I have but just returned from the Rue d'Anjou, and now that I find
myself once more within the sanctuary of my home, I am surprised at my
own courage in having ventured to pass through the streets, and
_alone_, too, at such a moment. I do not think I should have risked it,
had I not known how much my excellent friend Madame C---- stood in need
of consolation, after having seen her grandchildren and great
grandchildren driven from their late peaceful and happy dwelling,
uncertain when she may behold them again, as they have determined on
not forsaking the royal family.
I had ascended nearly to the top of the barricade at the entrance to
the Rue Verte when a head and shoulders rose from the opposite side so
suddenly as to alarm me not a little. My trepidation was infinitely
increased when I discovered that the individual to whom the said head
and shoulders appertained, was in a state of extreme intoxication, and
when with rolling eyes, flushed checks, and thick articulation he
addressed me with a familiarity, yet good nature, that I would most
willingly have dispensed with.
"Give me your hand, _ma belle_, fear nothing, I am one of the _bons
enfans_ of the revolution, take my arm and no one will molest you. We,
_les braves des braves_, wage no war against women; _au contraire_, we
love the pretty creatures. Here take my hand, and I will assist you
over the barricades."
Suiting his action to the word, he extended his hand towards me, and
reaching forward lost his equilibrium and rolled over; at which moment,
the proprietor of a wine shop at the corner of the Rue Verte came to my
assistance, and leading me through his house, opened a door on the
other side of the barricade, through which I hastily passed, he civilly
offering to open the same door when I returned if I would knock at it.
And here, _en passant_, let me render justice to the politeness I have
invariably experienced from all classes of men, and on all occasions,
in France--a politeness so general that I should be ungrateful if I did
not record it.
When I passed the barrack in the Rue Verte, it was in the possession of
the people, who had seized it by the right of conquest an hour or two
previously. Proud of the achievement, they were looking out of the
windows, shouting, singing the Marseillaise, embracing each other, and
proclaiming that they were _les bons enfans_, etc. They paid me many
homely compliments as I passed, but not a single indelicate allusion
escaped their lips; and I hurried on, not meeting a human being until I
entered the courtyard of Madame C----'s hotel, into which I found
considerable difficulty to penetrate, owing to the extreme caution of
her Swiss porter who seemed to think it very dangerous to open even the
little door to admit me.
I found dear, good Madame C---- depressed and agitated. I rejoiced to
find that she was ignorant of the scene that took place between her
grand-daughter and the populace, for a knowledge of it would have
served to increase her alarm. She was surrounded by the usual circle of
_habitués_ who endeavoured in vain to calm her fears, but my presence
re-assured her a little, and Count Valeski, who came in soon after,
succeeded in mitigating her terror. Having witnessed the horrors of the
former revolution, it is no wonder she should tremble at the thoughts
of another, and she looks on my calmness and courage as little short of
heroism.
I remained a couple of hours with her, and having resisted all her
persuasions to induce me to stay all night, I left the Rue d'Anjou, and
had reached the Rue Verte, when I heard the report of guns, and saw a
party of soldiers attacking the barracks, out of the windows of which
the people, who had taken forcible possession of it some hours before,
were firing on their assailants. I retraced my steps as hastily as
possible, fear lending swiftness to my feet, and returned to the Rue de
Matignon by the Faubourg du Roule and the Rue St.-Honoré. Our trusty
porter, having heard the shots, and knowing they proceeded from the
_quartier_ through which my route lay, was much alarmed for my safety,
and evinced great pleasure when he saw me safe again within the portal
under his charge, while I congratulated myself on having once more
proved my friendship to my dear old friend, by a personal exertion
entailing no more disagreeable consequences than a temporary alarm.
---- and ---- have just been here: they say that it is reported that a
negotiation has been opened between the king and the provisional
government, and that even still a reconciliation may be effected. I do
not believe it, though I wish it were true. The blood that has flowed
during the last days has, I fear, created an impassable gulf between
the sovereign and the people. Each party has made discoveries fatal to
the good understanding necessary to subsist between both: one having
proved his want of power to carry his wishes into effect, and the other
having but too well evinced its power of resistance.
While the negotiations are pending, the royal cause becomes every hour
more hopeless. Success has rendered the people less tractable; and the
concession implied by the king's holding out terms to them, has less
chance of producing a favourable result.
The populace attempted to force an entrance into the _Hôtel des Pages_,
and, having fired through the iron gate, killed a fine youth, the son
of General Jacquinot, one of the royal pages, and a protégé of the Duc
de Guiche. It was of this general that the Emperor Napoleon
said--"_Celui-là est brave tous les jours, en mon absence comme sous
mes yeux_." It is not more than ten days ago, since I met the mother
and sister of this promising youth with him at the Duchesse de
Guiche's. They came to return thanks to her and the duc for the
generous protection they had afforded to him; they were elate with joy
at his promotion, looked forward to his further advancement, and now--.
My heart bleeds for the poor mother who doted on her son!
Count Alfred d'Orsay, having heard that he had no relations in Paris at
this moment, has gone to arrange for the interment of this poor youth,
who yet scarcely more than a child, has lost his life at but a short
distance from the threshold of that door where he had been so often
received with kindness. How glad I am that the duchesse was spared the
horror of being so near the scene of this murder, and that she and her
children are safe from the reach of personal violence!
The interesting countenance of this fine youth, as I lately saw it,
haunts me. Beaming with affection towards his mother and sister, and
with gratitude towards his friends, it was pleasant to behold it; and
now,--how fearful is the change produced in so brief a space! That
bereaved mother and fond sister will never more look on that face so
dear;--before the fatal intelligence can have reached them, he will
have been consigned to the grave, and will owe to a stranger those last
rites which they little dream are now performing.
The number of persons killed during the last three days has excited
much less interest in my feelings than the death of this poor youth. I
cannot picture to my mind's eye any other distinct image among the
slain. They present only a ghastly mass, with all the revolting
accompaniments of gaping wounds and blood-stained garments, I never saw
them in life,--knew not the faces that will be steeped in tears, or
convulsed in agony at their deaths; but this poor boy, so young, so
fair, and so beloved, and his fond mother and gentle sister seem ever
to stand before me!
I remember reading, long years ago, the example given of a person
recounting all the details of a great battle, in which hundreds were
slain, and the listeners hearing the account unmoved, until the relater
described one individual who had been killed, and drew a vivid picture,
when those who had heard of the death of hundreds without any deeper
emotion than general pity, were melted to tears. This is my case, with
regard to the poor young page, cut off in the morning of his life; for,
having his image present to my mind, his death seems more grievous to
me than that of hundreds whom I have never seen.
_30th_.--The last news is, that the Dauphin has been named
Generalissimo, that he has placed himself at the head of the vast body
of troops that still adhere to their allegiance, and that he is to
advance on Paris. This determination has been adopted too late, and can
now, in my opinion, avail but little.
Comte d'O---- has just returned from seeing the last sad duties paid to
the remains of the poor young page. He brings the intelligence that the
royal family left St.-Cloud last night, and are now at Versailles. This
step proves that they consider their case hopeless. Unhappy Bourbons! a
fatality seems to impend over the race; and Charles the Tenth appears
doomed to die, as he has lived the greater portion of his life, in
exile. The absence of the Dauphine at this eventful period has been
peculiarly unfortunate for her family; for, with her firmness of
character and promptitude of decision, her counsel might have served,
while her presence would have given an impetus to, their cause.
I have just seen ----, who told me, that on the King's departure for
Versailles he left the Dauphin in command of the troops that still
adhered to their allegiance, and that the Prince placed himself at the
head of a battalion of the _garde royale_, charged the enemy on the
Pont de Sèvres, and took possession of it; but the troops, with the
exception of a few officers, refused to follow, and left him to receive
the fire of the insurgents, which it is wonderful that he escaped. With
what feelings must he have bent his course to Versailles, deserted by
troops on whom he had bestowed so many favours and acts of munificence,
to meet his sovereign and father, with the sad news of their revolt!
I have just had the gratifying intelligence that the Duchesse de Guiche
and her children reached St.-Germain's in safety. This is a great
relief to my mind. The royal arms on the carriage, and the liveries,
were recognised at the Barrière, and the populace crowded around, many
of them expressing their dissatisfaction at beholding these memorials
of a family so lately respected, if not beloved. It had been
represented to the Duchesse, previously to her leaving Paris, that she
ran no inconsiderable risk in venturing out with the royal arms on her
carriage;[9] but she declared that she would not consent to their being
effaced. She courageously, and with a calm dignity, addressed the angry
crowd, explained her sentiments and feelings to them in a few brief
words, and they, won by her beauty and noble bearing, even perhaps
still more than by her courage (though intrepidity has always a
peculiar charm for Frenchmen), cheered her, and suffered the carriage
to proceed unmolested.
_July 30th_.--I am again alarmed for the safety of the Duchesse de
Guiche. The populace having yesterday assembled at the Place
St.-Germain, in which is the residence of her father-in-law, the Duc de
Gramont, they evinced so hostile a feeling towards all attached to the
royal family, that a friend, becoming apprehensive of violence, scaled
the wall of the garden, and entering the house, implored the Duchesse,
ere it was yet too late, to seek safety by flight.
Alarmed for her children--for this noble-minded woman is a stranger to
personal fear--she sought refuge with them in the Forest of
St.-Germain, in the Château du Val, the abode of the Princesse de Poix,
where she experiences all the kindness and hospitality which her
amiable hostess can practise, in order to soothe the anxiety of her
guest.
What a change in the position of the Duchesse, and in so brief a space!
A fugitive in that forest where, every year during the _Fête des
Loges_, she dispensed kindness to the poor, and amiability to all,
doing the honours of the Duc de Gramont's house, where her
condescension and goodness were the themes of every tongue! And now,
harassed in mind and body, terrified for the safety of her husband, who
is with the royal family, and for her two eldest sons, who are in their
college, in the Rue St.-Marceau, which is rendered inaccessible, owing
to the barricades.
_31st_.--Lafayette is now said to be the oracle of the provisional
government, and the idol of the populace. Advanced far in the vale of
life, his energies and vigour are gone, and his _name_ serves the party
more than his counsel can; for with the republicans, at least, it is a
guarantee for honest motives. What a strange destiny has his
been--called on to perform so conspicuous a part in two revolutions!
---- has just been here, and announced that the Duc d'Orléans is named
Lieutenant-general of France. It is asserted, that this appointment has
been effected by the influence of General Lafayette over the
provisional government; but how little in accordance is this measure
with the well-known Utopian scheme of a republic, which has for years
been the favourite dream of this venerable visionary?
_August 1st_. ---- now has brought the intelligence that Charles the
Tenth has nominated the Duc d'Orléans Lieutenant-general, so that his
Royal Highness has been chosen by both sides--a flattering proof of the
confidence reposed in him by each. Were he ambitious, here is an
opportunity of indulging this "infirmity of noble minds," though at the
expense of the elder branch of his family; but he will not, I am sure,
betray the trust they have confided to him. Order seems now to be in a
great measure restored; the people appear in good-humour; but there is
a consciousness of power evident in their hilarity that too forcibly
reminds one of their victory.
The Duc of Orléans has been to the Hôtel-de-Ville, where he presented
himself to the people from the balcony; embraced General Lafayette, who
stood by his side; and was applauded with enthusiasm by the immense
multitude who witnessed the _accolade_.
_2nd_.--The news of the day is, that Charles the Tenth has abdicated
the crown in favour of the Duc de Bordeaux, who is now styled Henri V.
This act might, four or five days ago, have produced some salutary
effect; but it now comes too late--at least, so think those who profess
to know more on the subject than I do. The position of the
Lieutenant-general, in this case, reminds me of that of a _confidante_
in a quarrel between lovers, in which the interest of the absent is too
often sacrificed, owing to the dangerous opportunity furnished for
forwarding that of the supposed friend.
_3d_.--Again, considerable excitement has prevailed in the town,
produced by the proclamation, that the dethroned sovereign had
determined to take up his position, with the strong military force that
still adheres to him, at Rambouillet. The publicity given to this news
was a very injudicious measure, if conciliation, or even forbearance to
the deposed family, was desired.
The populace, that many-headed monster, only seen abroad when evil
passions dictate violence, again rush through the streets, breathing
vengeance against the poor old man, whose grey hairs, more exposed by
the absence of the crown his _ci-devant_ subjects have wrested from his
head, should have claimed more respect at their hands. Truly has the
poet said,
"He who has worn crown,
When less than king is less than other men,--
A fallen star, extinguish'd, leaving blank
Its place in heaven."
This fickle people, or, at least, the dregs of them, for it would be
unjust to confound all in their enormities, will efface the credit they
have gained by the forbearance from crime that has as yet characterised
this revolution, by some act of brutality towards the royal family. But
even the very dregs of the people have not appeared desirous to adopt
any such course, until excited into it by the wicked rumours set
afloat, that Charles the Tenth had carried off all the crown jewels--a
rumour peculiarly calculated to excite their ire and meet a ready
credence, each individual of the motley train looking on himself as
having an interest in these national riches, and judging from _self_,
of the possibility--nay, more, probability, of so vile an action. How
little can such minds identify themselves with the feelings of those
who, sated with the gewgaws and trappings of grandeur, forget them in
the deep, the powerful excitement of beholding a throne crumbling into
ruin beneath them--a diadem rudely torn from their brows--the power
they wielded, even that of doing good, wrested violently, with the
sceptre, from their hands; and more than all, behold the loved, the
_trusted_--those on whom they had showered benefits with prodigality,
turn from them in their hour of need and join their foes!
"If thou canst hate, as, oh! that soul must hate
Which loves the virtuous and reveres the great;
If thou canst loathe and execrate with me
That gallic garbage of philosophy,--
That nauseous slaver of these frantic times,
With which false liberty dilutes her crimes;
If thou hast got within thy free-born breast
One pulse that beats more proudly than the rest
With honest scorn for that inglorious soul
Which creeps and winds beneath a mob's control.
Which courts the rabble's smile, the rabble's nod,
And makes, like Egypt, every beast its God!"
_August 4th_.--The King has left Rambouillot, alarmed by the report of
the approach of the vast multitude who had left, or were leaving,
Paris, with hostile intentions towards the royal family. The scenes
that took place then, previously to his departure, are represented as
being most affecting.
An old man, overpowered by mental and bodily sufferings, remembering
the terrible days of a former revolution, brought with a fearful
vividness to his mind by the appalling change effected within the last
few eventful days, he had lost all presence of mind, and with it his
confidence in those whom he might have safely trusted, while he yielded
it to those whose interests were wholly opposed to his. Nor is the
deplorable effect produced on his mind by recent events to be wondered
at.
Adversity is the only school in which monarchs can acquire wisdom, and
it almost always comes too late to enable them to profit by its bitter
lessons. The defection of those hitherto supposed to be devoted
friends, the altered looks of faces never before beheld without being
dressed in smiles, the unceremoniousness of courtiers who never
previously had dared to have an opinion before royalty had decided what
it should be, might well have shook firmer nerves, and touched a
sterner heart, than belonged to the old, grey-headed monarch, who saw
himself betrayed without comprehending by whom, and who used his
authority as sovereign and father, over his religiously obedient son,
to extort an abdication of his right, as well as an approval of the
resignation of his own.
Like another Lear, this poor old man has been driven forth "to bide the
pelting of the pitiless storm" of a revolution, followed by his widowed
daughter-in-law and her helpless son, that child orphaned ere yet he
saw the light, and by Frenchmen who now condemn him to exile!
They have taken the route to Cherbourg, there to embark; and of those
who lately bent the knee before them, how few have followed their now
gloomy fortunes! One, at least, has not left, and will not forsake
them. The Duc de Guiche, the kindest husband and father perhaps in
France, sacrifices his feelings of domestic affection to his sense of
duty, and accompanies the exiled family!