In the month of May 1827 I was in Paris. The discontent of the people
with the government had recently been augmented by a proposition to
restrain the liberty of the press, which the king had laid before the
legislative chambers; and which, having passed the deputies, was under
consideration before the peers.
This discontent with a government, which was in point of fact a very
good one, had existed since the restoration of the Bourbons, and had
its origin in the degradation to which the French people conceived
themselves to have been subjected, in receiving a monarch at the hands
of hostile strangers.
This monarch too was the brother of that imbecile, though amiable
king, whose passiveness had brought him to the scaffold like a lamb to
the slaughter; and he was placed in powerful contrast with him whose
grand ambition aspired to make France his court, and the eastern
continent (perhaps the world,) his empire. Louis le gros was to occupy
the throne of Napoleon the magnificent.
The national pride common to all nations, and the national vanity
peculiar to the French, were thus so severely shocked and wounded,
that the people could not regard with their characteristic loyalty, or
even with toleration, the family whose ascendancy had been established
by other hands than those of Frenchmen. Louis the 18th too, had
violently aggravated this hostility by the unfortunate declaration
that "under God, it was to the Prince Regent of England that he owed
his crown." It was not then to be wondered at that the public mind was
in a state to be easily exacerbated by any cause, and not to be
conciliated by any course however moderate, short of absolute
concession to the popular will. Accordingly the measures of Louis the
18th, who was a wise monarch, and really desired the welfare of his
people, met with jealous opposition, or at best, with unwilling
acquiescence.
The administration of Décazes, which was conducted upon wise and sound
principles, was finally clamored down; and the court, finding the
people incapable of appreciating the mild and liberal measures of the
government, infused more strength into their system.
Charles the 10th, inferior to his brother in mental endowments, and
who brought to the throne stricter notions of legitimacy, and less
disposition to conciliate his subjects, rather tightened than relaxed
the reins of government, and thus increased the disaffection of the
people. Add to this the real or fancied attachment of the king to the
Jesuits, against whose order ancient odium had been recently revived,
and the feelings may easily be conceived which were excited by the
menaced blow at the freedom of the press, which was pending at the
time of which I write.
These feelings were put forth through the usual vents. The public
journals made the most of their liberty while it remained to them, and
kept up an incessant fire of various grades; from the grave
remonstrances of the "Constitutionnel," to the piquant badinage of the
"Drapeau Blanc." The Salons, the Cafés, the Boulevards, the Tuileries,
the Champs Elysées and the Pont Neuf exhibited the politicians of
their respective meridians, from the "riche banquier" to "Monsieur le
tondeur de chiens." The print shops displayed caricatures of the
Jesuits. Beranger "showed up" the royal family in his songs. Mars
played "Tartuffe" at the Francais, and the "parterre" rapturously
applauded her and snapped their fingers at the police.
Early in the month, the annual review by the king, of the regular
troops stationed in Paris, was to take place.
By one of those tacit combinations which sometimes unaccountably
occur, it was resolved that this review should serve as an occasion
for affording an evidence of the sentiments of the people, which
though negative in mode, should be sufficiently positive in character.
It was determined to withhold from the king those testimonials of
attachment and loyalty with which most of the people of Europe are
wont to greet their sovereigns when they appear in public. Accordingly
when on the expected morning, the king with his brilliant suite issued
from the court of the palace, not one of the spectators uttered a
sound of welcome. The place of the review was a mile and a half
distant, and the route was through populous streets; yet from all the
crowd which gradually swelled as the train advanced, not one voice was
heard to utter "vive le roi!" No man cried "God save him." A uniform
silence pervaded the scene, thus giving it the air of a funeral
pageant, rather than of a splendid military display; while at every
turn which the royal company made in their progress, this portentous
legend inscribed on the walls, met their eyes--
"La silence du peuple est la lecon du Roi."
Proceeding more rapidly and by a nearer route, I reached the Champ de
Mars, the scene of the review, in time to witness the king's arrival.
The Champ de Mars is a beautiful plain, artificially levelled; a
quarter of a mile in breadth, and extending from the Seine to the
école militaire, rather more than half a mile in length--bounded on
each side by embankments, appearing to the eye like ramparts, which
are covered with turf and set with trees.[1]
[Footnote 1: The Champ de Mars was the scene of the famous "fête de la
fédération," which took place in 1790, on the 14th of July, the
anniversary of the taking of the Bastile; when the king, the
representatives of the people, and the other public functionaries, the
commandant of the National Guard, and delegates sent from each of the
eighty-three departments of the kingdom, took an oath to preserve the
new constitution. A splendid altar, called "l'autel de la patrie," was
erected in the middle of the field, around which was an amphitheatre
which held four hundred thousand spectators; in the centre of this was
the throne of the king. All the people of Paris assisted in making
these preparations, that they might be completed by the appointed
time. The Bishop of Autun (Talleyrand) was the ministering flamen of
the solemnities. At the celebration an incident occurred, illustrating
the far seeing sagacity of this man, who thus early discerned the
frail and transient nature of that constitution, which its founders
had decreed should be "une, indivisible, et impérissable." Lafayette,
as commandant of the National Guard, was the first to take the oath;
and as he approached the altar for that purpose, Talleyrand in an
under tone exhorted him to keep his countenance and not to laugh! thus
indicating that he considered the whole scene a solemn farce. I had
this anecdote from an American lady to whom Lafayette told it.]
I found as I had expected, these embankments covered throughout their
whole extent with an innumerable crowd, eager at once to behold the
spectacle and to convince the king that Frenchmen could be silent when
there was an occasion for it, however unnatural the restraint.
I found also the troops to be reviewed, twenty-five thousand in
number, drawn up in beautiful array, and arranged on the plain between
the embankments, in separate divisions, according to their various
designations; the whole forming two lines looking to the centre of the
field, and of course facing each other.
Here were the famed Cuirassiers, arrayed in triple steel--each one
looking the impersonation of war--men and horses forming a dense,
motionless, terrific mass.
There, were the "Chevaux-légers," less imposing in appearance, but
dazzling the eye by the brilliancy of their dress and the rapidity of
their evolutions.
On one side frowned the "Sappeurs Pompiers," with their ample caps of
black fur, their white leather aprons, their glittering axes, their
grim moustaches, and beards like Egyptian sheiks. On the other were
displayed the regular infantry, with their brilliant pieces and
bristling bayonets, at whose points they had so often compelled
victory.
The elder superior officers were conversing in groups--while the
younger paid court to the ladies; whose nodding plumes and wreathed
smiles were displayed in covered stages erected temporarily for the
purpose, and arranged at the inner foot of the embankment on either
side of the field.
In a short time a flourish of trumpets at the école militaire,
announced the arrival of the King. The officers flew to their posts.
Every tongue was hushed, and every eye directed to that extremity of
the field at which the king now appeared, mounted on a white Arabian,
which he managed as one familiar to the seat. He was attended on
either side by the royal dukes Angoulême and Orléans, (the present
king) and followed by a splendid cortège of field marshals and general
officers in gorgeous uniforms, and their horses highly caparisoned.
The king too, and the royal dukes, wore military uniforms, over which
hung the "cordon bleu." After the king and his suite, came an open
barouche, in which appeared the royal ladies d'Angoulême, de Berri and
d'Orléans.
The magnificent cavalcade moved slowly on between the different bodies
of troops, going down on one side of the field and returning on the
other, passing close in front of each line. Their approach was
acknowledged with the promptitude of military discipline, by the
waving of swords, the presentation of pieces, and the lowering of
standards. But this formal military salute was the only greeting. A
silence reigned throughout the immense mass of beholders, as profound
as that which habitual discipline preserved among the troops.
After the review was thus completed, a few evolutions were performed
by the troops in presence of the royal spectators, who then left the
field and returned to the Tuileries.
In a very few days after, it was announced that the king, with a
moderation and wisdom which were not expected, had yielded to the
unequivocal exhibition of public opinion which had been made, and had
withdrawn the offensive law from the consideration of the chambers.
The demonstrations of public joy were then as numerous and violent as
had been before, the expressions of dissatisfaction. For several days
it seemed as if the whole population of Paris had relinquished every
employment, to devote themselves to the most tumultuous display by
every means in their power, of their satisfaction at the victory which
they supposed they had obtained over the court. The public rejoicing
was concluded by a general and splendid illumination of the city.
About ten days after this time, followed the annual review of the
National Guard of Paris.
In the excited state of the people, it was not to be expected that so
remarkable an occasion as this, would be permitted to pass over,
without being marked by some decisive evidence of public sentiment. It
was therefore soon generally understood that the king would, on this
occasion, be received with every outward demonstration of popular
favor and affection; in order that by the contrast with his former
reception, he might be convinced beyond the possibility of doubting,
that in both instances a strong expression of public opinion was
intended.
Of course it was not imagined that all this was not as well known to
the king and his ministers, as to the authors and contrivers. Villèle,
the prime minister, was too sagacious and wary to leave unemployed any
means of obtaining information concerning every subject which agitated
the public mind--information indeed which was of the highest
importance to an administration steering full against the current of
popular opposition. It was therefore feared that the court, usually
desirous of avoiding and preventing all occasions for popular ferment,
would disappoint the public expectation by dispensing with the review.
Innumerable conjectures and rumors floated about like vapors in the
atmosphere, many of which no doubt had their origin in the cabinet,
who probably sent them forth as feelers of the public pulse. All these
at length centred in the general belief that the court would
compromise the matter with the people, by permitting the review to
take place indeed, but by assigning as its locale, the Place du
Carrousel, (adjacent to the Tuileries,) where too little space could
be allowed for spectators, to afford a theatre for the grand
exhibition of public sentiment which had been arranged for the
occasion.
Thus matters stood on the morning of the expected day, which opened in
all the calm glories of May, on the magnificent city and her million
of inhabitants; all ranks of whom, from the courtier to the beggar,
were for once at least occupied by the same theme and excited by the
same agency.
The Moniteur, the government print, was eagerly torn open by thousands
of hands, and thousands of eyes glanced upon the unexpected
announcement that the review of the National Guard would take place
(as usual) at the Champ de Mars!
The people were somewhat taken aback by this unlooked for boldness on
the part of the ministry, but their excitement was not lessened by it.
On the contrary it increased until the great city resembled the
swarming of a mighty hive.
At length the hour appointed for the review arrived, and at that hour
the king, followed by the same brilliant train which had on a former
occasion attended him, once more issued from the palace gates. But not
now as before, was his progress in silence. Every step of his advance
was marked by the most tumultuous and joyous acclamations, which grew
louder as the throng increased, until he reached the Champ de Mars.
The deafening shout of welcome which greeted him from the hundreds of
thousands of spectators there assembled, would have impressed one,
ignorant of the immediate cause, with the belief that Charles the 10th
rivalled in popularity his illustrious ancestor Henry the 4th; or the
still more illustrious usurper of the Bourbon throne, whose star had
just set in St. Helena.
The appearance now exhibited by the Champ de Mars differed but little
from that already described, save that the eye of a critical observer
would have discerned a marked difference between the unmilitary
bearing of the "Milice Bourgeoise," and the exact discipline and
compact and symmetrical array of the regular troops. The martial dress
and perfect armament of the National Guard however, together with
their number, which perhaps exceeded that of the troops at the first
review, gave them a sufficiently imposing appearance.
The Royal personages and their splendid escort advanced towards the
assembled legions, amid cries from every side, of "vive le roi!" "vive
la famille royale!" "vivent les Bourbons!" marking the different
feelings of those who uttered them. The "vive le roi" was on this
occasion merely a "mot de coedille circonstance," a conventional mode
of acknowledging with respect the presence of the monarch. But the
heart had some little agency in prompting "vive la famille royale!"
and "vivent les Bourbons!" These denoted a lurking loyalty, and were
uttered, as I observed, almost exclusively by the females. And this
serves to illustrate the remarkable fact that while the minds of a
large majority of French-men still retained the inclination given to
them by the Republic or the Empire, almost every French-woman was a
decided royalist. The fair sex are usually for the powers that be.
A little incident which occurred on this occasion may be mentioned as
indicative of the sprightliness of the French character. A vagabond
urchin (the like of whom would in our country have been staring in
puzzled wonderment at the scene before him) seeming to enter fully
into the humor of his elders, just as the carriage passed him in which
rode the royal dames, tossed up his ragged cap and exclaimed "vive la
duchesse de Berri toute seule!"
The moment the king reached the first company of the Guards, all its
members, as they gave the military salute, shouted "vive le roi!"
which passed as a watchword from company to company as in turn he
approached them, until at length the entire National Guard were
swelling the chorus of gratulation and welcome.
The harmony was perfect, and the public satisfaction was at its
height, when suddenly a change came over the scene, as rapid and
violent as a storm in tropical climates which in an instant blots the
face of the sunniest day with blackness and wrath.
The review was nearly finished, when a voice was heard from the
company which the king was at the moment passing, mingling with the
cries of "vive le roi," the exclamations "à bas les ministres!" "à bas
les Jésuites!"[2]
[Footnote 2: Down with the ministers, &c.]
A momentary silence following this bold expression, the king instantly
stopped and with becoming spirit said, that he was there to review the
National Guard and not to receive dictation. At the same moment he
ordered the Duc de Reggio, the commandant of the National Guard, (who
was one of his suite) to cause the individual to be arrested who had
uttered the offensive words. The duke promptly passed the order to the
captain of the company; but its execution was at once resisted by the
whole company, who closed around their comrade and energetically
declared that he should not be arrested; and that they all thought as
he did. It was evident that an attempt to enforce the order for arrest
would produce a display of the most alarming violence; it was
therefore wisely abandoned, and the king abruptly left the field.
Immediately a scene of the wildest confusion ensued. The demon of
discord usurped the empire of the spirit of harmony, and in the
twinkling of an eye converted the genial current of good feeling into
the bitter waters of strife.
The troops were instantly dismissed by their officers, and they
mingling with the immense crowd of spectators, the whole mass returned
with tumultuous haste to the city, uttering cries of passion, of
discontent or of derision. "À bas les ministres! à bas les Jésuites! à
bas les Bourbons! vive la charte! au diable Villéle!" &c. &c., issued
from lips which but a few minutes before sent forth expressions of
attachment and loyalty.
The residences of Villéle and Peyronnet, the two ministers against
whom popular indignation was chiefly directed, lay immediately in the
route of the returning crowd. A large number, including many of the
National Guard, stopped before the houses, which were separated only
by a street, and seemed by their furious gestures and menacing cries,
to meditate an attack. The ministers were not at home; for the king on
the instant of his rapid return, had called his cabinet together.
Their families were of course in a state of the most dreadful alarm;
but so soon as the crowd ascertained the absence of the ministers, and
that only unprotected females were within, with the characteristic
gallantry of French-men, (who were not yet wrought to revolutionary
phrenzy) they quitted their position and swept on to communicate their
excitement to those of their fellow citizens who had not witnessed the
events. The effect of their coming, upon the population of Paris, was
that of a whirlwind upon the ocean. It excited them to a state of
fearful commotion, and in less than an hour, the din which arose from
every part of this vast city was as the mighty roar of many waters.
Evening was now approaching; but with it came no diminution of the
wrath of the Parisians. Throughout the night the agitation continued,
and at intervals its sound came through the gloom to startle from
sleep the few who sought repose.
During all this time the king and his cabinet, unterrified by the
denunciations which resounded in their ears, were planning in secret
council at the Tuileries, a "coup d'état" which was to astonish
France.
The next morning the Moniteur appeared as usual, and the very first
line of the first column, which was always appropriated to
annunciations made by authority of the government, consisted of the
following momentous words--
"La Garde Nationale est licenciée"--(the National Guard is disbanded.)
Had a volcano burst forth in the "place Vendome," the people of Paris
could not have been more astounded. The step was indeed of a boldness
bordering on temerity; for the National Guard was the last remnant of
the revolution--the only connecting link between the present time and
the days of the republic; and its association with revolutionary
remembrances rendered it sacred in the estimation of all those who
professed to entertain the principles of the revolution. And those
were at this time more than three-fourths of the population.
Surprise for a time so completely mastered every other emotion, that
the people were comparatively calm--but this calm was only the
precursor of a fiercer excitement. For several days the commotion
presented the aspect of a menaced revolt. It was by many likened to
the commencing scenes of the revolution; and it filled with anxiety
and dread, all moderate persons who recollected that period of horror.
The entire population of Paris (at least the middle and lower orders)
deserted their homes and thronged the streets and public squares; and
in all parts of the city the tumult of the populace was like the
heaving of a troubled sea.[3]
[Footnote 3: An officer of cavalry with whom I was acquainted, told me
that the agitation far exceeded that which was caused in Paris by the
news of Napoleon's flight from Elba and debarkation in France.]
On one of the nights when the agitation was greatest, I went to the
Rue St. Honoré, one of the great thoroughfares of the city, to witness
the movements of the crowd. When I arrived I found it so thronged as
to render it hazardous if not impossible to enter it. As far as by the
aid of the lights, the eye could reach in either direction, the entire
space of the street presented a dense array of human beings, from
which issued sounds of every variety, constituting altogether the most
deafening clang which ever assailed my ears.
Through the centre of this living mass moved a large body of gendarmes
in single file, reining in their horses to so slow a pace that their
motion through the crowd was barely perceptible. So closely were they
wedged in on every side indeed, that it was impossible to do more than
just to move.
A fitter agent and emblem of an absolute, or, at least, an energetic
government, does not exist, than a gendarme. Stern, silent,
imperturbable, patient--armed at all points, and the moment there is
need for action, implacable, rapid and sure in execution. On this
occasion these men moved through the crowd as though they saw and
heard them not. On every side they were assailed with jeers, with
execrations, and even occasionally with missiles. But these disturbed
not their unconquerable equanimity. They passed on apparently,
unheeding all; but with their swords drawn, ready at a moment's
warning to strike, should the conjuncture arrive to render it
necessary.
They were acting of course under the influence of orders, clear and
strict, and carrying with them the severest penalties for violation.
These orders were, no doubt, to refrain from violence until the
occurrence of some overt act on the part of the people, indicative of
a revolutionary spirit; and to do nothing which might by possibility
lead to such an occurrence.[4]
[Footnote 4: As I had, before going to France, conceived an erroneous
idea of the gendarmes, it may not be useless to explain, that although
as their designation implies, they constitute an armed force, they
have no connection whatever with the army. They are nothing more or
less than the executive police of the kingdom, and are under the
command of the prefect of each department. They are mounted and
completely equipped with sword, pistols, carbine and bayonet; and when
it is recollected that _to resist a gendarme, is to resist the law_,
it will be readily conceived that they are a formidable body. As their
power is great, so also is their responsibility; and they encounter
death as the penalty for any deviation from the strict letter of their
orders. They are perfect machines and the most efficient police in the
world.]
The people had evidently no matured design. They were unprepared for
the energetic measures of the ministry, so that although they more
than once in different parts of the city, gave occasion to the
gendarmes to charge upon them, and several deaths were the result; it
soon became apparent that the excitement was subsiding. After the
expiration of the third day, the city began to wear a calmer aspect.
The affair merely furnished a theme for animated discussions in the
cafés and for eloquent denunciations in the liberal prints. The surest
evidence, however, that all danger of a serious issue was for the
present at an end, was the fact that the little scandalous journals
which exist in every large city, began to serve up the subject in
humorous scraps; for it has been truly remarked, that if the
Parisians, can but be induced to jest about a matter, it is impossible
afterwards to render it serious.
The unexpected boldness of this decisive display of state policy thus
rendered it entirely successful. The king and his ministers were
determined to regain the ground which they had lost in yielding the
law concerning the press.
Fully informed as to the state of the public mind, and ascertaining
that the people had not reached the crisis of revolution, they
resolved to strike a blow which could not be successfully resisted but
by revolution. A more favorable opportunity could not have occurred
than the one which I have attempted to describe; and it was seized
with a promptness and employed with a skill which have never been
excelled. On the very night of the day on which the pretext was given,
the decision was made. At the dawn of day this decision was
communicated to the commanders of all the divisions of the disbanded
body; and with the first rays of the sun the startling annunciation
met the eyes of the astounded Parisians--"_La Garde Nationale est
licenciée!_"
The very style of the decree is worthy of remark, as being in strict
keeping with the rest. There is no labored preamble--no heavy article
covering six columns of the Moniteur, setting forth the reasons for
the act--no endeavor to render the potion palatable to the people by
conciliatory and cajoling declarations--no attempt to lead off the
public mind by sophistry and a maze of argument--none of this. But the
simple, naked, peremptory mandate of authority not expecting to be
questioned--The stern, terse, despotic "_sic vole_" of absolute
rule--"_La Garde Nationale est licenciée!_"
The shaft being shot, the cabinet remained perfectly quiet until the
effervescence and confusion created by the discharge, had subsided;
and then resumed the ordinary routine of their administration, having
derived from the review of the National Guard and its results, a
decided accession of power; and for a time at least, impeded the
progress of liberal principles in France. And although the influence
of these principles must, of course, finally have prevailed, there is
little doubt that the time for their ascendancy would have been longer
deferred, had the successor of Villéle possessed his sagacity, his
boldness, his energy, and his knowledge of the existing state of
things.
Had this been the case, Charles the 10th would perhaps not now be
giving profitless lessons in Royalty to his grandson at Prague, nor
Peyronnet and Chantelauze be playing chess at Ham.