THE FEAST OF CONCORD AND THE PREPARATIONS FOR THE DAYS OF JUNE.
The revolutionaries of 1848, unwilling or unable to imitate the
bloodthirsty follies of their predecessors, consoled themselves by
imitating their ludicrous follies. They took it into their heads to give
the people a series of grand allegorical festivals.
Despite the terrible condition of the finances, the Provisional
Government had decided that a sum of one or two millions should be spent
upon celebrating the Feast of Concord in the Champ-de-Mars.
According to the programme, which was published in advance and
faithfully followed out, the Champ-de-Mars was to be filled with figures
representing all sorts of persons, virtues, political institutions, and
even public services. France, Germany and Italy, hand in hand; Equality,
Liberty and Fraternity, also hand in hand; Agriculture, Commerce, the
Army, the Navy and, above all, the Republic; the last of colossal
dimensions. A car was to be drawn by sixteen plough-horses: "this car,"
said the programme aforesaid, "will be of a simple and rustic shape, and
will carry three trees, an oak, a laurel, and an olive tree,
symbolizing strength, honour, and plenty; and, moreover, a plough in the
midst of a group of flowers and ears of corn. Ploughmen and young girls
dressed in white will surround the car, singing patriotic hymns." We
were also promised oxen with gilded horns, but did not get them.
The National Assembly had not the smallest desire to see all these
beautiful things; it even feared lest the immense gathering of people
which was sure to be occasioned should produce some dangerous riot.
Accordingly, it put the date as far back as possible; but the
preparations were made, there was no possibility of going back from it,
and the date was fixed for the 21st of May.
On that day I went early to the Assembly, which was to proceed on foot,
in a body, to the Champ-de-Mars. I had put my pistols in my pockets, and
in talking to my colleagues I discovered that most of them were secretly
armed, like myself: one had taken a sword-stick, another a dagger;
nearly all carried some weapon of defence. Edmond de La Fayette showed
me a weapon of a peculiar kind. It was a ball of lead sewn into a short
leathern thong which could easily be fastened to the arm: one might have
called it a portable club. La Fayette declared that this little
instrument was being widely carried by the National Assembly, especially
since the 15th of May. It was thus that we proceeded to this Feast of
Concord.
A sinister rumour ran that some great danger awaited the Assembly when
it should cross through the crowd of the Champ-de-Mars and take up its
place on the stage reserved for it outside the Military College. As a
matter of fact, nothing could have been easier than to make it the
object of an unexpected attack during this progress, which it made on
foot and, so to speak, unguarded. Its real safeguard lay in the
recollection of the 15th of May, and that sufficed. It very rarely
happens, whatever opportunity may present itself, that a body is
affronted the day after its triumph. Moreover, the French never do two
things at a time. Their minds often change their object, but they are
always devoted wholly to that occupying them at the moment, and I
believe there is no precedent of their making an insurrection in the
middle of a fete or even of a ceremony. On this day, therefore, the
people seemed to enter willingly into the fictitious idea of its
happiness, and for a moment to place on one side the recollection of its
miseries and its hatreds. It was animated, without being turbulent. The
programme had stated that a "fraternal confusion" was to prevail. There
was, it is true, extreme confusion, but no disorder; for we are strange
people: we cannot do without the police when we are orderly, and so soon
as we start a revolution, the police seem superfluous. The sight of this
popular joyfulness enraptured the moderate and sincere Republicans, and
made them almost maudlin. Carnot observed to me, with that silliness
which the honest democrat always mingles with his virtue:
"Believe me, my dear colleague, one should always trust the people."
I remember rather brusquely replying, "Ah! why didn't you tell me that
before the 15th?"
The Executive Commission occupied one half of the immense stage that had
been erected along the Military College, and the National Assembly the
other. There first defiled past us the different emblems of all nations,
which took an enormous time, because of the fraternal confusion of which
the programme spoke. Then came the car, and then the young girls dressed
in white. There were at least three hundred of them, who wore their
virginal costume in so virile a fashion that they might have been taken
for boys dressed up as girls. Each had been given a big bouquet to
carry, which they were so gallant as to throw to us as they passed. As
these gossips were the owners of very nervous arms, and were more
accustomed, I should think, to using the laundress's beetle than to
strewing flowers, the bouquets fell down upon us in a very hard and
uncomfortable hail-storm.
One tall girl left her companions and, stopping in front of Lamartine,
recited an ode to his glory. Gradually she grew excited in talking, so
much so that she pulled a terrible face and began to make the most
alarming contortions. Never had enthusiasm seemed to me to come so near
to epilepsy. When she had finished, the people insisted at all costs
that Lamartine should kiss her; she offered him two fat cheeks,
streaming with perspiration, which he touched with the tip of his lips
and with indifferent bad grace.
The only serious portion of the fete was the review. I have never seen
so many armed men in one spot in my life, and I believe that few have
seen more. Apart from the innumerable crowd of sight-seers in the
Champ-de-Mars, one saw an entire people under arms. The _Moniteur_
estimated the number of National Guards and soldiers of the line who
were there at three hundred thousand. This seemed to me to be
exaggerated, but I do not think that the number could be reduced to less
than two hundred thousand.
The spectacle of those two hundred thousand bayonets will never leave my
memory. As the men who carried them were tightly pressed against one
another, so as to be able to keep within the slopes of the
Champ-de-Mars, and as we, from our but slightly raised position, could
only throw an almost horizontal glance upon them, they formed, to our
eyes, a flat and lightly undulating surface, which flashed in the sun
and made the Champ-de-Mars resemble a great lake filled with liquid
steel.
All these men marched past us in succession, and we noticed that this
army numbered many more muskets than uniforms. Only the legions from the
wealthier parts of the town presented a large number of National Guards
clad in military uniform. They were the first to appear, and shouted,
"Long live the National Assembly!" with much enthusiasm. In the legions
from the suburbs, which formed in themselves veritable armies, one saw
little but jackets and blouses, though this did not prevent them from
marching with a very warlike aspect. Most of them, as they passed us,
were content to shout, "Long live the Democratic Republic!" or to sing
the _Marseillaise_ or the song of the _Girondins_. Next came the legions
of the outskirts, composed of peasants, badly equipped, badly armed, and
dressed in blouses like the workmen of the suburbs, but filled with a
very different spirit to that of the latter, as they showed by their
cries and gestures. The battalions of the Garde Mobile uttered various
exclamations, which left us full of doubt and anxiety as to the
intention of these lads, or rather children, who at that time more than
any other held our destinies in their hands.
The regiments of the line, who closed the review, marched past in
silence.
I witnessed this long parade with a heart filled with sadness. Never at
any time had so many arms been placed at once into the hands of the
people. It will be easily believed that I shared neither the simple
confidence nor the stupid happiness of my friend Carnot; I foresaw, on
the contrary, that all the bayonets I saw glittering in the sun would
soon be raised against each other, and I felt that I was at a review of
the two armies of the civil war that was just concluded. In the course
of that day I still heard frequent shouts of "Long live Lamartine!"
although his great popularity was already waning. In fact, one might say
it was over, were it not that in every crowd one meets with a large
number of belated individuals who are stirred with the enthusiasm of
yesterday, like the provincials who begin to adopt the Paris mode on the
day when the Parisians abandon it.
Lamartine hastened to withdraw from this last ray of his sun: he retired
long before the ceremony was finished. He looked weary and care-worn.
Many members of the Assembly, also overcome with fatigue, followed his
example, and the review ended in front of almost empty benches. It had
begun early and ended at night-fall.
The whole time elapsing between the review of the 21st of May and the
days of June was filled with the anxiety caused by the approach of these
latter days. Every day fresh alarms came and called out the army and the
National Guard; the artisans and shopkeepers no longer lived at home,
but in the public places and under arms. Each one fervently desired to
avoid the necessity of a conflict, and all vaguely felt that this
necessity was becoming more inevitable from day to day. The National
Assembly was so constantly possessed by this thought that one might have
said that it read the words "Civil War" written on the four walls of the
House.
On all sides great efforts of prudence and patience were being made to
prevent, or at least delay, the crisis. Members who in their hearts were
most hostile to the revolution were careful to restrain any expressions
of sympathy or antipathy; the old parliamentary orators were silent,
lest the sound of their voices should give umbrage; they left the
rostrum to the new-comers, who themselves but rarely occupied it, for
the great debates had ceased. As is common in all assemblies, that which
most disturbed the members' minds was that of which they spoke least,
though it was proved that each day they thought of it. All sorts of
measures to help the misery of the people were proposed and discussed.
We even entered readily into an examination of the different socialistic
systems, and each strove in all good faith to discover in these
something applicable to, or at least compatible with, the ancient laws
of Society.
During this time, the national workshops continued to fill; their
population already exceeded one hundred thousand men. It was felt that
we could not live if they were kept on, and it was feared that we should
perish if we tried to dismiss them. This burning question of the
national workshops was treated daily, but superficially and timidly; it
was constantly touched upon, but never firmly taken in hand.
On the other hand, it was clear that, outside the Assembly, the
different parties, while dreading the contest, were actively preparing
for it. The wealthy legions of the National Guard offered banquets to
the army and to the Garde Mobile, in which they mutually urged each
other to unite for the common defence.
The workmen of the suburbs, on their side, were secretly amassing that
great number of cartridges which enabled them later to sustain so long a
contest. As to the muskets, the Provisional Government had taken care
that these should be supplied in profusion; one could safely say that
there was not a workman who did not possess at least one, and sometimes
several.
The danger was perceived afar off as well as near at hand. The provinces
grew indignant and irritated with Paris; for the first time for sixty
years they ventured to entertain the idea of resisting it; the people
armed themselves and encouraged each other to come to the assistance of
the Assembly; they sent it thousands of addresses congratulating it on
its victory of the 15th of May. The ruin of commerce, universal war, the
dread of Socialism made the Republic more and more hateful in the eyes
of the provinces. This hatred manifested itself especially beneath the
secrecy of the ballot. The electors were called upon to re-elect in
twenty-one departments; and in general they elected the men who in their
eyes represented the Monarchy in some form or other. M. Mole was elected
at Bordeaux, and M. Thiers at Rouen.
It was then that suddenly, for the first time, the name of Louis
Napoleon came into notice. The Prince was elected at the same time in
Paris and in several departments. Republicans, Legitimists and
demagogues gave him their votes; for the nation at that time was like a
frightened flock of sheep, which runs in all directions without
following any road. I little thought, when I heard that Louis Napoleon
had been nominated, that exactly a year later I should be his minister.
I confess that I beheld the return of the old parliamentary leaders with
considerable apprehension and regret; not that I failed to do justice to
their talent and discretion, but I feared lest their approach should
drive back towards the Mountain the moderate Republicans who were coming
towards us. Moreover, I knew them too well not to see that, so soon as
they had returned to political life, they would wish to lead it, and
that it would not suit them to save the country unless they could govern
it. Now an enterprise of this sort seemed to me both premature and
dangerous. Our duty and theirs was to assist the moderate Republicans to
govern the Republic without seeking to govern it indirectly ourselves,
and especially without appearing to have this in view.
For my part, I never doubted but that we were on the eve of a terrible
struggle; nevertheless, I did not fully understand our danger until
after a conversation that I had about this time with the celebrated
Madame Sand. I met her at an Englishman's of my acquaintance:
Milnes,[10] a member of Parliament, who was then in Paris. Milnes was a
clever fellow who did and, what is rarer, said many foolish things. What
a number of those faces I have seen in my life of which one can say that
the two profiles are not alike: men of sense on one side, fools on the
other. I have always seen Milnes infatuated with something or somebody.
This time he was smitten with Madame Sand, and notwithstanding the
seriousness of events, had insisted on giving her a literary _dejeuner_.
I was present at this repast, and the image of the days of June, which
followed so closely after, far from effacing the remembrance of it from
my mind, recalls it.
[10: The Right Honble. Monckton Milnes, the late Lord
Houghton.--A.T. de M.]
The company was anything but homogeneous. Besides Madame Sand, I met a
young English lady, very modest and very agreeable, who must have found
the company invited to meet her somewhat singular; some more or less
obscure writers; and Merimee. Milnes placed me next to Madame Sand. I
had never spoken to her, and I doubt whether I had ever seen her (I had
lived little in the world of literary adventurers which she frequented).
One of my friends asked her one day what she thought of my book on
America, and she answered, "Monsieur, I am only accustomed to read the
books which are presented to me by their authors." I was strongly
prejudiced against Madame Sand, for I loathe women who write,
especially those who systematically disguise the weaknesses of their
sex, instead of interesting us by displaying them in their true
character. Nevertheless, she pleased me. I thought her features rather
massive, but her expression admirable: all her mind seemed to have taken
refuge in her eyes, abandoning the rest of her face to matter; and I was
particularly struck at meeting in her with something of the naturalness
of behaviour of great minds. She had a real simplicity of manner and
language, which she mingled, perhaps, with some little affectation of
simplicity in her dress. I confess that, more adorned, she would have
appeared still more simple. We talked for a whole hour of public
affairs; it was impossible to talk of anything else in those days.
Besides, Madame Sand at that time was a sort of politician, and what she
said on the subject struck me greatly; it was the first time that I had
entered into direct and familiar communication with a person able and
willing to tell me what was happening in the camp of our adversaries.
Political parties never know each other: they approach, touch, seize,
but never see one another. Madame Sand depicted to me, in great detail
and with singular vivacity, the condition of the Paris workmen, their
organization, their numbers, their arms, their preparations, their
thoughts, their passions, their terrible resolves. I thought the picture
overloaded, but it was not, as subsequent events clearly proved. She
seemed to be alarmed for herself at the popular triumph, and to take
the greatest pity upon the fate that awaited us.
"Try to persuade your friends, monsieur," she said, "not to force the
people into the streets by alarming or irritating them. I also wish that
I could instil patience into my own friends; for if it comes to a fight,
believe me, you will all be killed."
With these consoling words we parted, and I have never seen her since.