There is a day in the annals of Paris, that to the limits of all time
will be remembered with shame, sorrow, and indignation.
And not only by the people of Paris, but of France--who on that day
ceased to be free.
To the Parisians, more especially, was it a day of lamentation; and its
anniversary can never pass over the French capital without tears in
every house, and trembling in every heart.
It was the _Second of December_, 1851.
On the morning of that day five men were met within a chamber of the
Tuileries. It was the same chamber in which we have described a
conspiracy as having been hatched some months before.
The present meeting was for a similar purpose; but, notwithstanding a
coincidence in the number of the conspirators, only one of them was the
same. This was the president of the former conclave--the President of
France!
And there was another coincidence equally strange--in their titles; for
there was a count, a field-marshal, a diplomatist, and a duke, the only
difference being that they were now all of one nation--all Frenchmen.
They were the Count de M., the Marshal Saint A., the Diplomatist La G.,
and the Duke of C.
Although, as said, their purpose was very similar, there was a great
difference in the men and their mode of discussing it. The former five
have been assimilated to a gang of burglars who had settled the
preliminaries for "cracking a crib." Better might this description
apply to the conspirators now in session; and at a still later period,
when the housebreakers are about entering on the "job."
Those had conspired with a more comprehensive design--the destruction of
Liberty throughout all Europe. These were assembled with similar aim,
though it was confined to the liberties of France.
In the former case, the development seemed distant, and would be brought
about by brave soldiers fighting on the battle-field. In the latter the
action was near, and was entrusted to cowardly assassins in the streets,
already prepared for the purpose.
The mode by which this had been done will be made manifest, by giving an
account of the scenes that were passing in the chambers occupied by the
conspirators.
There was no _persiflage_ of speech, or exchange of light drolleries, as
in that conclave enlivened by the conversation of the English viscount.
The time was too serious for joking; the occasion for the contemplated
murder too near.
Nor was there the same tranquillity in the chamber. Men came and went;
officers armed and in full uniform. Generals, colonels, and captains
were admitted into the room, as if by some sign of freemasonry, but only
to make reports or receive orders, and then out again.
And he who gave these orders was not the President of France,
commander-in-chief of its armies, but another man of the five in that
room, and for the time greater than he!
It was the Count de M.
But for him, perhaps, that conspiracy might never have been carried to a
success, and France might still have been free!
It was a strange, terrible crisis, and the "man of a mission," standing
back to the fire, with split coat tails, was partially appalled by it.
Despite repeated drinks, and the constant smoking of a cigar, he could
not conceal the tremor that was upon him.
De M--saw it, and so did the murderer of Algerine Arabs, once
strolling-player, now field-marshal of France.
"Come!" cried the sinful but courageous Count, "there must be no half
measures--no weak backslidings! We've resolved upon this thing, and we
must go through with it! Which of you is afraid?"
"Not I," answered Saint A.
"Nor I," said La G--, _ci-devant_ billiard-sharper of Leicester Square,
London.
"I'm not afraid," said the Duke. "But do you think it is right?"
His grace was the only man of the five who had a spark of humanity in
his heart. A poor weak man, he was only allied with the others in the
intimacy of a fast friendship.
"Right?" echoed La G--. "What's wrong in it? Would it be right to let
this _canaille_ of demagogues rule Paris--France? That's what it'll
come to if we don't act. Now, or never, say I!"
"And I!"
"And all of us?"
"We must do more than say," said De M--, glancing toward the tamer of
the Boulogne eagle, who still stood against the fire-place, looking
scared and irresolute. "_We must swear it_!"
"Come, Louis!" he continued, familiarly addressing himself to the
Prince-President. "We're all in the same boat here. It's a case of
life or death, and we must stand true to one another. I propose that we
_swear_ it!"
"I have no objection," said the nephew of Napoleon, led on by a man whom
his great uncle would have commanded. "I'll make any oath you like."
"Enough!" cried De M--, taking a brace of duelling pistols from the
mantelshelf and placing them crosswise on the table, one on top of the
other. "There, gentlemen! There's the true Christian symbol, and over
it let us make oath, that in this day's work we live or die together?"
"We swear it on the Cross!"
"On the Cross, and by the Virgin!"
"On the Cross, and by the Virgin!"
The oath had scarce died on their lips when the door was once more
opened, introducing one of those uniformed couriers who were constantly
coming and going.
They were all officers of high rank, and all men with fearless but
sinister faces.
"Well, Colonel Gardotte!" asked De M--, without waiting for the
President to speak; "how are things going on in the Boulevard de
Bastille?"
"Charmingly," replied the Colonel. "Another round of champagne, and my
fellows will be in the right spirit--ready for anything!"
"Give it them! Twice if it be needed. Here's the equivalent for the
keepers of the cabarets. If there's not enough, take their trash on a
promise to pay. Say that it's on account of--Ha! Lorrillard!"
Colonel Gardotte, in brilliant Zouave uniform, was forgotten, or at all
events set aside, for a big, bearded man in dirty blouse, at that moment
admitted into the room.
"What is it, _mon brave_?"
"I come to know at what hour we are to commence firing from the
barricade? It's built now, and we're waiting for the signal?"
Lorrillard spoke half aside, and in a hoarse, hurried whisper.
"Be patient, good Lorrillard?" was the reply. "Give your fellows
another glass, and wait till you hear a cannon fired in front of the
Madeleine. Take care you don't get so drunk as to be incapable of
hearing it. Also, take care you don't shoot any of the soldiers who are
to attack you, or let them shoot you!"
"I'll take special care about the last, your countship. A cannon, you
say, will be fired by the Madeleine?"
"Yes; discharged twice to make sure--but _you_ needn't wait for the
second report. At the first, blaze away with your blank cartridges, and
don't hurt our dear Zouaves. Here's something for yourself, Lorrillard!
Only an earnest of what you may expect when this little skirmish is
over."
The sham-barricader accepted the gold coins passed into his palm; and
with a salute such as might have been given by the boatswain of a
buccaneer, he slouched back through the half-opened doorway, and
disappeared.
Other couriers continued to come and go, most in military costumes,
delivering their divers reports--some of them in open speech, others in
mysterious undertone--not a few of them under the influence of drink!
On that day the army of Paris was in a state of intoxication--ready not
alone for the suppression of a riot they had been told to prepare for;
but for anything--even to the slaughter of the whole Parisian people!
At 3 p.m. they were quite prepared for this. The champagne and sausages
were all consumed. They were again hungry and thirsty, but it was the
hunger of the hell-hound, and the thirst of the bloodhound.
"The time has come!" said De M--to his fellow-conspirators. "We may now
release them from their leash! Let the gun be fired?"