THE DEATH OF LOUIS XVIII., AND REIGN OF CHARLES X.
1816-1830
Marriage of the Duke de Berri.--Family of the Duke de
Berri.--Assassination of the Duke de Berri.--The dying
scene.--Assembling of the royal family.--Noble conduct of
the Duchess de Berri.--Death and burial.--Character of Louis
XVIII.--Death of Louis XVIII.--Charles X. and family.--Ball
at the Palais Royal.--Striking remarks of the Duke of
Orleans.--Complaints against the crown.--The fatal
ordinances.--Character of the ministry.--M. de Bourmont.--Dramatic
scene.--Charles X. and his ministers.--Their unanimity.--The
antagonistic forces.--Issuing the ordinances.--Risings of
opposition.--Silencing the journals.--Diversity of counsel.--The
conflict in Paris.--Threatening aspect of affairs.--Incidents of
the battle.--Fraternization of the troops and the
populace.--Retreat of the king.--All Paris in arms.--Triumph of
the insurgents.--Success of the insurgents.--Tactics of General
Marmont.
We have alluded to the Duke de Berri, the second son of Count
d'Artois. As he became the father of Count de Chambord, the present
_Legitimist_ claimant of the throne of France, his career calls for
more minute mention.
On the 28th of March, 1816, the French people were informed, by an
announcement to both of the Chambers, that the young Duke de Berri
was about to enter into a matrimonial alliance with Caroline Mary,
eldest daughter of the heir to the crown of Naples. Caroline Mary was
the niece of the Duchess of Orleans, being the child of her brother.
The Chambers, in token of their satisfaction, voted the Duke de Berri
a nuptial gift amounting to three hundred thousand dollars. The duke
manifested his generous character, and won great popularity, by
accepting the gift only upon condition that he might be allowed to
distribute the sum among the poor in the provinces, who were then
suffering severely from famine.
The marriage proved a happy one, until death sundered the tie.
Caroline Mary, who thus became the Duchess de Berri, was of
sylph-like grace of figure, beautiful in features, and by her affable
manners and unaffected amiability won all hearts. Four years glided
swiftly away. Two children were born, a son and a daughter; both died
in infancy. A third child proved to be a daughter. As, by an ancient
law of the realm, daughters were not eligible to the throne of
France, there was great anxiety felt throughout the kingdom. Unless a
prince were born, there would be a failure in the direct line of
succession, and civil war might be the result. On the 13th of
February, the duke and duchess attended the opera. The duchess was
expecting soon again to be a mother. By the sudden opening of a door,
she was unexpectedly struck in the side with violence, which caused
her some alarm, and she expressed the wish to return home.
The duke led her to her carriage. She took her seat in it, saying to
him with a smile, "Adieu; we shall soon meet again." As the duke was
returning to the opera, an assassin, by the name of Louvel, who had
been lying in wait for him, sprang from the darkness of a projecting
wall, and seizing the duke by the shoulder with one hand, with the
other plunged a dagger to the hilt in his side. It was the deed of an
instant, and the assassin, in the darkness, fled, leaving the dagger
in the side of the victim.
The footman was just closing the door of the carriage of the duchess
when she heard her husband cry out, "I am assassinated! I am dead! I
have the poniard! That man has killed me!" With a shriek, the duchess
sprang from her carriage and clasped her husband in her arms, as the
gushing blood followed the dagger which he drew from the wound.
"I am dead!" exclaimed the duke. "Send for a priest. Come, dearest,
let me die in your arms!"
[Illustration: ASSASSINATION OF THE DUKE DE BERRI.]
The dying man was conveyed to an adjoining room, and medical
attendance was summoned. Nothing could staunch the gushing blood, and
life was rapidly ebbing away. The duke was informed that the assassin
was arrested. "Alas!" he said, "how cruel it is to die by the hands
of a Frenchman!" Overhearing some one say to the almost distracted
duchess that he hoped the wound would not prove fatal, the duke
replied, "No; I am not deceived; the poniard has entered to the
hilt." His sight became dim, and he inquired, "Caroline, are you
there?" "Yes," she answered, "and I will never leave you."
His father's confessor, the Bishop of Chartres, entered, and the
dying man had a few moments of private conversation with the
ecclesiastic. He then called for his infant daughter. She was brought
to him, asleep, for it was near midnight. Placing his hand upon her
head, he said, "Poor child! may you be less unfortunate than the rest
of your family."
The wound ceased to bleed externally, and its inward flow threatened
suffocation. The duke's physician, M. Boujou, endeavored to restore
circulation by sucking the wound. "What are you doing?" exclaimed the
duke. "For God's sake stop! Perhaps the poniard was poisoned."
Respiration was now very difficult, and the hand of the duke was
clammy with the damp of death. As a last resort, the surgeon, with
his knife, opened and enlarged the wound. The duke, grasping the hand
of the duchess, patiently bore the painful operation, and then said,
"Spare me further pain."
Turning to his wife, whom he tenderly loved, he said, "Caroline, take
care of yourself for the sake of our infant, which you bear in your
bosom."
The duke and the duchess of Orleans, being immediately summoned, were
the first of the relatives to arrive in this chamber of death. They
were speedily followed by the Count d'Artois, the father of the
sufferer, and by the Duke d'Angouleme, his elder brother. Other
members of the royal family soon arrived. In the feeble accents of
approaching death, the duke inquired,
"Who is the man who has killed me? I wish I could see him, to inquire
into his motives. Perhaps it is some one whom I have unconsciously
offended. Would that I might live long enough to ask the king to
pardon him. Promise me, my father, promise me, my brother, to ask of
the king the life of that man."
Another touching scene, of a very delicate nature, which I can not
refrain from recording occurred in this solemn hour. It was manifest
to the duke, as well as to all of his friends, that before the hour
should expire the spirit of the dying would pass to the tribunal of
that God in whose presence both prince and peasant are alike. The
memory of all past sins, in such an hour, often crowds the soul with
its tumultuous array. In whispering tones, inaudible to others, a few
words were interchanged between the dying man and his wife. Then two
illegitimate children, who were born to the duke when he was an exile
in London, were brought in. It seems that he had ever recognized them
as his own, and that they had been protected and fostered by both
himself and his lawful wife.
As these children entered the chamber, and knelt, sobbing
convulsively, at their father's dying bed, the duke embraced them
tenderly, and, turning his fading eye to his wife, said,
"I know you sufficiently, Caroline, to be assured that, after me, you
will take care of these orphans."
The duchess responded in an action far more impressive than words.
Taking her own babe into her arms from its nurse, she drew the
unfortunate children to her bosom, and said, "Kiss your sister." It
was a noble deed. All eyes were suffused in tears. Few can read the
simple record without emotion.
The duke then received, from the bishop, absolution, repeatedly
attempting the prayer, "My God, pardon me, pardon me; and pardon the
man who has taken my life!"
Just then the king, Louis XVIII., who was very infirm, arrived. "My
uncle," said the dying man, "give me your hand, that I may kiss it
for the last time. I entreat you, in the name of my death, to spare
the life of that man."
The king replied, "You are not so ill as you suppose. We will speak
of this again."
"Ah!" exclaimed the duke, "you do not say yes. The pardon of that man
would have softened my last moments, if I could die with the
assurance that his blood would not flow after my death."
These were his last words. There was a slight gasping, a convulsive
shuddering passed over his frame, and the spirit of the duke took its
flight to the judgment-seat of Christ. The remains were conveyed,
with much funereal pageantry, to the vaults of St. Denis, the ancient
mausoleum of the kings of France. Louvel, a miserable fanatic, who
sought notoriety by the murder of a prince, expiated his crime upon
the scaffold.
Seven months after this assassination, on the 20th of September,
1820, the Duchess de Berri gave birth to a son. He was christened
Henry, duke of Bordeaux. He is now known as the Count de Chambord,
the _Legitimist_ candidate for the throne of France. Indeed the
Legitimists regard him as their lawful sovereign, though in exile,
and give him the title of Henry V.
Louis XVIII. retained the throne, upon which the Allies had placed
him, for eight years, until his death. He was a good-natured,
kind-hearted old man, but so infirm from gout and excessive obesity,
that he could with difficulty walk, and he was wheeled around his
saloons in a chair. Lamartine, whose poetic nature ever bowed almost
with adoration before hereditary royalty, gives the following
pleasing account of his character:
"His natural talent, cultivated, reflective, and quick, full
of recollections, rich in anecdotes, nourished by philosophy,
enriched by quotations, never deformed by pedantry, rendered
him equal, in conversation to the most renowned literary
characters of his age. M. De Chateaubriand had not more
elegance, M. De Talleyrand more wit, Madame De Stael more
brilliancy. Since the suppers of Potsdam, where the genius
of Voltaire met the capacity of Frederick the Great, never
had the cabinet of a prince been the sanctuary of more
philosophy, literature, talent, and taste."
To this it should be added that he was devoted to the interests of
the aristocracy; that his mind was almost exclusively occupied in
making happy hits in conversation, and in writing graceful
_billet-doux_; that the priests and the nobles controlled him through
the all-persuasive influence of the fascinating Madame Du Cayla. He
died on the 16th of September, 1824. As his last hour approached, and
his extremities became cold, and it was manifest that he had but a
few moments to live, his mind remained clear and composed. Assuming a
cheerful air, he said to his family, gathered around his bed:
"A king of France may die, but he is never ill. Love each other, and
thus console yourselves for the disasters of our house. Providence
has replaced us upon the throne."
He then received extreme unction, bade adieu to all, and, ordering
the curtains of his bed to be closed, composed himself as for
ordinary sleep. With the earliest dawn of the morning the chief
physician opened the curtains, and found that his pulse was just
ceasing to beat. In a few moments he breathed his last. In accordance
with court etiquette the physician said, solemnly, "The king is
dead." Then, turning to the king's brother, Charles, previously known
as the Count d'Artois, he bowed and said, "Long live the king."
Charles X., into whose hands the sceptre thus passed, was then in the
sixty-seventh year of his age--having been born in Versailles,
October 9, 1757. This unfortunate monarch is represented, by his
friends, as having been one of the most accomplished of men. His
horsemanship attracted universal admiration. In all social circles he
charmed every one who approached him by his grace and courtesy. He
was warm-hearted and generous. Though in early life a man of
pleasure, he had become quite a devotee; and, to an extraordinary
degree, was under the influence of the priesthood. Leaving the
affairs of State in the hands of others, he gave his time, his
thoughts, his energies, to the pleasures of the chase. This pursuit
became, not his recreation, but the serious occupation of his life.
Charles was the father of two sons. The eldest, and consequently the
heir to the crown, was the Duke d'Angouleme. He had married the
daughter of Louis XVI., whose sufferings, with her brother, the
dauphin, in the Temple, have moved the sympathies of the whole
civilized world. The duke and duchess were childless, and with no
hope of offspring.
His second son, the Duke de Berri, had been assassinated, as we have
mentioned, about four years before, as he was coming from the opera,
leaving his wife _enciente_. In the course of a few months she gave
birth to a son--the Duke of Bordeaux. This child--now called Count de
Chambord--was the legitimate heir to the throne, next to his uncle,
the Duke d'Angouleme.
Six years of the reign of Charles X. passed away, during which the
discontent of the people was continually making itself increasingly
manifest. They regarded the Government as false to the claims of the
masses, and devoted only to the interests of the aristocracy.
The spirit of discontent which had long been brooding now rose in
loud and angry clamor everywhere around the throne. The court was
blind to its peril; but thoughtful men perceived that the elements
for a moral earthquake were fast accumulating. In the midst of these
hourly increasing perils, the Duke of Orleans, on the 31st of May,
1830, gave a ball at the Palais Royal in honor of his father-in-law,
the King of Naples. This festival was of such splendor as to astonish
even splendor-loving Paris, and was long remembered as one of the
most brilliant entertainments the metropolis had ever witnessed. The
immense fortune of the duke, his refined taste, and the grandeur of
the saloons of his ancestral palace, enabled him almost to outvie
royalty itself in the brilliance of the fete.
Vast amphitheatres bloomed with flowers in Eden-like profusion. The
immense colonnades of the Palais Royal were crowded with
orange-trees, whose opening buds filled the air with fragrance, and
whose clusters of golden fruit enhanced the beauty of the scene. The
spacious roofs and rotundas of glass sparkled with thousands of
wax-lights, creating a spectacle so gorgeous and glittering that even
those who were accustomed to royal splendor were reminded of the
enchanter's palace in Oriental fable.
The marriage of the Duke de Berri, the son of Charles X. with
Caroline Mary, niece of the Duchess of Orleans, had produced some
reconciliation between the Bourbon and the Orleans branches of the
royal family. The king and his family this evening, for the first
time, in regal state visited the Palais Royal. As the duke was
receiving the congratulations of his guests upon the marvellous
splendor which the palace presented, thronged with courtiers
sparkling with jewels and decorated with all the costly and
glittering costumes of the old regime, one of the guests, M.
Salvandy, shrewdly observed to the duke,
"It is, indeed, quite a Neapolitan fete, your highness, for we dance
upon a volcano."
The duke with some emotion replied, "That there is a volcano here I
believe as firmly as you do. But I know that the fault is not mine. I
shall not have any occasion, hereafter, to reproach myself for not
having endeavored to open the eyes of the king. But what could be
expected when nothing is listened to? God only knows where all this
will end--I certainly do not foresee what is about to happen. I can
not tell where all those who are producing this state of things will
be in six months hence; but one thing I do know, which is, where I
shall be myself.
"Under all circumstances or changes which may occur, my family and
myself will remain in this palace. This is our throne. Whatever may
be the peril of so doing, I shall not move from the home of my
fathers. I shall never again consent to separate the fate and fortune
of myself and children from those of my country. This is my
unchangeable determination."
One of the saloons contained two very fine paintings of Montmiral and
Champ-Aubert, two towns in France in which Napoleon, heroically
struggling against dynastic Europe combined in arms against him,
signally defeated and drove back the Allies. The duke, being asked
why he allowed paintings commemorative of the victories of the Empire
to hang upon his walls, replied, "Because I like every thing French."
Soon after this the popular complaints against the crown became so
general, so bitter, and the excitement so great, that the king, by
the advice of the ministers who governed him, issued several
ordinances which were regarded by the people as so despotic, as so
subversive of all popular rights, as to call for resistance by
insurrection and the force of arms.
The first of these famous ordinances suspended the liberty of the
press, and prohibited the publication of any journals excepting such
as were authorized by the Government.
The second dissolved the new Chamber of Deputies, or Legislature,
because the members were too liberal in their political opinions,
assuming that the electors had been deceived by the popular clamor,
and had chosen such persons as they ought not to have chosen.
The third reduced the number of deputies from three hundred and
ninety-five to two hundred and twenty-eight, and so altered the
electoral franchise, in order to secure the return of members
favorable to the Government, as to deprive a large number of the
right of suffrage who had heretofore exercised it.
Such, in brief, were the ordinances which overthrew the throne of
Charles X. and drove the elder branch of the Bourbons into exile.
There were others issued at the same time, but which were of no
material importance.
Frivolous as was the character of Charles X., he had sagacity enough
to know that such decrees could not be issued in France without
creating intense agitation. His ministers also, though the advocates
of the despotic principles of the old regime, were men of ability.
They recognized the measures as desperate. Popular discontent had
reached such a crisis that it was necessary either to silence it by
despotic power or yield to it, introducing reforms which would
deprive the ministers of their places.
Prince Polignac was at this time prime minister. His mother had been
the bosom-friend of Maria Antoinette. Through his whole life he was
the unswerving friend of the Bourbons. Implicated in the plot of
Georges for the overthrow of the First Consul, he was condemned to
death. Napoleon spared his life, and finally liberated him, upon
which he followed Count d'Artois (Charles X.) into exile. Returning
with the Bourbons, in the rear of the Allied armies, he was rewarded
for his life-long fidelity to the ancient regime by the highest
honors.
The sorrows of life had left their impress upon his pensive features.
He was well-read, very decided in his views that the people were made
to _be governed_, not to govern. He was energetic, but possessed of
so little worldly wisdom that he thought that the people, however
much exasperated, could be easily subdued by determined action.
M. de la Bourdonnaye, Minister of the Interior, like Polignac, was an
ultra Royalist. He had been one of the most violent of the Vendeans
in their opposition to the Revolution, and is represented, even by
those who were in sympathy with him, as wishing to govern by a
royalist reign of terror.
M. de Bourmont, Minister of War, had been a staunch Royalist in the
days of the Revolution, struggling with the Vendeans in defense of
the monarchy. Upon the establishment of the Empire he gave his
adhesion to Napoleon. Being a man of ability, he was placed in
responsible posts. At Waterloo, upon the eve of the great struggle,
he deserted to the Allies, carrying as his peace-offering the
betrayal of the emperor's plan of campaign. It is supposed that his
testimony against Marshal Ney sealed the fate of that illustrious
man. The French people had not forgotten his defection at Waterloo,
and he was exceedingly unpopular.
These were the prominent ministers. The other members of the cabinet,
though men of ability, were not of historic note. The original
appointment of these ministers, whose opinions were so obnoxious and
well known, had caused great indignation. The liberal press assailed
them with vehemence. The _Journal des Debats_, after announcing the
names of the ministers, exclaimed:
"The emigration of M. de Polignac, the fury of proscription
of M. de la Bourdonnaye, desertion to the enemy in M. de
Bourmont--such are the three principles in the three leading
persons of the administration. Press upon it. Nothing but
humiliation, misfortune, and danger will drive it from power."
M. Guizot was then editor of the journal _Le Temps_. He had already
attained renown. His weighty editorials, distinguished alike for
cogent argument and depth of philosophical thought, carried
conviction to the most intelligent minds. M. Thiers was editor of the
_Nationale_. His great abilities, already developed in his "History
of the French Revolution," had given him a commanding position among
the journalists on the liberal side. Both of these distinguished
writers, and many others, assailed the ministry with such popular
effect, that it was clear that their utterances must be silenced, or
the ministry must fall. Hence the _Ordinances_ were issued.
The scene at the signing of these ordinances is represented by
Lamartine as quite dramatic. The important measure of the _coup
d'etat_ was anxiously discussed under the pledge of secrecy. The
project of the ministers was cordially approved by the king. He is
reported to have said:
"It is not the ministry, it is the crown, which is attacked. It is
the cause of the throne against revolution which is at issue. One or
the other must succumb. I recollect what occurred in 1789. The first
step my unhappy brother, Louis XVI., made in retreat before the
revolutionists was the signal of his ruin. They, too, pretended
fidelity to the crown, and demanded only the dismissal of its
ministers. He yielded, and all was lost. Gentlemen, I will not
dismiss you. No! Let them conduct us, if they please, to the
scaffold. But let us fight for our rights; and if we are to fall,
fall sword in hand. I had rather be led to execution on horseback
than in a cart."
On the morning of the 25th of July, 1830, the king and his ministers
met at the palace of St. Cloud to sign the fatal ordinances. They all
seem to have been in some degree aware of the peril of the step. Many
of them had passed a sleepless night, and were deeply impressed with
the solemnity of the occasion. They sat pale, silent, anxious, as
Prince Polignac slowly read the ordinances and presented them to the
king for his signature. Charles X. took the pen, turned pale, and for
a moment hesitated. Then raising his eyes to heaven, as if imploring
Divine aid, he said, "The more I think of it, the more I am convinced
that it is impossible to do otherwise than I do." With these words he
affixed his signature to the document which expelled him and his
dynasty from France.[U]
[Footnote U: "The ministers took their places in silence around the
fatal table. Charles X. had the dauphin on his right and M. de
Polignac on his left. He questioned each of his servants, one after
another, and when he came to M. d'Hausrez, that minister repeated his
observations of the preceding day. 'Do you refuse?' inquired Charles
X. 'Sire,' replied the minister, 'may I be allowed to address one
question to the king? Is your majesty resolved on proceeding, should
your ministers draw back?' 'Yes,' said Charles, firmly. The minister
of marine took the pen and signed.
"When all the signatures were affixed, there was a solemn and awful
pause. An expression of high-wrought energy, mingled with uneasiness,
sat on the faces of the ministers. M. de Polignac's alone wore a look
of triumph. Charles X. walked up and down the room with perfect
composure."--_France under Louis Philippe_, by Louis Blanc, p. 107.]
The ministers, one after another, countersigned the ordinances. Not a
word was spoken. "Despair," says Alison, "was painted on every
visage." Polignac, in the temporary absence of M. Bourmont, was
acting Minister of War. In reply to the inquiry what means of
resistance the Government had in case of insurrection, he replied,
with confidence equal to his self-deception,
"No popular movement is to be apprehended. At all events, Paris is
sufficiently garrisoned to crush any rebellion and guarantee public
tranquillity."
The force upon which Polignac relied consisted of 11,550 men in
Paris, with twelve pieces of cannon. There were also fifteen
battalions of infantry and thirty-four squadrons of cavalry stationed
in towns not far distant, which could be rapidly collected to aid the
troops within the walls. On the other hand, the city of Paris, in a
general insurrection, could furnish 200,000 fighting men. Many of
these had seen actual service. There was a National Guard, the
militia of the metropolis, organized and well armed, consisting of
40,000 men. A portion of the royal troops, also, could not be relied
upon in a struggle with the people. General Marmont, one of the
marshals of the Empire, was in command of the Royalist troops. He was
exceedingly unpopular in Paris, in consequence of the feeble defense
it was thought he made when the city was captured by the Allies.
The ordinances were secretly printed, and during the night of the
25th were placarded on the walls of Paris. They also appeared
simultaneously the next morning in the _Moniteur_. Though some of the
more sagacious had been suspecting that the Government might resort
to measures of desperation, these ordinances took the whole community
by surprise. Crowds gathered in the coffee-houses, at the doors of
the public journals, and in all the prominent places of resort. There
was no sudden ebullition of indignation, and no immediate
demonstrations of violence. The event had come so suddenly that the
masses were unprepared for action, and the leaders required time to
decide whether it were best to attempt forcible resistance, and, if
so, what measures to that end could most effectually be adopted.
Though throughout the day no insurrectionary movements appeared,
still agitation was rapidly on the increase, and Paris represented a
bee-hive into which some disturbing element had been cast.
The editors of the leading journals, and several others of the most
illustrious advocates of liberal opinions, held a consultation upon
the state of affairs. But night came, and the result of their
deliberations was not made known. The day had been serene and
beautiful, inviting all the population of Paris into the streets. The
balmy summer night kept them there. Innumerable rumors increased the
excitement, and it was evident that a few words from influential lips
would create an insurrection, which might amount to a revolution.
The gentlemen who had met in conference--forty-four in number--after
careful deliberation, and having obtained the opinion of the most
celebrated lawyers that the ordinances were illegal, gallantly
resolved to resist them at the hazard of their lives. They
accordingly issued a protest, to which each one affixed his
signature. The boldness of the act commanded the admiration even of
the advocates of arbitrary power. In their protest they said:
"The Government has lost the character of legality which
commands obedience. We _resist_ it in so far as we are
concerned. It is for France to determine how far resistance
should extend."
The liberal journals refused to take out the license the ordinances
required. This act of defiance the Government met by sending the
police to seize the journals and close their printing-offices. A
commissary of police, with two gendarmes, repaired to the office of
the _Temps_, edited by M. Guizot, in the Boulevard des Italiens. They
found the doors barred against them. A blacksmith was sent for to
force the entrance. This collected a crowd, and he refused to act in
obedience to the police. A second blacksmith was sent for. As he
commenced operations the crowd took his tools from him. At length,
however, an entrance was effected, and a seal was put upon the
printing-presses. This scene, occurring in one of the most populous
thoroughfares of Paris, created intense agitation. Still, thus far,
there had been so little commotion that the king and his ministers
were quite sanguine that their measures would prove triumphant.
Charles X. was so infatuated that on that morning--the 26th--he went
to Rambouillet, and spent the day in hunting.
During the night of the 26th there was another very important meeting
of the leaders of the liberal party at the mansion of M. Casimir
Perier. About thirty were present. Nearly all were members of the
Chamber of Deputies, and in intellectual strength were among the
most illustrious men in France. Anxiously, yet firmly, they
discussed the course to be pursued. It was a fearful question to
decide. Submission placed France, bound helplessly hand and foot,
under the heel of Bourbon despotism. Unsuccessful insurrection would
consign them either to life-long imprisonment in the dungeon or to
death upon the scaffold.
All agreed in condemning the ordinances as illegal. The more cautious
hesitated at rousing the energies of insurrection, and submitting the
issue to the decision of the sword. The young and impetuous advocated
an immediate appeal to arms. While deliberating, a deputation
appeared professing to represent the electors of Paris, and urged
that, as the Government was manifestly resolved to support the
despotic ordinances by force, nothing remained to the people but to
have recourse to insurrection. It was also stated that nearly all the
workmen from the manufactories were in the streets, eager to throw up
barricades and to defend their rights at every hazard.
At the same time committees presented themselves from various bodies
of young men, urging the deputies to take the lead of the patriotic
movement in which the people were resolved to engage. Their
solicitations were intensified by occasional discharges of musketry
in the streets, and by the clatter of iron hoofs, as the king's
cavalry here and there made charges to disperse threatening
gatherings, or to prevent the erection of barricades. It does not,
however, appear that any very decisive action was taken by this body.
Late at night it adjourned, to meet again the next day.
The morning of the 27th revealed a scene of turmoil and agitation
such as even excitable Paris had rarely witnessed. The king and his
court, with twelve hundred of the troops, withdrawn from the city,
were at St. Cloud. Large bodies of men were surging through the
streets, apparently without leaders or definite object, but ready for
any deeds of daring. Every hour of the day affairs were more
menacing. Frequent reports were brought by the police to the
ministers at St. Cloud, which represented that, though business was
generally suspended, and there were agitated crowds in the streets,
still no serious danger was apprehended.
But General Marmont, who was intrusted with the command of the
garrison in Paris, early in the morning became alarmed in view of
the struggle which he apprehended was about to commence, and of the
inadequate means under his control to meet it. In counting up his
forces he found that he had not more than ten thousand troops within
the walls. Of these not more than four thousand could be relied upon
in a conflict with the people.
Well might General Marmont tremble. From the remote sections and
narrow streets the populace were thronging to central points. The
boulevards, from the Place de la Bastile to the Madeleine, presented
a dense mass, whose angry looks, loud words, and violent gestures
indicated that they would fight with desperation should the struggle
once commence. Many of them were skilled in the use of arms. They
knew how to construct barricades. Every house was a fortress from
whose windows and roof the populace could hurl destruction upon the
heads of the troops, wedged in the narrow streets. And General
Marmont had reason to fear that of the small force under his command
six thousand would fraternize with the people upon the report of the
first musket.
The war-worn marshal skillfully arranged his forces, evidently
copying the operations of Napoleon in his famous repulse of the
attack of the sections upon the Convention. Three battalions were
placed at the Carrousel, which might be regarded as a vast fortress
in the centre of the city, walled in by the Tuileries and the Louvre.
Three battalions were stationed in the Place de la Concorde, with two
pieces of artillery. Three battalions of the line were ranged along
the boulevards from the Place of the Bastile to the Madeleine.
General Marmont did not wait for an attack to be made upon him. He
sent out detachments to scour the streets and to prevent the erection
of barricades. Reports had reached him that several were in process
of construction in the most narrow streets.
The first barricade encountered was in the Rue St. Honore, nearly in
front of the Palais Royal. The troops endeavored to disperse the
defenders by a volley in the air. As this produced no effect, they
opened upon them with a point-blank discharge, by which several were
wounded, and one man was killed. The other detachments met with no
opposition, but removed several barricades, and dispersed tumultuous
gatherings. The agitation was hourly on the increase. Random shots
were heard in different parts of the city. The dead body of the man
shot while defending the barricade was paraded in blood-stained
ghastliness through the streets, exciting frenzied passions. The
troops of the line, so called, who were known to be in sympathy with
the people, and whom General Marmont distrusted, were received with
shouts of applause wherever they appeared.
A vast concourse of the people had assembled in front of the Palais
Royal. A detachment of the line was sent to guard the palace. The
troops and the populace mingled together, talking and laughing. As
the multitude pressed the troops, they opened their ranks and let the
living torrent pass through, amidst loud cheers. Several armorers'
shops were broken open, and it was manifest that vigorous
preparations were going on in anticipation of the struggle of the
succeeding day. Still the king, with an infatuation which is
inexplicable, took no measures to add to the military strength at the
disposal of General Marmont. Thus passed the day of the 27th. It
seems that at night the king became somewhat alarmed, for at eleven
o'clock he issued an ordinance from his retreat at St. Cloud
declaring Paris to be in a state of siege.
During all the hours of the night of the 27th there reigned the calm
which precedes the storm. The leaders of the Liberal party--among
whom were to be found many of the most intelligent men, the wisest
statesmen, and the most accomplished generals in France--had fully
decided to submit their cause to the arbitrament of battle. Calm
deliberation, organization, carefully matured plans, were requisite
to meet the marshalled forces of the monarchy. It was no longer a
mere street insurrection, but a kingdom was to be revolutionized.
Immediately a new and tremendous impulse was secretly given to the
movement. Committees were busy. Agents were active, invested with
authority which the populace instinctively recognized without
inquiring into the source from which it emanated.
With the early light of the next morning--the 28th--the result of the
operations of the night was manifest. In the vicinity of the Place of
the Bastile there is a portion of the city densely populated, called
the Faubourg St. Antoine. It is inhabited by a class in a humble
condition of life, who have ever taken a very prominent part in all
the insurrections which have agitated Paris. Reckless of their own
lives as well as of the lives of others, they have ever been the most
desperate and the most dreaded fighters in every conflict in the
streets.
With the morning dawn the faubourg seemed to be swarming. Guided by
some mysterious but common impulse, a huge and disorderly mass--ever
increasing--of maddened men and equally maddened women, armed with
swords, muskets, pickaxes, and every other conceivable weapon of
offense or defense, surged along through the Rue St. Denis and along
the crowded boulevards towards the Place of the Madeleine, which was
occupied by the military. At the same time, at several important
points along the boulevards, the people were busy--men, women, and
boys--tearing up the pavements, seizing and overturning omnibuses and
carts, cutting down the trees, pitching heavy articles of furniture
out of the windows of the houses, and thus constructing barricades.
The points selected and the artistic style of structure indicated
that military genius of a high order guided the movement. Only a
small detachment of troops could be sent out from the central
position at the Tuileries. As they could not be everywhere, the
intrenchments of the populace rose in various parts of the city,
unopposed, with inconceivable rapidity, and with almost military
precision. Large bodies advanced simultaneously to the gunsmiths'
shops, to the police stations and guard-houses, to the arsenal and
powder manufactory, to the artillery depot of St. Thomas Aquinas; and
the guns, muskets, and ammunition thus seized were freely distributed
to the people. The National Guard, forty thousand strong, was
thoroughly armed. The ranks of this formidable body were filled with
the citizens of Paris, who were all in sympathy with the
insurrection. Many of them appeared in the streets even in their
uniform.
A band of armed men advanced to the Hotel de Ville, where but sixteen
soldiers were stationed on guard. The soldiers, attempting no
opposition, withdrew unmolested. A huge tri-color flag, unfurled from
the roof, announced with the peal of the tocsin that that important
post, almost an impregnable citadel in the hands of determined men,
had fallen into the possession of the people. The tidings swept the
streets like a flood, giving a new impulse to the universal
enthusiasm. A few moments after another band burst open the gates of
Notre Dame, and another tri-color flag waved in the breeze from one
of its towers; while the bells of the cathedral with their sublime
voices proclaimed to the agitated yet exultant masses the additional
triumph. It was scarcely midday, and yet four-fifths of Paris was in
the undisputed possession of the insurgents, and, as by magic, from
twenty spires and towers the tri-color flag spread its folds in
defiance to the banner of the Bourbons. More than a hundred
barricades had been erected, or were in the process of erection.
Behind them stood more than a hundred thousand well-armed, determined
men. With such rapidity and sagacity had all this been effected that
there had been scarcely any collision worthy of notice. A few charges
had been made by the gendarmery in dispersing crowds, and a few
random shots had been fired.
General Marmont, in preparation for assuming the offensive,
concentrated the whole of his little band around the Tuileries, and
constructed for himself a fortified camp in the Carrousel protected
by eight guns. A few troops were forwarded to him from Vincennes and
Versailles, so that he could display for the defense of that central
point thirty-six hundred soldiers of the Guard, tried men, upon whom
he could rely. Six hundred of these were horsemen. Forming three
columns, he sent one along the banks of the river to recapture the
Hotel de Ville, to demolish all the barricades, and disperse the
armed bands, until they reached the Place of the Bastile. Another was
to advance to the same point by the boulevards. The third was to
force its way through the Rue St. Honore to the Market of the
Innocents. Along these three lines the battle now raged fiercely,
with equal determination on each side. The scene of tumult, carnage,
horror, which ensued can neither be described nor imagined. The
streets were narrow. Every house was a fortress, from whose windows a
deadly fire was poured upon the troops. The combatants, inflamed by
the fury and terror of the strife, neither asked nor granted quarter.
Hour after hour they fought, Frenchmen against Frenchmen, brother
against brother, and the pavements were clotted with blood.
Barricades were taken and retaken. There were triumphant charges and
murderous repulses.