depart.

He thinks himself in a dream; he hesitates, and at last ventures out

with trembling steps; wonders at everything; thinks to have travelled

a great way before he reaches the outward gate. Here he stops a while;

his feeble eyes, long deprived of the sun's cheering beams, can hardly

support its first light. A coach waits for him in the streets; he gets

into it, desires to be carried to a certain street, but unable to

support the motion of the coach, he is set down, and by the assistance

of two men at length he reaches the quarter where he formerly dwelt; but

the spot is altered, and his house is no more. His wandering eye seems

to interrogate every passenger, saying with heartrending accents of

despondency: 'Where shall I find my wife? Where are my children?' All in

vain; the oldest man hardly remembers to have heard his name. At last a

poor old decrepit porter is brought to him. This man had served in his

family, but knew him not. Questioned by the late prisoner, he replied,

with all the indifference which accompanies the recollection of events

long passed, that his wife had died above thirty years before in the

utmost misery, and that his children were gone into foreign countries,

nothing having been heard of them for many years. Struck with grief and

astonishment, the old gentleman, his eyes riveted to the ground, remains

for some time motionless; a few tears would have eased his deeply

wounded heart, but he could not weep. At last, recovering from his

trance, he hastens to the minister to whose humanity he was indebted for

a liberty now grown burdensome. 'Sir,' he says to him, 'send me back to

my dungeon! Who is it that can survive his friends, his relations, nay,

a whole generation? Who can hear of the death of all he held dear and

precious, and not wish to die? All these losses, which happen to other

men by gradation, and one by one, have fallen upon me in an instant.

Ah, sir! it is not dreadful to die; but it is to be last survivor.' The

minister sympathised with this truly unfortunate man. Care was taken of

him, and the old porter assigned to him for his servant, as he could

speak with this man of his wife and children: the only comfort now left

for the aged son of sorrow, who lived some time retired, though in the

midst of the noise and confusion of the capital. Nothing, however, could

reconcile him to a world quite new for him, and to which he resolved to

remain a perfect stranger; and friendly death at last came to his relief

and closed his eyes in peace."

Although, as frigid historians have pointed out, the Bastille never

did any harm to the common people, it was sometimes made use of to

punish actresses who were much admired by the populace. Mlle. Clairon,

a distinguished actress and excellent woman, on quitting the stage from

religious scruples--or rather because, contrary to her own views on

the subject, she found the profession of actress condemned absolutely

by the Church--was sent to the Bastille on the ground that, being a

paid servant of the king, she refused to do her duty. "The case of this

lady," said a writer of the time, "is indeed hard. The king sends her

to prison if she does not act, and the Church sends her to perdition

if she does." Mlle. Clairon was much troubled at the view taken of her

profession by the clergy; and after consulting her confessor, she came

to the conclusion that so long as she remained on the stage she could

have no hope of salvation. It was then that she refused any longer to

act, and determined to retire altogether from the stage. So indignant

had Mlle. Clairon become on learning for the first time under what

severe condemnation the stage lay, that she raised a strong party with

the view of removing so great a scandal. Much was written and said in

favour of the comedians, but all to no purpose. The priests stood firm

to their text, and, in the words of a French writer, would by no means

give up "their ancient and pious privilege of consigning to eternal

punishment everyone who had anything to do with the stage."

[Illustration: À LA ROBESPIERRE.]

[Illustration: A LADY OF 1793.]

Mlle. Clairon's retirement threw her manager into the greatest

confusion. She was by far the best actress of the day, and such a

favourite that it was almost impossible to do without her. The theatre

was soon deserted by the public, and still Mlle. Clairon refused to

act. Then it was that by royal mandate she was imprisoned. She had not,

however, been long in the Bastille, when an order came from the Court

for the players to go to Versailles to perform before the king. Mlle.

Clairon was released, and commanded to make her appearance with the rest

of the company. Being already very tired of the Bastille, she decided

to obey, and performing at Court with immense success, and finding that

all attempts to gain even the toleration of the Church were in vain,

she resigned herself to her fate and went on acting as usual. Some

years previously, Mlle. Clairon, accused of organising a cabal against

a rival, had been sent to another State prison, Fort l'Évêque, where,

instead of pining, as at the Bastille, she held high court, receiving

visits from all kinds of illustrious people, whose carriages are said to

have made the approach to the prison impassable.

[Illustration: A TRICOTEUSE.]

[Illustration: MAP SHOWING THE EXTENSION OF PARIS.]

Besides the Bastille and Fort l'Évêque, there was yet another prison,

La Force, to which recalcitrant actresses used to be sent in the

strange days of the ancient _régime_. Thus Mlle. Gavaudin, a singer at

the Opera, having refused the part assigned to her in a piece called

the "Golden Fleece," was sent to La Force, where she enjoyed herself so

much, that she was warned as to the possibility of her being punished

by solitary confinement in a genuine dungeon. On this, she agreed to

appear in the character which she had at first rejected. When, however,

an official came to the prison to set her at liberty, in order that she

might play her part that very evening, she told him that for the present

she would remain where she was, that she had ordered an excellent

dinner, and meant to eat it. The official charged with her liberation

insisted, however, on setting her free, telling her that after he had

once got her into the street she might go wherever she chose. She

simply returned to the prison, where she dined copiously, with a due

allowance of wine. "Then," says a narrator of these incidents, "she went

to the Opera, had a furious scene with the stage-manager, who, during

her imprisonment, had given her dressing-room to another singer, and

after a quarter of an hour of violent language calmed down, dressed

herself for the part of Calliope, and sang very charmingly." It may be

mentioned that before she was consigned to the Bastille, Mlle. Clairon's

case interested greatly some of the best writers of the day, including

Voltaire, who published an eloquent defence of the stage against the

overbearing pretensions of the Church.

It seems strange that in France, where the drama is cultivated with

more interest and with more success than in any other country, actors

and actresses should so long have been regarded as beyond the pale of

Christianity. Happily, this is no longer the case. But the traditional

view of the French Church in regard to actors and actresses was, until

within a comparatively recent time, that they were, by the mere fact of

exercising their profession, in the position of excommunicated persons.

This is sufficiently shown not only by the case of Mlle. Clairon in

connection with the Bastille, but also by the circumstances attending

the burial of Molière in the seventeenth, of Adrienne Lecouvreur in

the eighteenth, and of Mlle. Raucourt in the nineteenth century.

Acting in _Le Malade Imaginaire_, Molière broke a blood-vessel, and

was carried home to die. He was attended in his last moments by a

priest of his acquaintance; he expired in presence of two nuns whom

he frequently entertained, and who had come to visit him on that very

day. Funeral rites were denied him, all the same, by the Archbishop

of Paris; and when Mme. Molière appealed in person to Louis XIV., the

king took offence at her audacious mode of address, and threw the whole

responsibility on the Archbishop of Paris--to whom, nevertheless, he

sent a private message. As a result of the king's interference--not a

very authoritative one--a priest was allowed to accompany Molière's body

to its otherwise unhonoured grave. The great comedy-writer was buried at

midnight in unconsecrated ground; and of course, therefore, without any

religious service.

Adrienne Lecouvreur, who, more than a century after her death, was to be

made the heroine of Scribe and Legouve's famous drama, is known to all

playgoers as the life-long friend of Marshal Saxe, whom she furnished

with money for his famous expedition to Courland. Voltaire entertained

the greatest regard for her, and was never so happy as when he had

persuaded her to undertake a part in one of his plays. Adrienne died in

Voltaire's arms, and no sooner was she dead than public opinion accused

her rival, the Duchess de Bouillon, of having poisoned her from jealousy

and hatred; for the duchess had conceived a passion for Marshal Saxe

to which that gallant warrior could not bring himself to respond. The

clergy refused to bury Adrienne, as in the previous century they had

refused to bury Molière. Her body was taken possession of by the police,

who buried it at midnight, without witnesses, on the banks of the

Seine. "In France," said Voltaire, "actresses are adored when they are

beautiful, and thrown into the gutter when they are dead."

Nearly a hundred years after the death of Adrienne Lecouvreur died

another great actress, Mlle. Raucourt, who, like Adrienne Lecouvreur and

like Molière, was refused Christian burial. This was in 1815, just after

the Restoration, at a time when the clergy, so long deprived of power,

were beginning once more to exercise it in earnest. The Curé of St.-Roch

refused to admit the body of the actress into his church. An indignant

crowd assembled, and became so riotous that the troops had to be called

out. At last King Louis XVIII. ordered the church doors to be opened,

and with the tact which distinguished him, commissioned his private

chaplain to perform the service. In such horror was the stage held by

the French clergy (if not by the Catholic clergy throughout Europe) so

late as the beginning of the present century, that money offered to

the Church by actors and actresses for charitable purposes, although

accepted, was at the same time looked upon as contaminating. Thus,

when Mlle. Contat gave performances for the starving poor of Paris,

and handed the proceeds to the clergy of her parish for distribution,

they refused to touch the money until it had been "purified" by passing

through the hands of the police, to whom it was paid in by the stage,

and by whom it was afterwards paid out to the Church.

* * * * *

The Place de la Bastille was formed in virtue of a decree of the First

Consul, but it was not completed until after the establishment of the

Empire. The principal ornament of the square was to be a triumphal arch

to the glory of the Grand Army. But after taking the opinion of the

Academy of Fine Arts, the emperor altered his views; and the triumphal

arch was reserved for the place it now occupies at the top of the Champs

Élysées. Oddly enough, too, a massive object, intended originally

for the spot now occupied by the Arc de l'Étoile, was carried to the

Bastille in the form of an elephant, whose trunk, according to the

fantastic design, was to give forth a column of water large enough to

feed a triumphal fountain, which was inaugurated December 2nd, 1808.

The wooden model of the elephant, covered with plaster, was seventeen

metres long and fifteen metres high, counting the tower which the animal

bore on its back. Set up for a time on the western bank of the Canal

de l'Ourcq, the plastered elephant was afterwards abandoned, like the

project in which it played a preliminary part, and its wooden carcase

became a refuge for innumerable rats. The remains of the elephant were

not removed until just before the completion of the bronze column which

now stands in the centre of the Place de la Bastille, in memory of the

victims of the Revolutions of 1789 and 1830.

The first stone of this monument was laid by King Louis Philippe on the

27th of July, 1831. It was finished at the beginning of 1843; and on

the 28th of July of that year were placed, in the vaults constructed

beneath the column for their reception, the remains of the insurgents of

1830, which for ten years had been lying buried in all parts of Paris,

but particularly in the neighbourhood of the markets and at the foot of

the Colonnade of the Louvre, where the relics reposed side by side with

those of the Swiss soldiers who had died in protecting the palace. The

figure lightly poised on the ball at the top of the column represents

the Genius of Liberty.

At a short distance from the Place de la Bastille, and easily accessible

by train, is Vincennes: known by its wood, at one time the favourite

resort of duellists; by its military establishment, to which the famous

Chasseurs de Vincennes owed their name when, after the downfall of

Louis Philippe, it was thought desirable to get rid of their former

designation--that of Chasseurs d'Orléans; and for its castle, in whose

ditch the ill-fated Duke d'Enghien was shot, after a mock trial, on an

all but groundless accusation.

The Duke d'Enghien, who, according to one of his biographers, had

no fault but the one common to all the Bourbons--that of being "too

easily influenced by beautiful eyes"--was living on the German side

of the Rhine, nearly opposite Strasburg, with his wife, a Princess de

Rohan-Rochefort, to whom he had been secretly married. As a royalist

and a member of the royal family, he was naturally the enemy of

Napoleon and the Napoleonic _régime_. But he had taken no part in any

conspiracy, unless the League of Sovereigns and States formed against

Napoleon could be so considered. The duke frequently crossed over from

the right or German bank, especially at Binfelden, where the Prince de

Rohan-Rochefort, his wife's father, had taken apartments at the local

inn. It became known, moreover, to the French authorities that the

Prefect of Strasburg had for some time past been sending various agents

to the German side. The princess received at this time from an officer

of the Strasburg garrison, who had been formerly attached to the Rohan

family, secret intelligence that inquiries were being made in regard

to the Duke d'Enghien. Soon afterwards a small body of troops crossed

the Rhine, surrounded the little castle or Gothic villa where the duke

was living at Ettenheim, seized him, and brought him over to Strasburg.

He was permitted to write, and lost no time in sending a note to the

princess, who, from the windows of the house, had followed in painful

anxiety all the events of the alarming drama acted before her eyes.

"They have promised me," wrote the duke from the citadel of Strasburg,

"that this letter shall be delivered to you intact. This is the first

opportunity I have had of reassuring you as to my present condition, and

I do so now without losing a moment. Will you, in your turn, reassure

those who are attached to me in your neighbourhood? My own fear is that

this letter may find you no longer at Ettenheim, but on the way to this

place. The pleasure of seeing you, however, would not be nearly so great

as the fear I should have of your sharing my fate.... You know, from the

number of men employed, that all resistance would have been useless.

There was nothing to be done against such overpowering forces.

"I am treated with attention and politeness. I may say, except as

regards my liberty (for I am not allowed to leave my room), that I am as

well off as could be. If some of the officers sleep in my chamber, that

is because I desired it. We occupy one of the commandant's apartments,

but another room is being prepared for me, which I am to take possession

of to-morrow, and where I shall be better off still. The papers found on

me, and which were sealed at once with my seal, are to be examined this

morning in my presence."

The first letters written by the young man from Strasburg to his wife

(they are still preserved in the French Archives) showed no apprehension

of danger; nothing could be proved against him except what was known

beforehand, that he was a Bourbon and an enemy of Napoleon. "As far as

I remember," wrote the duke to his wife, "they will find letters from

my relations and from the king, together with copies of some of mine.

In all these, as you know, there is nothing that can compromise me, any

more than my name and mode of thinking would have done during the whole

course of the Revolution. All the papers will, I believe, be sent to

Paris, and it is thought, according to what I hear, that in a short time

I shall be free; God grant it! They were looking for Dumouriez, who was

thought to be in our neighbourhood. It seems to have been supposed that

we had had conferences together, and apparently he is implicated in the

conspiracy against the life of the First Consul. My ignorance of this

makes me hope that I shall obtain my liberty, but we must not flatter

ourselves too soon. The attachment of my people draws tears from my eyes

at every moment. They might have escaped; no one forced them to follow

me. They came of their own accord.... I have seen nobody this morning

except the commandant, who seems to me an honest, kind-hearted man, but

at the same time strict in the fulfilment of his duty. I am expecting

the colonel of gendarmes who arrested me, and who is to open my papers

before me."

Transferred to Vincennes, the duke was tried summarily by court-martial,

sentenced to death, and shot in the moat of the fortress on the 21st of

March, 1804. Immediately before the execution he asked for a pair of

scissors, cut off a lock of his hair, wrapped it up in a piece of paper,

with a gold ring and a letter, and gave the packet to Lieut. Noirot,

begging him to send it to the Princess Charlotte de Rohan-Rochefort.

Lieut. Noirot forwarded the packet to General Hulin, who transmitted it

to an official named Réal, together with the following letter:--

"Paris, 30th Ventôse, Year 12 of the French Republic.--P.

Hulin, General of Brigade commanding the Grenadiers on Foot of the

Consular Guard, to Citizen Réal, Councillor of State charged with

the conduct of affairs relating to the internal tranquillity and

security of the Republic. I have the honour, Councillor of State,

to address you a packet found on the former Duke d'Enghien. I have

the honour to salute you. (Signed) P. HULIN."

The receipt of the package was thus acknowledged by Citizen Réal:--

"Paris, 2 Germinal, Year 12 of the Republic.--The Councillor

of State, especially charged with the conduct of all affairs

relating to the internal tranquillity and security of the Republic,

has received from the General of Brigade, Hulin, commanding the

Grenadiers on Foot of the Guard, a small packet, containing hair,

a gold ring, and a letter; this small packet bearing the following

inscription: 'To be forwarded to the Princess de Rohan from the

former Duke d'Enghien.'

"(Signed) RÉAL."

The last wishes of the unfortunate duke were not carried out. The packet

was never forwarded to his wife. She may have received the letter,

but the ring, the lock of hair, and some fifteen epistles, written in

German, from the princess to the duke, and found upon him after his

death, remained, without the duke's letter, in the Archives of the

Prefecture of Police. A fortnight after the duke's execution, his widow

addressed from Ettenheim, on the 16th of July, 1804, the following

letter to the Countess d'Ecquevilly:--

"Since I still exist, dear Countess, it is certain that

grief does not kill. Great God! for what frightful calamity was I

reserved? In the most cruel torments, the most painful anxiety,

never once did the horrible fear present itself to my mind that

they might take his life. But, alas! it is only too true that the

unhappy man has been made their victim: that this unjust sentence,

this atrocious sentence, to which my whole being refused to lend

credence, was pronounced and thereupon executed. I have not the

courage to enter into details of this frightful event; but there

is not one of them which is not heartrending, not one that would

not paralyze with terror--I do not say every kind-hearted person,

but anyone who has not lost all feeling of humanity. Alone, without

support, without succour, without defence, oppressed with anxiety,

worn out with fatigue, denied one moment of the repose demanded

by Nature after his painful journey, he heard his death-sentence

hurriedly pronounced, during which the unhappy man sank four

times into unconsciousness. What barbarity! Great God! And when

the end came he was abandoned on all sides, without sympathy or

consolation, without one affectionate hand to wipe away his tears

or close his eyelids.

"Ah! I have not the cruel reproach to make to myself of not

having done everything to follow him. Heaven knows that I would

have risked my life with joy, I do not say to save him, but to

soften the last moments of his life. Alas! they envied me this sad

delight. Prayers, entreaties, were all in vain; I could not share

his fate. They preferred to leave me to this wretched existence,

condemned to eternal regret, eternal sorrow."

Princess Charlotte died at Paris in 1841; and quite recently a note on

the subject of her last wishes appeared in the Paris _Intermédiaire_,

the French equivalent of our _Notes and Queries_. It was as

follows:--"After the death of the Princess Charlotte, there was found

among her papers a sealed packet, of which the superscription directed

that it should be opened by the President of the Tribunal--at that

time M. de Balli. This magistrate opened the packet and examined its

contents. He found the whole correspondence of Bonaparte's victim with

'his friend,' as the worthy magistrate put it: _avec son amie_. The

president gave the packet to the family notary after re-closing it,

saying that the letters were very touching, very interesting, but that

they must be burnt; which was in fact done."

[Illustration: ADRIENNE LECOUVREUR.

(_From the Bust by Courtet in the Comédie Française._)]

The marriage of the Duke d'Enghien to the Princess de Rohan had

been informal; the informality consisting solely in its having been

celebrated without some necessary sanction: probably that of the king,

Louis XVI. The ceremony was performed by Cardinal de Rohan, the bride's

uncle; and it is evident from her first letters that she was regarded by

her nearest friends and relatives as the duke's lawful wife.

Let us now, passing from political to private executions, say a few

words about some of the famous duels of which Vincennes, or rather the

wood of Vincennes, has from time to time been the scene.

Duels in France are generally fought with swords; and as it depends upon

the combatants to strike or not to strike at a mortal part, a hostile

meeting is by no means always attended with serious consequences. It

is a mistake, however, to assume, as Englishmen frequently do, that a

duel in France fought for grave reasons is not itself a grave affair.

Plenty of sword duels have placed the worsted combatant in imminent

danger of his life; though it is undeniable that the pistol, being a

more hazardous weapon, proves, as a rule, deadlier than the sword. When

M. Paolo Fiorentino, blackballed at the Society of Men of Letters, on

the ground that he had accepted bribes, undertook to fight every member

of the association, beginning with M. Amédée Achard, whose name, thanks

to its two A's, headed the alphabetical list, the Italian critic and

bravo ran his first opponent through the body, and all but killed him.

M. Henri de Pène received like treatment at the hands of an officer

by reason of his having described the unseemly conduct of officers

generally, as shown at a ball of which the École Militaire was the

scene. Both Achard and Pène, however, recovered. Not so the unfortunate

Armand Carrel, one of the boldest and most brilliant writers that the

Republican Press of France possessed. Armand Carrel and his antagonist,

Émile de Girardin, another famous journalist of Louis Philippe's reign,

fought with pistols in that Bois de Vincennes whose name at once

suggests crossed rapiers or whizzing bullets.

M. de Girardin was the inventor of the cheap press, not only in France,

but in Europe. To reduce the price of the newspaper, and thus increase

the number of subscribers, while covering any possible loss on the sale

by the enlarged revenue from advertisements, which would flow in more

and more rapidly as the circulation widened: such was Girardin's plan.

According, however, to his enemies, he proposed to "enlarge the portion

hitherto allotted in newspapers to mendacious announcements to the

self-commendations of quackery and imposture, at the sacrifice of space

which should be devoted to philosophy, history, literature, the arts,

and whatever else elevates or delights the mind of man."

The proposed change was really one which Democrats and Republicans

should have hailed with delight; for it promised to extend a knowledge

of public affairs to readers who had hitherto been prevented from

becoming acquainted with them by the high price of the newspapers,

which, apart from their own articles on political affairs, published

long accounts of the debates in the Chamber.

M. de Girardin, however, found his innovation attacked as the device

of a charlatan. He was accused of converting journalism into the most

sordid of trades: of making it "a speaking-trumpet of the money-grabber

and the speculator." Some of M. de Girardin's opponents went so far as

to hint that he was not working in good faith, and that the losses to

which the diminution of price must expose his journal were to be made

good by a secret subsidy. Armand Carrel, as editor of the _National_,

entered into the quarrel, and took part against Girardin, who, on his

side, wrote a bitter attack upon Carrel. No sooner had Carrel read

the scathing article than he called upon its author, demanding either

retractation or personal satisfaction. He entered Girardin's room,

accompanied by M. Adolphe Thibaudeau, holding open in his hand the

journal which contained the offensive lines. Girardin asked Carrel to

wait until he also could have a friend present. M. Lautour-Mézeray was

sent for; but pending that gentleman's arrival some sharp words were

interchanged.

Armand Carrel conceived that he was justified in regarding the course

adopted by M. de Girardin as indicating an intention to bring the matter

to a duel, and on his suggesting as much, M. de Girardin replied, "A

duel with such a man as you, sir, would be quite a _bonne fortune_."

"Sir," replied Carrel, "I can never regard a duel as a _bonne fortune_."

A few moments afterwards M. Lautour-Mézeray arrived. His presence

served to give the discussion a more conciliatory tone, and it was

ultimately agreed that a few words of explanation should be published

in both journals. On M. de Girardin's proposing to draw up the note at

once, "You may rely upon me, sir," said Armand Carrel, with dignity.

The quarrel seemed almost at an end; but an incident reanimated it.

M. de Girardin required that the publication of the note should take

place simultaneously in the two journals. Carrel, on the contrary,

held that it ought to appear first in the _Presse_, Girardin's paper;

but he experienced on this point the most determined resistance. It

was then that, carried away with indignation, wounded to the quick,

utterly unable to adhere any longer to the moderation which, by a

determined effort, he had hitherto enforced upon himself, Carrel rose

and exclaimed, "I am the offended person; I choose the pistol!"

It was early on the morning of Friday, July 22, 1836, that Armand

Carrel and M. de Girardin found themselves face to face in the Bois de

Vincennes.

While the pistols were being loaded, Carrel said to M. de Girardin,

"Should chance be against me and you should afterwards write my life,

you will, in all honour, adhere strictly and simply to the facts?" "Rest

assured," replied his adversary. The seconds had measured a distance of

forty paces; the combatants were to advance within twenty of each other.

Armand Carrel immediately took his place and advanced, presenting,

despite the urgent entreaties of M. Ambert that he would show less

front, the whole breadth of his person to his adversary's aim. M. de

Girardin having also advanced some paces, both parties fired nearly at

the same instant, and both fell wounded, the one in the leg, the other

in the groin.

"I saw him," wrote Louis Blanc some time afterwards, "as he lay; his

pale features expressing passion in repose. His attitude was firm,

inflexible, martial, like that of a soldier who slumbers on the eve of

battle."

M. de Girardin was profoundly grieved at the result of the duel, and

he made a vow never to fight again. Many years afterwards, under the

Republic of 1848, he visited the grave of the man he had killed, to

express his regret and ask for pardon in the name of the form of

Government to which he had now become a convert, and which Carrel had

always placed above every other.

The duelling chronicles of the Bois de Vincennes would lead us far

away from the Paris of to-day. It may be mentioned, however, that in

this wood Alexandre Dumas the elder fought his famous duel with a

_collaborateur_, who claimed to have written the whole of the _Tour

de Nesle_ and who, undoubtedly, supplied to the skilful dramatist the

framework of the piece.

Dumas was in all truth a skilful dramatist, though one may hesitate to

give him the title of dramatic poet, which he loved to claim. "What

are you?" said the judge of the Rouen Tribunal to the author of so

many clever pieces, who had to give evidence in a certain case. "If I

were not in the city of Corneille," answered Alexander the Great, "I

should call myself a dramatic poet." "There are degrees in everything,"

replied the judge. Alexandre Dumas was, all the same, a great inventor,

and he possessed an extraordinary talent for putting dramatic things

into shape. When, therefore, the future editor of the _Courier des

États-Unis_ claimed to have written all that was important in the _Tour

de Nesle_, he doubtless declared what from a literary point of view

was false. Dumas not only rejected his contention, but declined to

allow his own name to appear in the bill side by side with that of his

_collaborateur_. Hence angry words and a duel: once more a serious one,

and with pistols, not swords.

With a calm desire to kill his man, of which, were he not his own

accuser, one would refuse to suspect him, Dumas tells us, in his

_Memoirs_, how, when he appeared on the ground, he examined his

adversary's costume, and, while thinking it excellent as a "make-up,"

was sorry to find that it offered no salient mark for a pistol-shot. M.

Gaillardet was dressed entirely in black; his trousers, his buttoned-up

coat, his cravat were all as inky as Hamlet's cloak, and according to

the Parisian fashion of the time, he wore no shirt-collar. "Impossible

to see the man," said Dumas to himself; "there is no point about him to

aim at." He at the same time made a mental note of the costume, which

he afterwards reproduced in the duel scene of the "Corsican Brothers."

At last he noticed a little speck of white in his adversary's ear:

simply a small piece of cotton-wool. "I will hit him in the ear," said

Dumas to himself; and on his confiding the amiable intention to one of

his seconds, the latter promised to watch carefully the effect of the

shot, inasmuch as he was anxious to see whether a man hit with a bullet

through the head turned round a little before falling or fell straight

to the ground. Dumas's pistol, however, missed fire. The delightful

experiment contemplated could not, therefore, be tried; and the

encounter was bloodless.

* * * * *

At Vincennes was confined for a few days, just before his expulsion from

France, the Young Pretender, or "Charles Edward," as the French called

him. The Duke de Biron had been ordered to see to his arrest; and one

evening when it was known that he intended to visit the Opera, Biron

surrounded the building with twelve hundred guards as soon as the prince

had entered it. He was arrested, taken to Vincennes, and kept there four

days; then to be liberated and expelled from France, in accordance with

the treaty of 1748, so humiliating to the French arms. The servants of

the Young Pretender, and with them one of the retinue of the Princess

de Talmont, whose antiquated charms had detained him at Paris, were

conveyed to the Bastille; upon which the princess wrote the following

letter to M. de Maurepas, the minister: "The king, sir, has just covered

himself with immortal glory by arresting Prince Edward. I have no doubt

but that his Majesty will order a _Te Deum_ to be sung to thank God for

so brilliant a victory. But as Placide, my lacquey, taken captive in

this memorable expedition, can add nothing to his Majesty's laurels, I

beg you to send him back to me." "The only Englishman the regiment of

French guards has taken throughout the war!" exclaimed the Princess de

Conti, when she heard of the arrest.

"Besides the Bastille and the Castle of Vincennes, which are the

privileged places of confinement for State prisoners, there are others,"

says an old chronicler, "which may be called the last strongholds

of tyranny. The minister by his private _lettre de cachet_ sends an

objectionable individual to Bicêtre or Charenton. The latter place,

indeed, is for lunatics; but a minister who deprives a citizen of his

liberty because he so wills it may make him pass for what he pleases;

and if the person taken up is not at that time, he will in a few months

be, entirely out of his senses, so that at worst it is only a kind of

ministerial anticipation. Upon any complaint laid by the parents or

other relations, a young man is sent to St.-Lazare, where sometimes he

will remain till the death of the complainants; and Heaven knows how

fervently this is prayed for by the captive!"

Under the reign of Charles VII. there stood in the Wood of Vincennes a

castle which the King named Château de Beauté, and presented to Agnes

Sorel. Of this abode the royal favourite duly took possession. Charles

was by no means popular with his subjects, whom he taxed severely; and

they were scandalised by the way in which Agnes Sorel squandered money,

by her undisguised relations with the king, and by the kindness with

which she was apparently treated even by the queen. Far, then, from

rendering honours to "the beautiful Agnes," the Parisians murmured at

her prodigality and arrogance; and the favourite, indignant to find

herself so ill received in Paris, departed, saying that the Parisians

were churls, and that if she had suspected they would render her such

insufficient honour she would never have set foot in their city:

"which," says a contemporary writer, "would have been a pity, but not a

great one."

[Illustration: A DUEL IN THE BOIS DE BOULOGNE.]

After saying so much against Agnes Sorel, it is only fair to add that,

according to many historians, it was she who roused Charles VII. from

his habitual lethargy, and inspired him with the idea of driving the

English out of France.

* * * * *

Vincennes is a military station, where a considerable body of troops

is maintained. Hence, as already mentioned, the once famous Chasseurs

derived their name. Each division has now its own battalion of

Chasseurs. It may be added that special corps of infantry, such as

Chasseurs de Vincennes, Zouaves, Turcos, together with the Chasseurs

d'Afrique and other kinds of ornamental cavalry, have been abolished:

to the detriment of the picturesqueness, if not the practical

efficiency, of the French army.

[Illustration: THE SEINE, FROM NOTRE-DAME.]

The infantry regiments are all armed and dressed absolutely alike,

with the exception of the battalions of "chasseurs" (corresponding to

the "schützen" battalions of the German Army), whose tunics are of a

lighter blue than those of the line regiments. The Germans, by the way,

have only one battalion of sharpshooters to each army corps, whereas

the French have two, one to each division. As the French are adopting

as much as possible the principle of uniformity in their army, it seems

strange that they should have made any distinction between chasseurs

and infantry of the line; that, in short, they should have retained

chasseurs in their army at all. Formerly sharp-shooters carried rifles

and were supposed to be particularly good shots; whereas infantry of the

line were armed with smooth-bore muskets, and if they could pull the

trigger, could certainly not aim straight. Now every infantry soldier is

supposed, more or less correctly, to be a good marksman; and linesmen

and chasseurs are armed alike.

[Illustration: RECRUITS.]

Lancers exist no more; and the French cavalry, but for differences

of uniform, would all be of the same medium pattern, neither "light"

nor "heavy," but presumably fit for duties of all kinds. Some cavalry

regiments are uniformed as dragoons, some as chasseurs, some as

hussars; and every army corps has attached to it, or rather included

in its integral force, four cavalry regiments of one of these three

descriptions.

The Recruitment Bill of 1872 and the Organisation Bill of 1873 form

a net which, with the additions since made to them, takes at one

sweep everybody whom the military authorities can possibly want. Even

seminarists and students of theology are no longer exempted.

Postmen, policemen of all kinds, workmen in Government factories,

students of a certain age in Government schools and in all educational

establishments private or public, members of the custom house and

octroi service, firemen, Government engineers, clerks and workmen in the

Department of Woods, Bridges, and Mines, scavengers, lighthouse-keepers,

coast-guardsmen, engine-drivers, stokers, guards, pointsmen,

station-masters, signalmen and clerks of the railway service, all

persons employed in the telegraph service, all seamen not already on

the lists of the navy, and generally all members of bodies having some

recognised constitution in time of peace, may in time of war be formed

into special corps in order to serve either with the active army or with

the "territorial army"--as the French equivalent to the German Landwehr

is called. "The formation of these special corps," says the text of the

Law on the General Organisation of the French Army, "is authorised by

decree. They are subject to all the obligations of military service,

enjoy all the rights of belligerents, and are bound by the rules of the

law of nations."

For private gentlemen going out in plain clothes to shoot at invaders

from behind hedges no provision is made; and such persons, whether

called "francs-tireurs" or by any other name, would, if caught by the

enemy, evidently be left to their fate. The franc-tireur, in fact,

though still popular with the sort of people who delight in stories

of brigands and highwaymen, is not looked back to with admiration

even by his own Government. "These articles," says the report on

the Law of Military Organisation in reference to the clause above

cited, "are introduced in order to prevent the return of such unhappy

misunderstandings as occurred in the last war, during which it is said

that National Guards and francs-tireurs were shot by the enemy because

our military laws had not given them the rights of belligerents." The

rules under which these bodies of armed civilians, temporarily endowed

with the military character, may be organised are strictly defined, so

that the country may at no future time be troubled by "the formation of

bands of foreign adventurers who have during all the worst epochs of our

history fallen upon France, and, under pretext of defending her, have

often subjected her to devastation and pillage." This is, of course,

meant for the bands of Garibaldians. They were, nevertheless, regularly

organised under officers bearing commissions from the Minister of War,

and, apart from the question of "devastation and pillage," were the only

bodies of partisans who showed any aptitude for guerilla warfare.

[Illustration]