The revolutionary throe that shook the thrones of Europe in 1848 was but
one of those periodical upheavings occurring about every half-century,
when oppression has reached that point to be no longer endurable.
Its predecessor of 1790, after some fitful flashes of success,
alternating with intervals of gloom, had been finally struck down upon
the field of Waterloo, and there buried by its grim executioner,
Wellington.
But the grave once more gave up its dead; and before this cold-blooded
janissary of despotism sank into his, he saw the ghost of that Liberty
he had murdered start into fresh life, and threaten the crowned tyrants
he had so faithfully served.
Not only were they threatened, but many of them dethroned. The imbecile
Emperor of Austria had to flee from his capital, as also the
bureaucratic King of France. Weak William of Prussia was called to
account by his long-suffering subjects, and compelled, upon bended
knees, to grant them a Constitution.
A score of little kinglets had to follow the example; while the Pope,
secret supporter of them all, was forced to forsake the Vatican--that
focus and hotbed of political and religious infamy--driven out by the
eloquent tongue of Mazzini and the conquering blade of Garibaldi.
Even England, secure in a profound indifference to freedom and reform,
trembled at the cheers of the Chartists.
Every crowned head in Europe had its "scare" or discomfiture; and, for a
time, it was thought that liberty was at length achieved.
Alas! it was but a dream of the people--short-lived and evanescent--to
be succeeded by another long sleeps under an incubus, heavier and more
horrid than that they had cast off.
While congratulating one another on their slight spasmodic success,
their broken fetters were being repaired, and new chains fabricated, to
bind them faster than ever. The royal blacksmiths were at work, and in
secret, like Vulcan at his subterranean forge.
And they were working with a will, their object and interests being the
same. Their common danger had driven them to a united action, and it
was determined that their private quarrels should henceforth be set
aside--to be resuscitated only as shams, when any of them required such
fillip to stimulate the loyalty of his subjects.
This was the new programme agreed upon. But, before it could be carried
out, it was necessary that certain of them should be assisted to recover
that ascendency over their people, lost in the late revolution.
Sweeping like a tornado over Europe, it had taken one and all of them by
surprise. Steeped in luxurious indulgence--in the exercise of petty
spites and Sardanapalian excesses--confident in the vigilance of their
trusted sentinel, Wellington--they had not perceived the storm till it
came tearing over them. For the jailor of Europe's liberty was also
asleep! Old age, with its weakened intellect, had stolen upon him, and
he still dotingly believed in "Brown Bess," while Colt's revolver and
the needle-gun were reverberating in his ears.
Yes, the victor of Waterloo was too old to aid the sons of those tyrant
sires he had re-established on their thrones.
And they had no other military leader--not one. Among them there was
not a soldier, while on the side of the people were the Berns and
Dembinskys, Garibaldi, Damjanich, Klapka, and Anglo-Hungarian Guyon--a
constellation of flaming swords! As statesmen and patriots they had
none to compete with Kossuth, Manin, and Mazzini.
In the field of fair fight--either military or diplomatic--the despots
stood no chance. They saw it, and determined upon _treachery_.
For this they knew themselves provided with tools a plenty; but two that
promised to prove specially effective--seemingly created for the
occasion. One was an English nobleman--an Irishman by birth--born on
the outside edge of the aristocracy; who, by ingenious political
jugglery, had succeeded in making himself not only a very noted
character, but one of the most powerful diplomatists in Europe.
And this without any extraordinary genius. On the contrary, his
intellect was of the humblest--never rising above that of the trickster.
As a member of the British Parliament his speeches were of a thoroughly
commonplace kind, usually marked by some attempted smartness that but
showed the puerility and poverty of his brain. He would often amuse the
House by pulling off half-a-dozen pairs of white kid gloves during the
delivery of one of his long written-out orations. It gave him an air of
aristocracy--no small advantage in the eyes of an English audience.
For all this, he had attained to a grand degree of popularity, partly
from the pretence of being on the Liberal side, but more from paltering
to that fiend of false patriotism--national prejudice.
Had his popularity been confined to his countrymen, less damage might
have accrued from it.
Unfortunately it was not. By a professed leaning toward the interests
of the peoples, he had gained the confidence of the revolutionary
leaders all over Europe; and herein lay his power to do evil.
It was by no mere accident this confidence had been obtained. It had
been brought about with a fixed design, and with heads higher than his
for its contrivers. In short, he was the appointed political spy of the
united despots--the decoy set by them for the destruction of their
common and now dreaded enemy--the Republic.
And yet that man's name is still honoured in England, the country where,
for two hundred years, respect has been paid to the traducers of
Cromwell!
The second individual on whom the frightened despots had fixed their
hopeful eyes was a man of a different race, though not so different in
character.
He, too, had crept into the confidence of the revolutionary party by a
series of deceptions, equally well contrived, and by the same contrivers
who had put forward the diplomatist.
It is true, the leaders of the people were not unsuspicious of him. The
hero of the Boulogne expedition, with the tamed eagle perched upon his
shoulder, was not likely to prove a soldier of Freedom, nor yet its
apostle; and in spite of his revolutionary professions, they looked upon
him with distrust.
Had they seen him, as he set forth from England to assume the Presidency
of France, loaded with bags of gold--the contributions of the crowned
heads to secure it--they might have been sure of the part he was about
to play.
He had been employed as a _dernier ressort_--a last political necessity
of the despots. Twelve months before they would have scorned such a
scurvy instrument, and did.
But times had suddenly changed. Orleans and Bourbon were no longer
available. Both dynasties were defunct, or existing without influence.
There was but one power that could be used to crush republicanism in
France--the _prestige_ of that great name, Napoleon, once more in the
full sunlight of glory, with its sins forgiven and forgotten.
He who now represented it was the very man for the work, for his
employers knew it was a task congenial to him.
With coin in his purse, and an imperial crown promised for his reward,
he went forth, dagger in hand, sworn to stab Liberty to the heart!
History records _how faithfully he has kept his oath_!