Alarm created by the Trial of the Lyons Prisoners.--Visits
from a Republican and from a Doctrinaire: reassured by the
promises of safety and protection received from the latter.
We have really had something very like a panic amongst us, from the
rumours in circulation respecting this terrible trial, which is now
rapidly approaching. Many people think that fearful scenes may be
expected to take place in Paris when it begins.
The newspapers of all parties are so full of the subject, that there
is little else to be found in them; and all those, of whatever colour,
which are opposed to the government, describe the manner in which the
proceedings are to be managed, as the most tyrannical exercise of
power ever practised in modern Europe.
The legitimate royalists declare it to be illegal, inasmuch as the
culprits have a right to be tried by a jury of their peers--the
citizens of France; whereas it appears that this their chartered right
is denied them, and that no other judge or jury is to be permitted in
their case than the peers of France.
Whether this accusation will be satisfactorily answered, I know not;
but there certainly does appear to be something rather plausible, at
least, in the objection. Nevertheless, it is not very difficult to see
that the 28th Article of the Charter may be made to answer it, which
says,--
"The Chamber of Peers takes cognizance of high-treason, and
of attempts against the safety of the state, _which shall be
defined by law_."
Now, though this _defining by law_ appears, by what I can learn, to be
an operation not yet quite completed, there seems to be something so
very like high-treason in some of the offences for which these
prisoners are to be tried, that the first clause of the article may do
indifferently well to cover it.
The republican journals, pamphlets, and publications of all sorts,
however, treat the whole business of their detention and trial as the
most tremendous infringement of the newly-acquired rights of Young
France; and they say--nay, they do swear, that crowned king, created
peers, and placed ministers never dared to venture upon anything so
tyrannical as this.
All that the unfortunate Louis Seize ever did, or suffered to be
done--all that the banished Charles Dix ever threatened to do--never
"roared so loud, and thundered in the index," as does this deed
without a name about to be perpetrated by King Louis-Philippe the
First.
At last, however, the horrible thing has been christened, and PROCÈS
MONSTRE is its name. This is a happy device, and will save a world of
words. Before it received this expressive appellation, every paragraph
concerning it began by a roundabout specification of the horrific
business they were about to speak of; but since this lucky name has
been hit upon, all prefatory eloquence is become unnecessary: _Procès
Monstre!_ simply _Procès Monstre!_ expresses all it could say in two
words; and whatever follows may safely become matter of news and
narrative respecting it.
This news, and these narratives, however, still vary considerably, and
leave one in a very vacillating state of mind as to what may happen
next. One account states that Paris is immediately to be put under
martial law, and all foreigners, except those attached to the
different embassies, civilly requested to depart. Another declares all
this to be a weak invention of the enemy; but hints that it is
probable a pretty strong _cordon_ of troops will surround the city, to
keep watch day and night, lest _les jeunes gens_ of the metropolis, in
their mettlesome mood, should seek to wash out in the blood of their
fellow-citizens the stain which the illegitimate birth of the monster
has brought upon France. Others announce that a devoted body of
patriots have sworn to sacrifice a hecatomb of National Guards, to
atone for an abomination which many believe to originate with them.
Not a few declare that the trial will never take place; that the
government, audacious as they say it is, dare do no more than hold up
the effigy of the monster to frighten the people, and that a general
amnesty will end the business. In truth, it would be a tedious task to
record one half of the tales that are in circulation on this subject:
but I do assure you, that listening to the awful note of preparation
for all that is to be done at the Luxembourg is quite enough to make
one nervous, and many English families have already thought it prudent
to leave the city.
At one moment we were really worked into a state very nearly
approaching terror by the vehement eloquence of a fiery-hot republican
who paid us a visit. I ventured to lead to the terrible subject by
asking him if he thought the approaching political trials likely to
produce any result beyond their disagreeable influence on the
convenience of the parties concerned; but I really repented my
temerity when I saw the cloud which gathered on his brow as he
replied:--
"Result! What do you call result, madam? Is the burning indignation of
millions of Frenchmen a result? Are the execrations of the noble
beings enslaved, imprisoned, tortured, trampled on by tyranny, a
result? Are the groans of their wives and mothers--are the tears of
their bereaved children--a result?--Yes, yes, there will be results
enough! They are yet to come, but come they will; and when they do,
think you that the next revolution will be one of three days? Do your
countrymen think so? does Europe think so? There has been another
revolution, to which it will more resemble."
He looked rather ashamed of himself, I thought, when he had concluded
his tirade,--and well he might: but there was such a hideous tone of
prophecy in this, that I actually trembled as I listened to him, and,
all jesting apart, thoughts of passports to be signed and conveyances
to be hired were arranging themselves very seriously in my brain. But
before we went out for the evening, all these gloomy meditations were
most agreeably dispersed by a visit from a staid old doctrinaire, who
was not only a soberer politician, but one considerably more likely to
know what he was talking about than the youth who had harangued us in
the morning.
Anxious to have my fears either confirmed or removed, I hastened to
tell him, half in jest, half in earnest, that we were beginning to
think of taking an abrupt leave of Paris. "And why?" said he.
I stated very seriously my newly-awakened fears; at which he laughed
heartily, and with an air of such unfeigned amusement, that I was
cured at once.
"Whom can you have been listening to?" said he.
"I will not give up my authority," I replied with proper diplomatic
discretion; "but I will tell you exactly what a gentleman who has been
here this morning has been saying to us." And I did so precisely as I
have repeated it to you; upon which he laughed more heartily than
before, and rubbing his hands as if perfectly delighted, he exclaimed,
"Delicious! And you really have been fortunate enough to fall in with
one of these _enfans perdus_? I really wish you joy. But do not set
off immediately: listen first to another view of the case." I assured
him that this was exactly what I wished to do, and very truly declared
that he could do me no greater favour than to put me _au fait_ of the
real state of affairs.
"Willingly will I do so," said he; "and be assured I will not deceive
you." Whereupon I closed the _croisée_, that no rattling wheels might
disturb us, and prepared to listen.
"My good lady," he began with great kindness, "soyez tranquille. There
is no more danger of revolution at this time in France than there is
in Russia. Louis-Philippe is adored; the laws are respected; order is
universally established; and if there be a sentiment of discontent or
a feeling approaching to irritation among any deserving the name of
Frenchmen, it is against these miserable _vauriens_, who still cherish
the wild hope of disturbing our peace and our prosperity. But fear
nothing: trust me, the number of these is too small to make it worth
while to count them."
You will believe I heard this with sincere satisfaction; and I really
felt very grateful, both for the information, and the friendly manner
in which it was given.
"I rejoice to hear this," said I: "but may I, as a matter of
curiosity, ask you what you think about this famous trial? How do you
think it will end?"
"As all trials ought to end," he replied: "by bringing all such as are
found guilty to punishment."
"Heaven grant it!" said I; "for the sake of mankind in general, and
for that portion of it in particular which happen at the present
moment to inhabit Paris. But do you not think that the irritation
produced by these preparations at the Luxembourg is of considerable
extent and violence?"
"To whatever extent this irritation may have gone," he answered
gravely, "it is an undoubted fact,--undoubted in the quarter where
most is known about the matter,--that the feeling which approves these
preparations is not only of greater extent, but of infinitely deeper
sincerity, than that which is opposed to it. What you have heard
to-day is mere unmeaning bluster. The trial, I do assure you, is very
popular. It is for the justification and protection of the National
Guard;--and are we not all National Guards?"
"But are all the National Guards true?"
"Perhaps not. But be sure of this, that there are enough true to
_égorger_ without any difficulty those who are not."
"But is it not very probable," said I, "that the republican feeling
may be quite strong enough to produce another disturbance, though not
another revolution? And the situation of strangers would probably
become very embarrassing, should this eventually lead to any renewed
outbreakings of public enthusiasm."
"Not the least in the world, I do assure you: for, at any rate, all
the enthusiasm, as you civilly call it, would only elicit additional
proof of the stability and power of the government which we are now so
happy as to enjoy. The enthusiasm would be speedily calmed, depend
upon it."
"A peaceable traveller," said I, "can wish for no better news; and
henceforward I shall endeavour to read and to listen with a tranquil
spirit, let the prisoners or their partisans say what they may."
"You will do wisely, believe me. Rest in perfect confidence and
security, and be assured that Louis-Philippe holds all the English as
his right good friends. While this is the case, neither Windsor
Castle nor the Tower of London itself could afford you a safer abode
than Paris."
With this seasonable and very efficient encouragement, he left me; and
as I really believe him to know more about the new-born politics of
"Young France" than most people, I go on very tranquilly making
engagements, with but few misgivings lest barricades should prevent my
keeping them.