The Second Republic -- Lamartine's reason for proclaiming it --
Suspects Louis-Napoleon of similar motives for wishing to
overthrow it -- Tells him to go back to England -- De Persigny's
account of Louis-Napoleon's landing in France after February
24th, '48 -- Providential interference on behalf of
Louis-Napoleon -- Justification of Louis-Napoleon's belief in his
"star" -- My first meeting with him -- The origin of a celebrated
nickname -- Badinguet a creation of Gavarni -- Louis-Napoleon and
his surroundings at the Hotel du Rhin -- His appearance and dress
-- Lord Normanby's opinion of his appearance -- Louis-Napoleon's
French -- A mot of Bismarck -- Cavaignac, Thiers, and Victor
Hugo's wrong estimate of his character -- Cavaignac and his
brother Godefroi -- The difference between Thiers and General
Cavaignac -- An elector's mot -- Some of the candidates for the
presidency of the Second Republic -- Electioneering expenses --
Impecuniosity of Louis-Napoleon -- A story in connection with it
-- The woman with the wooden legs -- The salons during the Second
Republic -- The theatres and their skits on the situation -- "La
Propriete c'est le Vol" -- France governed by the _National_ -- A
curious list of ministers and officials of the Second Republic --
Armand Marrast -- His plans for reviving business -- His
receptions at the Palais-Bourbon as President of the Chamber of
Deputies -- Some of the guests -- The Corps Diplomatique -- The
new deputies, their wives and daughters.
I knew Louis-Napoleon, if not intimately, at least very well, for nearly
a quarter of a century, and I felt myself as little competent to give an
opinion on him on the last as on the first day of our acquaintance. I
feel almost certain of one thing, though; that, if he had had very ample
means of his own, the Second Empire would have never been. Since its
fall I have heard and read a great deal about Louis-Napoleon's
unfaltering belief in his star; I fancy it would have shone less
brightly to him but for the dark, impenetrable sky of impecuniosity in
which it was set. Mery said that Lamartine proclaimed the Second
Republic as a means of staving off his creditors; and the accusation was
justified by Lamartine's own words in the Assemblee Nationale itself on
the 11th of September, 1848: "Je declare hautement que le 24 Fevrier a
midi, je ne pensais pas a la Republique." To use a popular locution, the
author of "L'Histoire des Girondins" suspected, perhaps, that
Louis-Napoleon might take a leaf from his, the author's, book; for the
needy man, though perhaps not a better psychologist than most men, has a
very comprehensive key to the motives of a great number of his
fellow-creatures, especially if they be Frenchmen and professional
politicians. I am speaking by the light of many years' observation.
Furthermore, the pecuniary embarrassments of Louis-Napoleon were no
secret to any one. "I have established a republic for money's sake,"
Lamartine said to himself; "some one will endeavour to overthrow it for
money's sake." I am aware that this is not a very elevated standard
whereby to judge political events; but I do not profess to be an
historian--mine is only the little huckster shop of history.
It is more than probable that this was the reason why Lamartine told
Louis-Napoleon to go back to England, in their interview--a secret
one--on the 2d of March, 1848.
It was M. de Persigny who told me this many years afterwards. "The
Prince could afford to humour De Lamartine in that way," he added, "for
if ever a man was justified in believing in his star it was he. I'll
tell you a story which is scarcely known to half a dozen men, including
the Emperor and myself; I am not aware of its having been told by any
biographer. The moment we ascertained the truth of the news that reached
us from Paris, we made for the coast, and, on Saturday morning, we
crossed in the mail-packet. It was very rough, and we had a good
shaking, so that when we got to Boulogne we were absolutely 'done up.'
But we heard that a train was to start for Paris, and, as a matter of
course, the Prince would not lose a minute. We had to walk to
Neufchatel, about three miles distant, because there was something the
matter with the rails, I do not know what. We flung ourselves into the
first compartment, which already contained two travellers. Almost
immediately we had got under way, one of these, who had looked very
struck when we entered, addressed the Prince by name. He turned out to
be Monsieur Biesta, who had paid a visit to Napoleon during his
imprisonment at Ham, and who immediately recognized him. Monsieur Biesta
had just left the Duc de Nemours. I do not know whether he was at that
time a Republican, a Monarchist, or an Imperialist, but he was a man of
honour, and it was thanks to him that the son of Louis-Philippe made his
escape. The other one was the Marquis d'Arragon, who died about a
twelvemonth afterwards. All went well until we got to Amiens, where we
had to wait a very long while, the train which was to have taken us on
to Paris having just left. For once in a way the Prince got impatient.
He who on the eve of the Coup d'Etat remained, at any rate outwardly,
perfectly stolid, was fuming and fretting at the delay. One would have
thought that the whole of Paris was waiting at the Northern station to
receive him with open arms, and to proclaim him Emperor there and then.
But impatient or not, we had to wait, and, what was worse or better, the
train that finally took us came to a dead stop at Persan, where the news
reached us that the rails had been broken up by the insurgents at
Pontoise, that a frightful accident had happened in consequence to the
train we had missed by a few minutes at Amiens, in which at least thirty
lives were lost, besides a great number of wounded. But for the merest
chance we should have been among the passengers. Was I right in saying
that the Prince was justified in believing in his star?"
I did not meet with Louis-Napoleon until he was a candidate for the
presidency of the Second Republic, and while he was staying at the Hotel
du Rhin in the Place Vendome. Of course, I had heard a great deal about
him, but my informants, to a man, were English. While the latter were
almost unanimous in predicting Louis-Napoleon's eventual advent to the
throne, the French, though in no way denying the influence of the
Napoleonic legend, were apt to shrug their shoulders more or less
contemptuously at the pretensions of Hortense's son; for few ever
designated him by any other name, until later on, when the nickname of
"Badinguet" began to be on every one's lips. Consequently, I was anxious
to catch a glimpse of him; but before noting the impressions produced by
that first meeting, I will devote a few lines to the origin of that
celebrated sobriquet.
Personally, I never heard it in connection with Louis-Napoleon until his
betrothal to Mdlle. Eugenie de Montijo became common "talk;" but I had
heard and seen it in print a good many years before, and even as late as
'48. There was, however, not the slightest attempt at that time to
couple it with the person of the future Emperor. Three solutions have
made the round of the papers at various times: (1) that it was the name
of the stonemason or bricklayer who lent Louis-Napoleon his clothes to
facilitate his escape from Ham in June, 1845; (2) that it was the name
of the soldier who was wounded by the Prince on the 5th of August,
1840, at Boulogne, when the latter fired on Captain Col-Puygellier; (3)
that about the latter end of the forties a pipe-manufacturer introduced
a pipe, the head of which resembled that of Louis-Napoleon, and that the
pipemaker's name was Badinguet.
The latter solution may be dismissed at once as utterly without
foundation. With regard to that having reference to the stonemason, no
stonemason lent Louis-Napoleon his clothes. The disguise was provided by
Dr. Conneau from a source which has never been revealed. There was,
moreover, no stonemason of the name of Badinguet at Ham, and, when
Louis-Napoleon crossed the drawbridge of the castle, his face partially
hidden by a board he was carrying on his shoulder, a workman, who
mistook him for one of his mates, exclaimed, "Hullo, there goes
Bertoux." Bertoux, not Badinguet.
The name of the soldier wounded by Louis-Napoleon was Geoffroy; he was a
grenadier, decorated on the battle-field; and shortly after Napoleon's
accession to the throne, he granted him a pension. There can be no
possible mistake about the name, seeing that it was attested at the
trial subsequent to the fiasco before the Court of Peers.
The real fact is this: Gavarni, like Balzac, invented many names,
suggested in many instances by those of their friends and acquaintances,
or sometimes merely altered from those they had seen on signboards. The
great caricaturist had a friend in the Departement des Landes named
Badingo; about '38 he began his sketches of students and their
companions ("Etudiants et Etudiantes"), and in one of them a medical
student shows his lady-love an articulated skeleton.
"Look at this," says the former; "this is Eugenie, the former sweetheart
of Badinguet--that tall, fair girl who was so fond of _meringues_. He
has had her mounted for thirty-six francs."
The connection is very obvious; it only wanted one single wag to
remember the skit when Napoleon became engaged to Eugenie de Montijo. He
set the ball rolling, and the rest followed as a matter of course.
At the same time, Gavarni had not been half as original, as he imagined,
in the invention of the name. Badinguet was a character in a one-act
farce entitled "Le Mobilier de Rosine," played for the first time in
1828, at the Theatre Montansier; and there is a piece of an earlier date
even, in which Grassot played a character by the name of Badinguet. In
1848, there was a kind of Jules Vernesque piece at the Porte
Saint-Martin, in which Badinguet, a Parisian shopkeeper, starts with his
wife Euphemie for some distant island.
To return to Louis-Napoleon at the Hotel du Rhin, and my first glimpse
of him. I must own that I was disappointed with it. Though I had not the
slightest ground for expecting to see a fine man, I did not expect to
see so utterly an insignificant one, and badly dressed in the bargain.
On the evening in question, he wore a brown coat of a peculiar colour, a
green plush waistcoat, and a pair of yellowish trousers, the like of
which I have never seen on the legs of any one off the stage. And yet
Lord Normanby, and a good many more who have said that he looked every
inch a king, were not altogether wrong. There was a certain gracefulness
about him which owed absolutely nothing either to his tailor, his
barber, or his bootmaker. "The gracefulness of awkwardness" sounds
remarkably like an Irish bull, yet I can find no other term to describe
his gait and carriage. Louis-Napoleon's legs seemed to have been an
afterthought of his Creator--they were too short for his body, and his
head appeared constantly bent down, to supervise their motion;
consequently, their owner was always at a disadvantage when compelled to
make use of them. But when standing still, or on horseback, there was an
indescribable something about the man which at once commanded attention.
I am not overlooking the fact that, on the occasion of our first
meeting, my curiosity had been aroused; but I doubt whether any one,
endowed with the smallest power of observation, though utterly ignorant
with regard to his previous history, and equally sceptical with regard
to his future destiny, could have been in his company for any length of
time without being struck with his appearance.
When I entered the apartment on the evening in question, Louis-Napoleon
was leaning in his favourite attitude against the mantelpiece, smoking
the scarcely ever absent cigarette, and pulling at the heavy brown
moustache, the ends of which in those days were not waxed into points as
they were later on. There was not the remotest likeness to any portrait
of the Bonaparte family I had ever seen. He wore his thin, lank hair
much longer than he did afterwards. The most startling features were
decidedly the aquiline nose and the eyes; the latter, of a
greyish-blue, were comparatively small and somewhat almond-shaped, but,
except at rare intervals, there was an impenetrable look, which made it
exceedingly difficult, if not impossible, to read their owner's thoughts
by them. If they were "the windows of his soul," their blinds were
constantly down. The "I am pleased to see you, sir," with which he
welcomed me, holding out his hand at the same time, was the English of
an educated German who had taken great pains to get the right accent and
pronunciation, without, however, completely succeeding; and when I heard
him speak French, I detected at once his constant struggle with the same
difficulties. The struggle lasted till the very end of his life, though,
by dint of speaking very slowly, he overcame them to a marvellous
extent. But the moment he became in any way excited, the _f_'s and the
_t_'s and the _p_'s were always trying to oust the _v_'s, the _d_'s and
the _b_'s from their newly-acquired positions, and often gained a
momentary victory. There is an amusing story to that effect, in
connection with Napoleon's first interview with Bismarck. I will not
vouch for its truth, but, on the face of it, it sounds blunt enough to
be genuine. The Emperor was complimenting the German statesman on his
French.
"M. de Bismarck, I have never heard a German speak French as you do,"
said Napoleon.
"Will you allow me to return the compliment, sire?"
"Certainly."
"I have never heard a Frenchman speak French as you do."[47]
[Footnote 47: In the documents relating to the affair at
Strasburg, there is the report to Louis-Philippe by an officer
in the 46th regiment of the line, named Pleigne, in which the
latter, borrowing the process of Balzac as applied to the
French of the Baron de Nucingen, credits Louis-Napoleon with
the following phrase: "_Fous etes tecore de Chuillet; fous
tefez etre un prafe, che vous tecore._"--EDITOR.]
When Prince Louis-Napoleon held out his hand and I looked into his face,
I felt almost tempted to put him down as an opium-eater. Ten minutes
afterwards, I felt convinced that, to use a metaphor, he himself was the
drug, and that every one with whom he came in contact was bound to yield
to its influence. When I came away that evening, I could have given
Cavaignac, Thiers, Lamartine, Hugo, and the rest, who wanted to make a
cat's-paw of him, a timely warning, if they would have condescended to
listen to, and profit by it, which I am certain they would not have
done. Strange as it may seem, every one of these men, and, with the
exception of one, all undoubtedly clever, thought Louis-Napoleon either
an imbecile or a secret drunkard. And, what is more, they endeavoured to
propagate their opinion throughout the length and breadth, not only of
France, but of Europe.
As usual, the one who was really the greatest nonentity among the latter
was most lavish in his contempt. I am alluding to General Cavaignac. The
nobodies who have governed or misgoverned France since the Fall of Sedan
were, from an intellectual point of view, eagles compared to that surly
and bumptious drill-sergeant, who had nothing, absolutely nothing, to
recommend him for the elevated position he coveted. He was the least
among all those brilliant African soldiers whose names and prowess were
on every one's lips; he had really been made a hero of, at so much per
line, by the staff of the _National_, where his brother Godefroy wielded
unlimited power. He was all buckram; and, in the very heart of Paris,
and in the midst of that republic whose fiercest watchword, whose
loudest cry, was "equality," he treated partisans and opponents alike,
as he would have treated a batch of refractory Arabs in a distant
province of that newly-conquered African soil. He disliked every one who
did not wear a uniform, and assumed a critical attitude towards every
one who did. His republicanism was probably as sincere as that of
Thiers--it meant "La Republique c'est moi:" with this difference, that
Thiers was amiable, witty, and charming, though treacherous, and that
Cavaignac was the very reverse. His honesty was beyond suspicion; that
is, he felt convinced that he was the only possible saviour of France:
but it was impaired by his equally sincere conviction that bribery and
coercion--of cajoling he would have none--were admissible, nay,
incumbent to attain that end. "Thiers, c'est la republique en ecureuil,
Cavaignac c'est la republique en ours mal leche," said a witty
journalist. He and Louis-Napoleon were virtually the two men who were
contending for the presidential chair, and the chances of Cavaignac may
be judged by the conclusion of the verbal report of one of Lamoriciere's
emissaries, who canvassed one of the departments.
"'The thing might be feasible,' said an elector, 'if your general's name
was Genevieve de Brabant, or that of one of the four sons of Aymon.[48]
But his name is simply Cavaignac--Cavaignac, and that's all. I prefer
Napoleon; at any rate, there is a ring about that name.' And I am afraid
that eleven-twelfths of the electors are of the same opinion."
[Footnote 48: The four knights of a Carlovingian legend, who
were mounted on one horse named Bayard.--EDITOR.]
As for Ledru Rollin, Raspail, Changarnier, and even Lamartine and the
Prince de Joinville, some of whom were candidates against their will,
they were out of the running from the very start, though, curiously
enough, the son of the monarch whom the republic had driven from the
throne obtained more votes than the man who had proclaimed that
republic. These votes were altogether discarded as unconstitutional,
though one really fails to see why one member of a preceding dynasty
should have been held to be more eligible than another. Be this as it
may, the votes polled by the sailor prince amounted to over twenty-three
thousand, showing that he enjoyed a certain measure of popularity. It is
doubtful whether the Duc d'Aumale or the Duc de Nemours would have
obtained a fifth of that number. As I have already said, the latter was
disliked by his father's opponents for his suspected legitimist
tendencies, and tacitly blamed by some of the partisans of the Orleanist
regime for his lack of resistance on the 24th of February; the former's
submission "to the will of the nation," as embodied in a manifesto "to
the inhabitants of Algeria," provoked no enthusiasm either among friends
or foes.[49] Perhaps public rumour was not altogether wrong, when it
averred that the D'Orleans were too tight-fisted to spend their money in
electioneering literature. The expense involved in that item was a
terrible obstacle to Louis-Napoleon and his few faithful henchmen; for,
though the Napoleonic idea was pervading all classes of society, there
was, correctly speaking, no Bonapartist party to shape it for the
practical purposes of the moment. The Napoleonic idea was a fond
remembrance of France's glorious past, rather than a hope of its renewal
in the future. Even the greatest number of the most ardent worshippers
of that marvellous soldier of fortune, doubted whether his nephew was
sufficiently popular to obtain an appreciable following, and those who
did not doubt were mostly poor. While Dufaure and Lamoriciere were
scattering money broadcast, and using pressure of the most arbitrary
kind, in order to insure Cavaignac's success, Louis-Napoleon and his
knot of partisans were absolutely reduced to their own personal
resources. Miss Howard--afterwards Comtesse de Beauregard--and Princesse
Mathilde had given all they could; a small loan was obtained from M.
Fould; and some comparatively scanty supplies had been forthcoming from
England--it was said at the time, with how much truth I know not, that
Lords Palmerston and Malmesbury had contributed: but the exchequer was
virtually empty. A stray remittance of a few thousand francs, from an
altogether unexpected quarter, and most frequently from an anonymous
sender, arrived now and then; but it was what the Germans call "a drop
of water in a very hot frying-pan;" it barely sufficed to stop a hole.
Money was imperatively wanted for the printing of millions upon millions
of handbills, thousands and thousands of posters, and their
distribution; for the expenses of canvassers, electioneering agents, and
so forth. The money went to the latter, the rest was obtained on credit.
Prince Louis, confident of success, emptied his pockets of the last
five-franc pieces; when he had no more, he promised to pay. He was as
badly off as his famous uncle before the turn of fortune came.
[Footnote 49: During the sacking of the Tuileries, the mob
ruthlessly destroyed the busts and pictures of every living son
of Louis-Philippe, with the exception of those of the Prince de
Joinville.--EDITOR.]
In connection with this dire impecuniosity, I remember a story for the
truth of which I can vouch as if I had had it from Louis-Napoleon's own
lips. In front of Siraudin's confectioner's shop at the angle of the
Boulevard des Capucines and the Rue de la Paix, there sits an old woman
with two wooden legs. About '48, when she was very pretty and dressed
with a certain coquettishness, she was already there, though sitting a
little higher up, in front of the wall of the Ministry for Foreign
Affairs, which has since made room for the handsome establishment of
Giroux. Behind her, on the wall, were suspended for sale some cheap and
not very artistically executed reproductions of Fragonard, "Le Coucher
de la Mariee," etc., all of which would fetch high prices now; also
songs, the tunes of which she played with great taste on her violin. It
was reported that she had been killed during the attack on the ministry,
but to people's great surprise she reappeared a few days afterwards.
Prince Louis, who was staying at the Place Vendome, then used to take a
short cut by the Rue Neuve des Capucines to the Boulevards, and it seems
that he never passed her without giving her something. In a few weeks
she came to look upon his contributions as a certain part of her income.
She knew who he was, and, curiously enough, seemed to be aware not only
of his political preoccupations, but of his pecuniary embarrassments. I
am unable to say whether she was in sympathy with the former, but she
was evidently concerned about the latter; for, one evening, after
thanking Louis-Napoleon, she added, "Monseigneur, je voudrais vous dire
un mot."
"Parlez, madame."
"On me dit que vous etes fort gene dans ce moment. J'ai trois billets de
mille francs chez moi, qui ne font rien. Voulez-vous me permettre de
vous les offrir; vous me les rendrez quand vous serez empereur."
Prince Louis did not accept them, but he never forgot a kindness, and
when he did become Emperor, he offered her a small annuity. The answer
was characteristic of her independence. "Dites a l'empereur qu'il est
bien bon de se rappeler de moi, mais je ne puis pas accepter son offre.
S'il avait accepte mon argent, je ne dis pas, maintenant, non." And
while I am writing these notes, she still sits in her usual place,
though I have heard it said more than once that she is the owner of one
or two houses in the Avenue de l'Opera, and that she gave a considerable
marriage portion to her daughter, who has remained ignorant of the
sources of her mother's income, who was educated in the country, and has
never been to Paris. One of the conditions of her marriage was that she
should emigrate to Australia. For the latter part of the story, I will,
however, not vouch.
During the months of October and November, '48, I saw Prince Louis at
least a dozen times, though only once away from his own apartments.
There was really "nowhere to go," for most of the salons had closed
their doors, and those which remained open were invaded by political
partisans of all shades. Conversation, except on one topic, there was
little or none. Social entertainments were scarcely to be thought of
after the bloody disorders in June: Paris trade suffered in consequence,
and the whole of the shopkeeping element, which virtually constituted
the greater part of the Garde Nationale, regretted the fall of the
Orleans dynasty to which it had so materially contributed. After these
disorders in June, the troops bivouacked for a whole month on the
Boulevards; on the Boulevard du Temple with its seven theatres; on the
Boulevard Poissonniere, almost in front of the Gymnase; on the
Boulevard Montmartre, in front of the Varietes; on the Place de la
Bourse, in front of the Vaudeville. The new masters did not care to be
held up to ridicule; they insinuated, rather than asserted, that the
insults levelled from the stage had contributed to the insurrection; and
seeing that the bourgeoisie, very contrite already, did not care to hear
"the praise of the saviours of the country" by command, they deserted
the play-houses and kept their money in their pockets. The Constituent
Assembly was compelled to grant the managers an indemnity; but, as it
could not keep the soldiers there for ever, and as it cared still less
to vote funds to its enemies while its supporters were clamouring for
every cent of it, the strict supervision gradually relaxed. The first to
take advantage of this altered state of things was Clairville, with his
"La Propriete c'est le Vol" (November 28, '48), a skit on the celebrated
phrase of Proudhon. It is very doubtful whether the latter had uttered
it in the sense with which the playwright invested it; but fear is
proverbially illogical, and every one in Paris ran to see the piece,
trusting probably that it might produce a salutary effect on those who
intended to take the philosopher's axiom literally.
"La Propriete c'est le Vol" was described on the bills as "a socialistic
extravaganza in three acts and seven tableaux." The scene of the first
tableau represents the garden of Eden. The Serpent, who is the Evil
Spirit, declares war at once upon Adam, who embodies the principle of
Property. The Serpent was a deliberate caricature of Proudhon with his
large spectacles.
In the subsequent tableaux, Adam, by a kind of metempsychosis, had been
changed into Bonichon, an owner of house property in the Paris of the
nineteenth century. The Serpent, though still wearing his spectacles,
had been equally transformed into a modern opponent of all property. We
are in February, '48. Bonichon and some of his fellow-bourgeois are
feasting in honor of the proposed measures of reform, when they are
scared out of their wits by the appearance of the Serpent, who informs
them that the Republic has sidled up to Reform, managed to hide itself
beneath its cloak, and been proclaimed. The next scene brings us to the
year 1852 (four years in advance of the period), when the right of every
one to live by the toil of his hands has become law. Bonichon is being
harassed and persecuted by a crowd of handicraftsmen and others, who
insist on working for him whether he likes it or not. The glazier
smashes his windows, in order to compel him to have new panes put in.
The paper-hanger tears the paper off his walls on the same principle.
The hackney coachman flings Bonichon into his cab, takes him for a four
hours' drive, and charges accordingly. A dentist imitates the tactics of
Peter the Great with his courtiers, forces him into a chair and operates
upon his grinders, though, unlike Peter, he claims the full fee. A dozen
or so of modistes and dressmakers invade his apartments with double the
number of gowns for Madame Eve Bonichon, who, the reverse of her
husband, does not object to this violent appeal for her custom. Perhaps
Madame Octave, a charming woman who played the part, did well to submit,
because during the first tableau, the audience, though by no means
squeamish, had come to the conclusion that Madame Eve would be all the
better for a little more clothing.
And so the piece goes on. The first performance took place twelve days
before the presidential election, when Cavaignac was still at the head
of affairs. Notwithstanding his energetic suppression of the disorders
in June, every one, with the exception of the journalistic swashbucklers
of _Le National_, hoped to get rid of him; and a song aimed at him
cruelly dissected his utter insignificance from a mental, moral, and
political point of view. When Louis-Napoleon gained the day, the song
was changed for a more kindly one.
It is no exaggeration to say that during those days France was
absolutely governed by the _National_. I made a list, by no means
complete, at the time, of the various appointments and high places that
had fallen to the members of the staff and those connected with it
financially and otherwise. I have kept it, and transcribe it here with
scarcely any comment.
Armand Marrast, the editor, became a member of the Provisional
Government, Mayor of Paris, and subsequently President of the National
Assembly.
Marrast (No. 2) became Procureur-General at Pau.
Marrast (No. 3), who had been a captain of light horse during the reign
of Louis-Philippe, was given a colonelcy unattached.
Marrast (No. 4) became Vice-Principal of the Lycee Corneille.
Bastide, one of the staff, became Minister for Foreign Affairs.
Vaulabelle, one of the staff, became Minister of Public Education.
Goudchaux, the banker of the _National_, became Minister of Finances.
Recurt, the chief physician to the staff, became Minister of the
Interior and subsequently Minister of Public Works (President of the
Board of Works).
Trelat, another physician, became Minister of Public Works.
Marie, the solicitor to the _National_, became a member of the
Provisional Government, a member of the Executive Committee, and
subsequently Minister of Justice.
Genin, one of the staff, became chief of the literary department at the
Ministry of Public Education.
Charras, one of the staff, became Under-Secretary of State, at the
Ministry for War.
Degouve-Denuncques, one of the staff, became Prefect of the Departement
of the Somme.
Buchez, third physician and an occasional contributor, became Deputy
Mayor of Paris and subsequently President of the Assembly up to the 15th
of May (when he had to make room for M. Armand Marrast himself). As will
be seen, within a month of the republicans' advent to power, M. Buchez
had been raised to one of the highest functions in the State, though
absolutely devoid of any political or parliamentary talent, as was shown
later on by his "Histoire Parlementaire de la Revolution Francaise," an
utterly commonplace production.
Dussart, one of the staff, became Prefect of the Seine-Inferieure.
Adam, one of the staff, became Chief Secretary of the Prefecture of the
Seine.
Sain de Bois-le Comte, one of the staff, became minister plenipotentiary
at Turin.
Felicien Mallefille, one of the staff, became minister plenipotentiary
at Lisbon.
Anselme Petetin, one of the staff, became minister plenipotentiary at
Hanover.
Auguste Petetin (his brother), one of the staff, became Prefect of the
Department of the Cote-d'Or.
Frederic Lacroix, one of the staff, became chief secretary for civil
affairs in Algeria.
Hetzel, one of the staff, became chief secretary to the Minister for
Foreign Affairs.
Rousset, one of the staff, became Prefect of the Department of the
Loire.
Duclerc, shorthand reporter, became for a little while Minister of
Finances.
Pagnerre, publisher of the _National_, and bookseller, became a mayor, a
member of the Provisional Government, a member of the Executive
Committee, and finally Director of the Comptoir d'Escompte.
Achille Gregoire, the printer of the _National_, became Prefect of the
Department of the Upper-Saone.
Clement Thomas, called the Constable of the _National_, became the
Commander-in-chief of the National Guard of the Seine.
There are a few score more, friends and allies, such as Lalanne, who was
made director of the national workshops; Levrault, who was sent to
Naples as minister plenipotentiary; Carette, who became Civil-Chief at
Constantine; Carteron, who was appointed keeper of the national
archives, etc.
As a matter of course, all these adventurers had revolving around them a
number of satellites, as eager as the former to reap the fruits of the
situation. Most of them, like the cat of Heine's epigram, had to devour
their steak raw; they did not know how to cook it. Ministers, prefects,
and high dignitaries of State as they were, they felt awkward in the
society of those to whom no illusion was possible with regard to their
origin and that of their political fortunes.
They haunted, therefore, by preference, the less well frequented
restaurants and cafes, the wings of the minor theatres, on the pretext
that they were the elect of the people, and that the people were their
fittest companions. Their erstwhile leader and chief scorned to stoop to
such tricks. He was an educated man, with a thick veneer of the
gentleman about him, which, however, did not prevent him from being one
of the two most arrant snobs I have met anywhere. I advisedly say
anywhere, for France herself does not produce that objectionable genus
to any appreciable extent. You may find a good many cads, you will find
comparatively few snobs. Compared to Armand Marrast, Eugene Sue was
nowhere as a snob. He was a thickset man with a rubicund face, with a
mass of grey woolly hair and a kind of stubbly, small moustache. His
manners were supposed to be modelled on those of the nobles of the old
regime; said manners mainly consisting of swaggering impudence to those
whom he considered his equals, and freezing insolence to those he deemed
his inferiors. The latter, I need not say, were by far the most
numerous. He who bellowed most loudly that birth should carry no
privilege, never forgot to remind his hearers, by deeds, if not by
words, that he was of noble descent. "Si sa famille etait noble, sa mere
s'est surement endormie dans l'antichambre un jour qu'un
valet-de-chambre entreprenant etait trop pres," said the Marquis
d'Arragon one evening.[50] He felt greatly flattered at the
caricaturists of the day representing him in the court dress of Louis
XVI.'s reign, though to most people he looked like a "marquis de quatre
sous."[51]
[Footnote 50: The remark was not original. The Marquise
d'Espremenil said it of herself when she saw her son join the
Revolution of '89.--EDITOR.]
[Footnote 51: The peripatetic vendors of songs, dressed as
nobles, who up till '60 were frequently singing their
compositions in the street.--EDITOR.]
He professed to be very fond of antique furniture and decorations, and
this fondness was the main cause of his ousting his former subaltern,
Buchez, from the presidential chair of the Assembly, for, shortly before
the revolution of '48, the official residence of that functionary had
been put in thorough repair, its magnificent furniture had been
restored, etc.
The depression of business inspired M. Armand Marrast with the happy
thought of giving some entertainments in the hope of reviving it. During
the Third Republic, though I had ceased to live in France permanently, I
have seen a good many motley gatherings at the Elysee-Bourbon, and at
the Hotel-de-Ville, especially in M. Grevy's time, though Mac-Mahon's
presidency offered some diverting specimens also; but I have never seen
anything like the social functions at the Palais-Bourbon during the
months of September, October, and November, 1848. They were absolutely
the festive scenes of Paul de Kock on a large scale, amidst Louis XIV.
and Louis XV. furniture, instead of the bourgeois mahogany, and with an
exquisitely artistic background, instead of the commonplace
paperhangings of the lower middle-class dwellings. The corps
diplomatique was virtually on the horns of a dilemma. After the
February revolution, the shock of which was felt throughout the whole of
Europe, and caused most of the sovereigns to shake on their thrones, it
had stood by M. de Lamartine, and even by his successor at the French
Foreign Office, M. Bastide, if not with enthusiasm, at least with a kind
of complacency. The republic proclaimed by the former, might, after all,
contain elements of vitality. The terrible disorders in June tended to
shake this reluctant confidence; still, there was but little change in
the ambassadors' outward attitude, until it became too evident that,
unless a strong dictator should intervene, mob rule was dangerously
nigh. Then the corps diplomatique began to hold aloof. Of course there
were exceptions, such as, for instance, Mr. Richard Rush, the minister
of the United States, who had been the first to congratulate the
Provisional Government, and the various representatives of the
South-American republics; but even the latter could scarcely refrain
from expressing their astonishment at the strange company in which they
found themselves. The women were perhaps the most remarkable, as women
generally are when out of their element. The greater part had probably
never been in a drawing-room before, and, notwithstanding M. Taine's
subsequently expressed dictum about the facility with which a Parisien
grisette, shopwoman, or lady's-maid may be transformed at a few moments
into a semblance of a _grande dame_, these very petites bourgeoises and
their demoiselles made a very indifferent show. Perhaps the grisette,
shopwoman, or lady's-maid would have acquitted herself better. Her
natural taste, sharpened by constant contact with her social superiors,
might have made up for the slender resources of her wardrobe; and, as
the French say, "one forgives much in the way of solecism to the
prettily dressed woman." As it was, the female section of M. Marrast's
guests could advance no valid plea for mercy on that score. The
daughters looked limp with their choregraphic exertions: the emblem of
innocence, "la sainte mousseline," as Ambroise Thomas called it
afterwards, hung in vague, undefined folds on angular figures, perhaps
because the starch necessary to it had been appropriated by the matrons.
The latter were rigid to a degree, and looked daggers at their spouses
and their friends at the slightest attempt to stir them to animation.
"Fais donc danser ma vieille," was the consecrated formula with which a
not very eager cavalier was dragged to the seat where said "vieille"
was reposing in all the majesty of her unaccustomed finery, considerably
impaired in the wearer's transit on foot from her domicile at Montrouge
or Menilmontant to the banks of the Seine; for the weather that year was
almost tropical, even in the autumn, and consequently the cab had been
dispensed with. It would appear, from a remark I overheard, that Jehu,
in the way of business, preferred as fares the partisans of and
adherents to the fallen regimes, even of the latest one. Said a portly
dame to her neighbour, alluding to the cabman, "Il a absolument refuse
de nous prendre. Il a dit qu'il etait dans l'opposition, et qu'il ne
voulait pas trahir ses principes a moins de dix francs. Dix francs, ma
chere, nous aurions pu souper chez nous, et sans compter les frais de
toilette et de blanchissage. Quant a l'honneur d'etre ici, ca ne compte
pas pour grand'chose, vu que tout le quartier y est; nous demeurons a
Batignolles, et il a fallu descendre en ville ce matin pour avoir une
paire de gants blancs. Chez nous, partout la meme reponse: 'Des gants
blancs, madame, nous n'en avons plus. Presque toutes les dames du
quartier vont au Palais-Bourbon ce soir, et depuis hier il nous reste
que des petites pointures (sizes), des sept et des sept et demies.'"
As for the "elu du peuple souverain," when he had failed to draw his
"vieille" into the mazy dance, and been snubbed for his pains in the
bargain, he returned to his fellow-deputies, many of whom might be
easily recognized by the golden-fringed tricolour rosette in their
buttonholes, though some had merely kept it in their pockets. The "elu
du peuple" did not dance himself. Perhaps the most curious group was
that of the young attaches and clerks of the Foreign Office who had come
to enjoy themselves, who, even at that time, were nearly all of good
birth, and who, to use a colloquial expression, looked not unlike brass
knockers on a pigsty. This was the society Louis-Napoleon was to sweep
away with the aid of men, some of whom I have endeavoured to sketch in
subsequent notes. I would fain say a few words of a "shipwrecked one,"
of the preceding dynasty, whose acquaintance I did not make until the
vessel he had steered so long had foundered, and of the self-constituted
pilot of the interim regime. I am alluding to MM. Guizot and de
Lamartine.