THE ODÉON: THE LUXEMBURG PALACE.
The Odéon--Its History--Erection of the Present Building in 1799--Marie
de Médicis and the Luxemburg Palace--The Judicial Annals of the
Luxemburg--Trials of Fieschi and Louvel--Trial of Louis Napoleon--Trial
of the Duc de Praslin.
[Illustration: RUE DE L’ANCIENNE COMÉDIE.]
[Illustration: RUE DE L’ODÉON.]
From the so-called Mountain of Sainte-Geneviève, where stands the
Panthéon, all the streets lead down to the Seine; and before following
the left bank of the river in its course through Paris, we have still
many places and points of interest to deal with in the neighbourhood of
the Panthéon and of the Luxemburg, including, indeed, the Luxemburg
itself. This side of the river, though both the Louvre and the Tuileries
stand on the right bank, is particularly rich in historical
associations; and here, until a comparatively recent period--during
which successful writers have become millionaires and men of
fashion--was to be found the literary centre of Paris. This the names of
the streets and thoroughfares proclaim. On the river bank is the Quai
Voltaire, close to the Luxemburg the Rue Corneille, and between the two
the Rue Racine and the Rue de La Harpe. In the Rue Corneille, by the
way, stands the Hôtel Corneille, beloved of students, and in a street
parallel to it, on the other side of the Odéon Theatre, the Hôtel de
l’Empereur Joseph, named after Marie Antoinette’s father, Joseph II.,
who, when he visited a foreign capital, did not accept hospitality at
the palace, but put up at some convenient hotel, that he might see the
points of interest in the city at his leisure without having them
exhibited to him. Foreign sovereigns who visit London have sometimes, in
spite of themselves, had to follow, so far as residence is concerned,
the example of the Emperor Joseph.
The Odéon, now known as the Second French Theatre, was at one time the
First. The Théâtre Français, or Comédie Française, by its more historic
title, has moved freely from one bank of the river to another. At the
accession of Henry IV. Francis’ sole company of comedians (“comedians”
being at that time a general name for actors of all kinds) established
in the Hôtel Saint-Paul what was known as the Théâtre du Marais, where
the works of Garnier, Royer, and the very earliest of French dramatists
were produced. Some years later another company of “comedians”
established a new theatre, which Corneille and Rotrou rendered
illustrious, at the Hôtel de Bourgogne. Finally, in 1658, the company
formed by Molière was allowed to give representations at the Louvre, in
the hall of the Cariatides. The success of the new company was so great
that the Duke of Orleans, brother of Louis XIV., gave them hospitality
in the Palais Royal, where were represented all Molière’s masterpieces,
and the first piece written by Racine, “La Thébaide.” As long as Molière
lived his company struggled victoriously against the Théâtre du Marais
and the comedians of the Hôtel de Bourgogne, who, nevertheless, called
themselves “the great comedians.” But in 1673 the death of the great
comic poet proved fatal to his theatre. Four of his most celebrated
actors, Baron, La Thorillière, and Monsieur and Madame Beauval, passed
over to the enemy, while, to complete the discomfiture, the remainder of
the company was expelled from the theatre in the Palais Royal, which the
king now gave to Lulli the composer. The exiles took refuge in the Rue
Mazarin, on the other side of the water, where they vegetated obscurely,
though taking with them all Molière’s plays. Finally, in 1680, by order
of Louis XIV., the two principal companies were united under the name of
Comédie Française. The combined company established itself first in the
theatre of the Palais Royal, then in the Rue Mazarin, where the Molière
company had previously been playing; then, in 1689, in the Rue des
Fossé’s Saint-Germain des Prés, which took the name, first of Rue de la
Comédie and afterwards of Rue de l’Ancienne Comédie, which it still
preserves. Here, opposite the Café Procope--throughout the eighteenth
century the first literary café in Paris--were produced the works of
Regnard and Dancourt, of Dufresny and Destouches, of Crébillon, Lesage,
Voltaire, Marivaux, Gresset, Piron, Diderot, and Sedaine. Here, too,
Beaumarchais brought out his “Barber of Seville.”
In 1772 the comedians took possession of a new theatre, built on the
site of the Hôtel de Condé, and it was in this house, now known as the
Odéon, that they represented for the first time Beaumarchais’s “Marriage
of Figaro.” The Revolution arrived, and in 1793 the Comédie Française,
like so many other suspicious institutions, was suppressed as of royal
and aristocratic origin; but only to revive a few years afterwards, in
1799, under the First Consul, who established it in the Rue Richelieu,
where it still remains. Beginning its history with the production of a
masterpiece, which in one form or other has made the tour of Europe, to
remain permanently on the European stage in the shape of an opera, the
Odéon, when the company of the Comédie Française had established itself
in the Rue Richelieu, became a theatre of all work. Here were produced
pieces which at the Comédie Française and elsewhere had been refused.
The comedies of Picard, the first dramas of Casimir, Delavigne, Ponsard,
Émile Augier, were brought out at the Odéon, which also served for the
first performances of “François le Champi” and the “Marquis de
Villemer,” of George Sand. During the Revolution the Odéon was
successively called Théâtre de l’Égalité and Théâtre de la Nation. It
owes to the First Republic, with its passion for everything Greek,
Roman, and quasi-Republican, its name of Odéon. Twice it has been burnt
down--the fate of all theatres; and once under very tragic
circumstances. An unfortunate dramatist had been for years striving to
get a piece produced. At last his work was accepted by the management of
the Odéon. He had suffered, however, so much from disappointment that he
could scarcely believe in the good fortune which seemed now to have come
to him. In vain his wife endeavoured to raise his spirits. He had fallen
into a fit of depression, and this on the very day fixed for the
representation of his piece. Something, he remarked to his wife, always
occurred at the last moment to prevent his success. “But it is assured
now,” she replied. “Nothing can stand in your way at present--unless,
indeed, between now and this evening the theatre should be burnt down.”
At that moment a cry of “fire” was heard in the street--in the Rue
Corneille where the dramatist and his wife lived. They rushed to the
window and saw that the theatre was in flames.
The Odéon faces a large open square or “place” of the same name, and its
back is just opposite the principal gate of the Luxemburg Gardens. To
the right of the entrance to the gardens stands the palace; one of the
two, both magnificent, for which Paris is indebted to two women, both
members of the same family; Catherine de Médicis, who built the
Tuileries, and Marie de Médicis, who built the Luxemburg. Catherine,
however, only began the Tuileries, whereas Marie de Médicis completed
the Luxemburg within a few years from its commencement.
[Illustration: ODÉON THEATRE.]
She in the first place acquired the mansion or “hôtel” of
Piney-Luxemburg, whose last name was to remain attached to the new
edifice. She then purchased a quantity of land, which was converted into
gardens--the Luxemburg Gardens, as they were naturally to be called. The
architect of the Queen’s palace was Jacques de Brosse, otherwise
“Salomon” de Brosse, who worked with so much diligence at the task
confided to him that, beginning the building in 1615, he had finished it
by 1620, when it was at once inhabited. To the rapidity with which it
was constructed the palace owes, no doubt, its rare homogeneity of
style, so sadly wanting in most public buildings, the construction of
which has sometimes occupied centuries. Its architectural pre-eminence
might have been disputed upwards of twenty years ago; but since the
burning of the Tuileries by the Communards the Luxemburg must beyond
question be considered the finest palace in the French capital. Jacques
de Brosse has been suspected of reproducing in the Luxemburg Palace the
characteristic features of some of the Florentine palaces, and
particularly that of the Pitti Palace, to flatter Marie de Médicis. It
is only necessary to have visited Florence to be convinced that de
Brosse did nothing of the kind. Although this architect, like others,
had doubtless studied classic and mediæval architecture, it should be
admitted that to his greatest work he has given a particularly French
stamp. Marie de Médicis left to her second son, Gaston, Duke of Orleans,
her magnificent palace with the grounds belonging to it. The famous
Mlle. Montpensier next inherited it, from whom it passed to her sister,
Elizabeth of Orleans. Then the whole property went back to the crown,
but only for a short time. At the death of Louis XIV. the Orleans family
became once more possessors of the Luxemburg. But as though this palace
was destined to remain in the hands of women, the regent made it over to
his too notorious daughter, the Duchess of Berry. At the time of the
Revolution the Luxemburg was seized by the Republican Government, and
under the Reign of Terror was turned into a state prison. Here
Beauharnais and his wife (the future Empress Josephine), Camille
Desmoulins, Danton, and thousands of others less celebrated, were
confined while waiting to be brought before the terrible tribunal. The
storm had scarcely passed when the first regular Government which had
been established since the taking of the Bastille, the Directory, took
possession of it.
The Luxemburg was now once more a palace, and seemed about to regain its
former splendour. To this period of its history belongs a memorable
event--the triumphal reception of the young conqueror of Italy. The
ceremony took place in the courtyard of the palace, and is said to have
been of a most imposing character. But the _coup d’état_ of the 18th
Brumaire was approaching, and that same Bonaparte was about to upset
the Government which had received him with such enthusiastic
acclamations. Now, in place of the Directory, the Consulate installed
itself in the palace of Marie de Médicis. Finally, in 1861, the
Luxemburg was made over to the new Napoleonic Senate; and under the
name, now of Senate, now of Chamber of Peers, it was destined to be
occupied permanently by the members of the upper house.
[Illustration: THE LUXEMBURG PALACE FROM THE TERRACE.]
[Illustration: THE LUXEMBURG PALACE: THE GARDEN FAÇADE.]
The judicial annals of the Luxemburg, in connection with the numerous
occasions on which the Chamber of Peers performed the functions of a
court of justice, are full of interest. Of the trial of Marshal Ney we
have already spoken. It was followed some years afterwards by that of
Louvel, the assassin of the Duke of Berry. Then, immediately after the
revolution of 1830, came the impeachment of Charles X.’s ministers, and,
in the middle of Louis Philippe’s reign, the trial of Prince Louis
Napoleon, after his landing at Boulogne and before his imprisonment at
Ham. Among other prosecutions under the reign of Louis Philippe of which
the Luxemburg was the scene may be mentioned those of the Duc de
Praslin, and of Fieschi and the seven or eight other regicides who
attempted the life of the fearless “citizen king.” It was certainly no
want of personal courage that made Louis Philippe disappear in a
hackney-cab, when, by facing the insurrection of 1848, he might
according to the best military authorities, so easily have crushed it.
Giuseppe Fieschi, who heard his doom pronounced at the Luxemburg, was
one of the most remarkable regicides of whom history has preserved a
record. His crime is distinguished from that of other attempts on the
lives of kings by the fact that he was actuated neither by personal
revenge nor conscientious motive. Most regicides obey some deep
political conviction or some suggestion of religious fanaticism. Viewed
in this light, they are the mere instruments of an idea. Fieschi,
however, was a unique exception to the rule. Political conviction he had
none. He was neither a Legitimist nor a Republican. He had been a spy,
and would have become once more a police-agent had the police required
his aid. To the philosophical and legal student Fieschi must indeed
remain a problem. A rapid glance thrown over his life and over the
debates which took place in the Chamber of Peers will show this man
always to have been greedy for notoriety; and in this insane longing to
draw public attention to himself may perhaps, if anywhere, be found the
motive of his crime.
[Illustration: THE SENATE CHAMBER.]
Nevertheless, he had several accomplices, who cannot be supposed to have
been actuated by a love of notoriety. In the midst of the general horror
caused by Fieschi’s murderous, and in the case of many members of the
king’s suite fatal attempt, the Legitimist journals taunted the
Republicans with the crime, who, in their turn, cast the responsibility
upon the Legitimists. Louis Philippe had been duly warned by the police
that some conspiracy was being prepared against him. He was to proceed
on the 28th of July, 1835, to a review, accompanied by a numerous staff.
Endeavours had been made, if he insisted on going to the review, to
induce him to take another route. He refused, however, to make any
change in his arrangements, and as he was passing along the lower
boulevard, close to the Jardin Turc, a battery, formed of twenty-four
musket-barrels--afterwards to be known as the “infernal
machine”--discharged upon the king and his staff a hail of bullets. The
Duc de Trévise (Marshal Mortier), General de Vérigny, and several other
officers fell mortally wounded; and inside a house from whose window the
bullets had been fired was arrested Fieschi, the chief of the assassins.
It was found impossible to connect the crime with the action of any
political party, though at the trial suspicion was indirectly cast upon
the Revolutionists, whose hopes had been so bitterly disappointed by the
proclamation of a constitutional king instead of the establishment of a
republic. That many of the attempts made upon the life of Louis Philippe
were due to this party--who could not forget that they had driven away
Charles X. only to replace him by Louis Philippe--is indisputable. But
the trial of Fieschi (the details of whose crime have been already
related) brought to light in connection with the case no political
circumstances of any kind. Against the theory generally accepted by
French historians, that Fieschi, in preparing his diabolical outrage,
was moved only by love of notoriety, must be placed the fact that he did
not possess enough money to construct the “infernal machine” without
assistance, and that he was supplied with funds by several workmen, who
cannot themselves be supposed to have been burdened by any superfluity
of cash, and who, in their turn, must have been supplied from some
quarter destined to remain unknown. It was not until a month afterwards
that, through his avowals, some of Fieschi’s accomplices were
discovered; and it was not till the February of the following year that
the trial before the Chamber of Peers was brought to an end. After
eleven appearances before the court on eleven different occasions,
Fieschi and two of the direct participators in his crime were condemned
to death.
In the course of the evidence abundant particulars were furnished as to
the life led by Fieschi since his earliest days. He had served in the
Neapolitan army under Murat, whom, after the general collapse of the
Napoleonic system, he seems to have betrayed to the Austrians. He had
been imprisoned for various offences, and when at liberty had acted, in
Italy and in France, as informer and spy. He had at last succeeded in
obtaining a very small post under the Administration as keeper of some
kind of mill; and as he was dismissed from this appointment only a few
months before his attempt on the life of the king (a warrant being at
the same time issued for his arrest), it is barely possible that in
preparing his crime he was moved by some idea of personal vengeance
acting upon a disordered brain.
Endeavours were made to obtain a commutation of the capital sentence on
behalf of Fieschi’s accomplices; to which the Duke of Orleans, Louis
Philippe’s eldest son, replied: “If I myself, or any member of the
king’s family, had been struck, it might have been possible to grant the
commutation demanded; but no relation of any of the victims has
suggested it.” Fieschi and two of his accomplices were accordingly
executed, without either of them saying the least word as to the origin
of the foul conspiracy. Nineteen persons had been killed or mortally
wounded by the explosion of the infernal machine, and twenty-three
wounded seriously.
The prosecution of Louvel, another of the political prisoners arraigned
at the Luxemburg, (to go back some years) began before his victim, the
Duke of Berry, was dead; and in the very opera-house at whose doors,
just as he was stepping into his carriage, the unfortunate man had been
stabbed. In the manager’s private apartments the unhappy prince lay
stretched on a bed, hastily arranged and already soaked with blood,
surrounded by his nearest relatives. The poignant anguish of his wife
was from time to time relieved by some faint ray of hope, destined soon
to be dispelled. In a neighbouring room the assassin was being
interrogated by the ministers Decazes and Pasquier, with the bloody
dagger on the table before them; while on the stage the ballet of “Don
Quixote” was being performed in presence of an enthusiastic public. In
the course of the night King Louis XVIII. arrived; and his nephew
expired in his arms at half-past six the next morning, begging that his
murderer might be forgiven. The same day (Feb. 14th, 1820) the Chamber
of Peers was, by special order of the king, constituted as a court of
justice to try Louvel.
Meanwhile the assassin had, according to custom, been confronted with
the body of his victim, and in the presence of the corpse was subjected
to a full interrogatory.
In the body you see before you, do you recognise, he was asked, the
wound made by your hand?
_A._ Yes.
_Q._ In the name of a prince who, until the last moment, supplicated the
king in favour of his assassin, I call upon you to name your
accomplices, and those who suggested to you the horrible project of
assassination.
_A._ There are none to name.
_Q._ Who induced you to commit this crime?
_A._ I wished to give an example to the great personages of my country.
_Q._ Was the arm you employed poisoned?
_A._ No; I neither poisoned it nor caused it to be poisoned.
The next ceremony was the opening of the body, which was performed by
MM. Dupuytren, Bourgon, and Roux. The doctors in a formal report
described the wound, and certified that the lesions caused by it had
“without doubt” produced the prince’s death. To leave nothing in a state
of uncertainty--not even what was strikingly obvious--they examined the
dagger which had been “represented as having served for the commission
of the crime,” and introduced it into the wound; after which they
certified that the latter corresponded in dimensions and form with the
former.
[Illustration: ENTRANCE COURT, LUXEMBURG PALACE.]
The post-mortem examination and the report on the condition of the body
having been finished, the clothes of the murdered prince were at the
request of his wife given to her. They consisted of a green tail-coat, a
yellow waistcoat, a pair of grey trousers, a shirt, and a flannel vest;
the coat, waistcoat and trousers composing a costume which was doubtless
fashionable at the time, but which in the present day would look
somewhat grotesque.
Louvel was kept 114 days in prison, while minute inquiries were being
made in every direction with the view of discovering his supposed
accomplices. But, like Damiens and Ravaillac, he had acted alone, and in
pursuance of a fixed idea which tormented him until he struck the fatal
blow. He was kept in solitary confinement, and during the greater part
of the time in a strait-waistcoat. During his imprisonment he spoke much
and with all the agents who were put to guard him; and he was guarded
day and night. He displayed remarkable vanity, being quite proud of
sleeping at the Luxemburg while the trial lasted, and of being able to
date his letters from the Luxemburg Palace. He was much preoccupied with
the effect that this would produce. He continued to attribute his crime
to a fixed idea which had never quitted him for six years, and which at
last destroyed him. “I know I have committed a crime,” he said; “but in
fifty years it will, perhaps, be regarded as a virtuous action.”
The trial of the prisoner was begun on the 5th of June and concluded on
the following day, Towards the end of the proceedings the president of
the court, in the name of God and of Heaven, adjured Louvel, since he
was to succumb to human justice, not to draw upon himself “the eternal
punishment to which execrable men are condemned by refusing to declare
the instigators and accomplices of the crimes they have committed.”
Louvel, rising hurriedly from his seat, exclaimed in a strong, steady
voice: “No; I am alone.”
[Illustration: GRAND AVENUE, LUXEMBURG GARDENS.]
Asked if he had anything to say why sentence should not be passed, he
spoke as follows:--
“If I have this day to blush for a national crime which I alone have
committed, I have the consolation of believing in my last moments that I
have not dishonoured the nation. I have not dishonoured my family. You
must see in me nothing but a Frenchman resolved to sacrifice himself in
order to destroy, according to his mind, the greatest enemies of his
country. You accuse me of being guilty of having attacked the life of a
prince. Yes, I am guilty of that crime; but some of the men who compose
the Government are in their present position because they also have
mistaken crimes for virtues.”
[Illustration: SCULPTURE GALLERY, LUXEMBURG PALACE.]
There was not and could not be any substantial defence to the charge of
assassination; and after a long trial, in which every conceivable
question, connected or unconnected with the case, was put to the
prisoner, and after an imprisonment of some four months, he was at last
condemned to death. He bore the announcement of the sentence with
equanimity, and on the morning of the execution seemed only anxious to
know whether the crowd assembled to witness his death would be enough to
give national importance to the incident.
* * * * *
Twenty years later the Chamber of Peers was again to be convoked--this
time under Louis Philippe--in order to judge Prince Louis Napoleon, who
had invaded France to assert Napoleonic principles and his own personal
right to the French throne. Only a few years previously Prince Louis
Napoleon had made a like attempt at Strasburg, when, though a certain
measure of support had been secured beforehand from the officers in the
Strasburg garrison, he was arrested, and dismissed with no further
punishment than an engagement on his part never again to set foot in
France.
After the failure at Strasburg Prince Louis Napoleon went for a time to
Switzerland, whence he made his way to England, where, as princes
usually are, he was well received. A friend of Count d’Orsay, he was a
frequent visitor at Lady Blessington’s. What was more important, he
maintained friendly relations with Lord Palmerston, who, according to
some good authorities, looked from the first with favour upon Prince
Napoleon’s project of gaining supreme power in France. Louis Blanc, in
his “History of Ten Years” (from 1830 to 1840), declares that before
starting on his expedition to Boulogne, the prince received a secret
visit from Lord Palmerston; and in the Russian “Diplomatic Study on the
Crimean War” it is set forth that during Prince Louis Napoleon’s stay in
London, Lord Palmerston laid with him the basis of the understanding by
which some dozen years afterwards France and England formed a compact
against Russia. The tardy speculations of these prophets of the past
must be taken for what they are worth. Prince Louis Napoleon formed, in
any case, a plan for invading France, and, followed by the troops who at
every step were to join him, marching towards Paris, there to be
received with acclamations by an enthusiastic population, eager for the
restoration of the Napoleonic dynasty and the Napoleonic mode of
government. For Prince Napoleon appealed to democrats as well as
imperialists. He was to give with the one hand universal suffrage and
with the other military government.
[Illustration: SALLE DES FÊTES, LUXEMBURG PALACE.]
No one makes an invasion without reconnoitring beforehand the country to
be invaded; and Prince Louis Napoleon’s emissaries had already
ascertained that at Boulogne, at Calais, at Saint-Omer, and at the great
military centre of Lille, there were officers ready to cast in their lot
with his. According to Louis Blanc, Prince Louis Napoleon’s intention
was, after securing the adhesion of the Boulogne garrison, to march upon
Calais, whence he was to make his way to Saint-Omer. But the
better-informed Count Orsi, who took part in the expedition, and was one
of the prince’s most trusted friends, tells us, in a valuable little
volume devoted to the subject, that the plan of campaign was to march
from Boulogne straight to Saint-Omer. The point to be reached after
Saint-Omer was in any case Lille; and if the garrison of Lille had once
been secured, the prince’s enterprise would have been far, indeed, from
hopeless.
To return once more to Louis Blanc--that brilliant, sensational, but by
no means accurate historian. Prince Louis Napoleon was, according to
his account, encouraged in his hazardous project by Lord Palmerston; not
because that statesman believed in its success, but because he knew that
it must inconvenience and possibly injure Louis Philippe, whose policy
he detested. Louis Blanc also holds, in connection with the Boulogne
expedition, that the French embassy in London was kept well informed as
to the progress of the enterprise, but did not interfere because,
anticipating with confidence a complete failure, it looked upon this
fiasco as destined to have a strengthening effect on the existing
Government, certain at once to suppress it. However all this may have
been, Louis Napoleon’s friends engaged for him, in the month of July,
1840, a steamer named the _Edinburgh Castle_. On the 4th of August the
arms, ammunition, and baggage were taken on board at Gravesend, where
the vessel remained for some little time. Here it was that the famous
eagle, which has become the subject of a ridiculous legend, was brought
on board. An officer of the party who had gone on shore happened to meet
with a youth who was offering an eagle for sale. Struck by the
appropriateness of the bird, he determined, more in a jocular than in a
superstitious spirit, to purchase it and place the expedition under its
auspices. It was afterwards pretended that the eagle had been trained in
London to fly round the head of Prince Louis Napoleon; this gyration,
according to Louis Blanc, being caused by the bird’s knowledge that a
piece of bacon was secreted beneath the rim of his master’s hat.
Louis Blanc, in his “Histoire de Dix Ans,” gives a long account of the
Boulogne expedition, which is in the main correct. Several inaccuracies,
however, have crept into his narrative, so often one-sided; and the only
authentic account of this invasion on a small scale that has been
written by a participator in the events is the one published for the
first time some dozen years ago by Count Orsi. In asking the count to
join him in the expedition, Prince Napoleon declared that if he ever
succeeded in placing himself on the throne of France, which, sooner or
later, he was convinced he should do, one of his first cares would be to
free Italy from the domination of Austria, and unite the different
Italian states into one independent kingdom. Apart, however, from this
assurance. Count Orsi was quite prepared to throw in his lot with that
of the Prince. He it was who secured the _Edinburgh Castle_ for the
expedition, and who, before the day of starting, obtained for the prince
a loan of twenty thousand pounds. The steamer left London with about
sixty of Napoleon’s adherents on board, and anxious inquiries were made
as to its destination before it had got farther than Gravesend.
“I want to know,” said the custom-house officer who came alongside in a
boat, “what you are doing here in the middle of the river.”
“We are waiting for a party of friends, who should have arrived by this
time.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Hamburg.”
“Have you goods on board?”
“None; the steamer is chartered for a pleasure-trip.”
“How many people have you on board?”
“I have several private gentlemen, and I expect two more from London. I
have three more to take up at Ramsgate.”
Here it is that the incident of the tame eagle comes in. Colonel Parquin
had gone on shore to buy some cigars, when, on his way back from the
tobacconist’s, he saw a boy seated on a log of wood feeding an eagle
with shreds of meat. The eagle had a chain fastened to one of its claws,
with which it was secured. The colonel asked whether the bird was for
sale, and it was ultimately purchased for a pound. Conveyed on board,
the eagle was fastened to the mainmast, and from that moment was never
taken notice of until it was discovered and seized by the authorities at
Boulogne. The eagle was for many years afterwards on view at the
Boulogne slaughter-house, where there were abundant opportunities of
supplying it with raw meat. The unhappy bird was destined, however, from
first to last, to be made the subject of fables. Even Count Orsi’s
account of its adventures at Boulogne is in some particulars incorrect.
He had been informed that after the capture of Prince Napoleon and his
followers the eagle was taken to the museum, whence, he says, it fled
away next morning, owing to some carelessness on the part of the men who
had it in charge. It was, as a matter of fact, however, taken to the
_abattoir_, where the present writer remembers seeing it some half-dozen
years after Prince Napoleon’s landing.
After vainly waiting at Gravesend for some hours after the time at which
the prince was due, Count Orsi took a post-chaise and hastened to
Ramsgate, where General Montholon, Colonel Voisin, and Colonel Laborde
had been sent on by the prince in anticipation of his arrival. Colonel
Voisin was the only one of the three who understood the real purport of
the expedition. The count reached Ramsgate late on the night of the 4th
of August, and put up at the hotel where the prince’s friends were
staying. With Colonel Voisin, after General Montholon and Colonel
Laborde had gone to bed, Orsi had a secret conference. Voisin was in the
greatest state of concern at the delay in the prince’s arrival, because
the whole success of the expedition depended on his reaching Boulogne
early next morning. “Colonel Voisin,” we are assured, “was in utter
despair at the non-appearance of the steamer, and almost out of his
mind.” He declared to Orsi that the expedition would be a disastrous
failure unless the _Edinburgh Castle_ were at Boulogne by four o’clock
the next morning. The only man, he said, whom the prince had to dread
was Lieutenant-Colonel Puygellier, commanding the battalion at
Boulogne--a man unflinching in the discharge of his duty and a staunch
Republican, whom nothing could tempt to join an Imperial pretender. Orsi
replied to the distracted Voisin that the hour of the ship’s arrival at
Boulogne could not make much difference, since the hostility of
Puygellier must at one time or another be faced. “You are mistaken,”
said the colonel. “Puygellier will not be at Boulogne all day to-morrow.
The prince has purposely fixed the 5th for presenting himself before the
battalion, because he knows that Puygellier has been invited to a
shooting-party at some distance from Boulogne, and in all probability
not be back until late at night. If we miss being there to-morrow we are
doomed to perish.”
[Illustration: THE CENTRAL FOUNTAIN, LUXEMBURG GARDENS.]
It was one o’clock in the morning. Colonel Voisin, in a state of
feverish agitation, threw the window open to get a breath of the
sea-breeze, and walked up and down the room. The night was bright and
calm. Leaning against the window-sill, Orsi perceived to the left, at
some distance, a black column of smoke slowly elongating itself along
the surface of the water, and fancied he heard the regular beat of
paddle-wheels. For some little time he did not mention the circumstance
to the colonel, lest he should be disappointed and the steamer should
prove to be merely one of the many boats trading with Calais, Hamburg,
and various Continental seaports. Ere long, however, the steamer reached
the shore, and presently there was a hurried ring at the bell of the
hotel. Thélin, one of the prince’s party, announced that Napoleon had
arrived. Orsi was ordered to go on board at once with Voisin, Montholon,
and Laborde. Thélin, hurrying to the room of the two last-named, made
them get out of bed, dress, and follow him downstairs. As they were
going out General Montholon drew Orsi aside and whispered: “I now
understand; the prince has planned a _coup-de-tête_.” In a few minutes
the party were on board the _Edinburgh Castle_. Not a soul was on deck.
The prince had assembled his followers in the cabin, and was on the
point of addressing them when Orsi and his friends joined the company.
The address of the prince roused everyone to the highest pitch of
enthusiasm--though the expression of this enthusiasm was restrained by
Napoleon himself, who feared that the attention of the captain and crew
might be attracted by the noise.
On the conclusion of the address the cabin was, at the prince’s request,
cleared of everyone but General Montholon, the colonels Voisin,
Montauban, Laborde, Count Persigny, Forestier, Ornano, Viscount de
Querelles, Galvani, D’Hunin, Faure, and Orsi himself, who were summoned
by their leader to deliberate in council as to the programme now to be
followed.
[Illustration: FAÇADE OF THE ANCIENT CHAPEL OF THE DAUGHTERS OF CALVARY,
LUXEMBURG.]
The four hundred men of the 42nd line regiment, forming the garrison of
Boulogne, were ready to proclaim the prince, and all preparations had
been made in the town for a popular rising to succeed the military
demonstration. But, inasmuch as it was now too late to reach Boulogne
on the appointed day, the expedition was one of grave hazard and
difficulty. There was no use in landing at or near Boulogne until the
6th, as nothing could be attempted in broad daylight.
The prince requested each member of his improvised council to give his
opinion as to what course should be pursued in the emergency. Out of
twelve three of his advisers begged him to go back to London. The rest
were for landing at Boulogne, and making a dash towards the barracks in
order to secure the adhesion of the garrison at all hazards.
[Illustration: LISTENING TO THE BAND IN THE LUXEMBURG GARDENS.]
The prince asked Count Orsi what would occur if they went back to
London. “It is difficult to say,” was the reply; “though if the British
Government took a bad view of the matter we should most likely be
arrested and tried for misdemeanour.” What, moreover, was to be done
with the arms, the uniforms, the printed proclamations and other
revolutionary documents, which the Custom-house officers would find when
the steamer got back to London Bridge? “We steer between two great
dangers,” said Orsi to the prince. “By returning to London we become the
laughing-stock of everybody; and ridicule kills. If we cross the Channel
we run the risk of being shot or imprisoned for a longer or shorter
period. Of the two I prefer the latter. As regards yourself, nothing
would be more disastrous to your future prospects than being shown up to
the public as a man who, at the eleventh hour, had been acted upon by
considerations of a purely personal character. Let us save, at least,
our honour, if we are doomed to lose everything else.”
Napoleon, who had been showing his approval of these words by constantly
nodding at the count as he spoke, now rose and said: “Gentlemen, a show
of hands from those who wish to be left behind and to return to London.”
There was a dead silence, and then the prince, eyeing each of his
auditors in succession as though he would read their inmost souls,
exclaimed: “Gentlemen, a show of hands from those who are ready to
follow me and share my fate.”
These words produced an indescribable outburst of enthusiasm, mingled
with expressions of the most touching devotion. All sprang from their
seats. For a few moments the prince was too much overpowered with
emotion to vent his gratitude in words. Then he said: “Friends, I thank
you for the alacrity and high spirit with which you have responded to my
call. I never doubted your willingness to aid me in my projects, but the
devotion you have just displayed has lent a new vigour to my mind and
has bound my heart to you with a sense of deep, of eternal gratitude.
Let us bear together the consequences of this enterprise, whatever they
may be, with the calmness befitting men who act on conviction. Our cause
is that of the country at large. Sooner or later success will be ours. I
feel it. I have faith in my destiny. I look forward to the future as
confidently as I expect the sun to rise this morning to dispel the
darkness. We shall have obstacles to grapple with and obloquy to face;
but the hour will come, and we shall not have long to wait for it.”
It was now nearly three o’clock on the morning of the 5th. The moment
had arrived for a prompt decision as to the wisest method of proceeding.
It was arranged that Forestier, the cousin of Count Persigny, should go
at once to Boulogne, for the purpose of informing Lieutenant Aladenize
of what had happened, and to prepare everything, as far as possible, for
the following day. A boat, manned by two men, was with difficulty hired:
Forestier stepped into it, and, crossing the Channel, reached Boulogne
at eleven that same morning.
The next question was whether the prince’s party should remain at
Ramsgate till night or tack about at sea until the hour arrived for the
descent on Boulogne. The latter course was decided on, as the French
police had already been dogging the prince’s steps very closely in
London, and there was every chance of the vessel anchored off Ramsgate
being inconveniently watched.
At 5.0 a.m. Count Orsi ordered the captain to put to sea, and the
_Edinburgh Castle_ was thenceforward kept well away from the land and
from observation. Throughout the 5th of August she was steered hither
and thither, simply to pass the time unperceived. Towards three o’clock
on the morning of the 6th arms and uniforms were distributed to the
prince’s adherents. Then the lights were extinguished. No light, even at
the mast, was allowed, and absolute silence was maintained. It was three
o’clock when the vessel stood off Wimereux, a little village near
Boulogne. The landing began at once, but as there was only one boat on
board the process was slow. The first boatful consisted of Viscount de
Querelles and eight men. As they approached the shore a couple of
coast-guardsmen shouted to them, “Qui vive?” Querelles replied: “A
detachment of the 42nd from Dunkirk to join the battalion at Boulogne.
Through an accident to the engine the steamer cannot get further.” As
the invaders were clothed and armed exactly like the French garrison,
the coast-guardsmen at once believed them. Next time the boat brought
Colonel Voisin and nine men on shore. Then the Prince, General
Montholon, Count Persigny, and a few others landed. At five o’clock the
whole party were within fifty yards of the barracks. At the sight of
this armed force the sentinel shouted, “Who goes there?” and “To arms!”
One of the prince’s men, who had been in the army, was sent ahead with
the watchword--which he well knew. On his pronouncing it, the gate of
the barracks was thrown open, and the prince, followed by his
supporters, entered the yard.
The soldiers composing the garrison were just getting out of bed. Those
few who were already downstairs soon learnt who the visitors were, and
rushed up to tell their comrades that the prince, whose name was so
familiar to them, waited at their threshold. The soldiers were seized
with enthusiasm. Some of them, looking out of the windows, cried “Vive
le Prince!” Others hurried downstairs in their shirt-sleeves. Within
half an hour every soldier was under arms and formed in battalion. The
prince’s men stood facing it. Between the companies Napoleon and his
friends took up their position.
The address which the prince now delivered to the garrison had an
electrical effect, and the men were wild with enthusiasm; but just as
the whole battalion, under the Pretender’s orders, were about to quit
the barracks in order to excite the inhabitants to rally round the
Imperial standard, a first check was experienced. A garrison officer,
not in the secret of the conspiracy, had rushed to Lieutenant-Colonel
Puygellier’s house to inform him of what was happening at the barracks.
Instantly the officer put on his uniform, and, rushing to the spot,
forced his way past one of the prince’s sentinels, and dashing through
the crowd at the barrack-gates, got within sight of his battalion, and
waved his sword to them. Seeing the danger their chief was in--one of
the Imperial party had injudiciously pointed a revolver at his head--the
soldiers who, a few minutes before, had shouted “Vive le Prince!” now
cried, “Vive notre Colonel!”
The tide of feeling, however, quickly turned again in favour of the
prince, and Colonel Puygellier, now absolutely powerless, would have
been shot had not one of his officers rushed forward and shielded him
with his own body.
Quitting the barrack-yard, the prince, at the head of his friends and
adherents, now endeavoured to enter the old town. They found the gate
closed, nor did their united efforts suffice to unhinge it.
The enterprise had failed. The chiefs of the popular movement, who were
to second the military rising, having inferred from the non-arrival of
the prince on the morning of the 5th that something had occurred, either
in London or at sea, to put the French authorities on the scent, had
decamped from the town. Forestier, who reached Boulogne towards noon on
the 5th, with the news that the prince would land next morning, had
arrived too late.
Nothing now remained but to endeavour to save the prince. He himself
wished to die--to be shot or cut down by his enemies; but the friends
who were with him fairly dragged him down to the sea-shore in the hope
of getting him safely on board the _Edinburgh Castle_. This vessel lay
some distance out at sea, and the signals made to her to approach the
land were unanswered, as though she had already been seized by the
authorities.
On the sand, however, a small boat was found. “The prince,” says Orsi,
“was still offering the greatest resistance. Time was precious. The
ridges of the cliffs were already covered with gendarmes, followed by
the National Guard. The soldiers of the 42nd regiment had been shut up
in barracks. The work of pursuing us was left to the National Guard and
to the gendarmes. The former behaved like savages. Firing soon began
from the height of the hill, and gradually increased. We could hear the
whistling of the bullets, but not one of us had yet been hit.”
The prince at last got into the boat with Colonel Voisin, Count
Persigny, and Galvani, whilst Orsi and another rushed into the waves to
push the little craft into deep water. Then the National Guard opened a
brisker fire. Galvani and Voisin were wounded, the former in the right
hip, while the latter had the elbow of his left arm entirely shattered.
The boat had now in the confusion got capsized, and the prince and his
friends disappeared under her. As she lay keel upwards there was a
terrible discharge of musketry, which cut open the bottom of the boat
and fractured the keel into matchwood. Had not the prince and his
friends been at that instant immersed, they must have perished.
For some time the prince and Count Persigny remained under water, and
Count Orsi began to apprehend that they might be drowning, when both
appeared at a good distance from the shore swimming towards the
_Edinburgh Castle_. The National Guard now pointed all their muskets at
the prince, but by some miraculous accident failed to hit him. At last,
just as he was reaching the steamer--which was already in the hands of
the Boulogne authorities--a boat, with several officials on board coming
out of the harbour, cut off his retreat, and both he and his
fellow-swimmer Persigny found themselves prisoners. They were taken to
the Vieux-Château, where all the Imperialists were confined who could
anywhere be discovered.
The few days which followed the seizure of the _Edinburgh Castle_ and
the arrest of the prince’s party were employed by the Boulogne judicial
authorities in examining the English captain--by name Crow--and his crew
as to what they had seen, known, or imagined to be the object of the
expedition, and as to the particular part played by each person on
board.
One morning the prisoners were all, with the exception of the prince,
brought together in a room, where Captain Crow and his first mate were
requested to look at every one of them, and see if they could
distinguish the man who had given orders for the steamer to anchor off
Wimereux. Both pointed to Count Orsi.
As soon as the preliminary judicial formalities had been gone through at
Boulogne the prince was conveyed to Paris, to be arraigned with his
associates before the Court of Peers on a charge of having engaged in an
expedition whose object was to overthrow the existing Government. At
length, two months later, the day of the trial arrived.
The prince was defended by the eloquent advocate M. Berryer, assisted
by M. Marie. On being called upon himself to speak he claimed the whole
responsibility of the enterprise, and concluded with these magnanimous
words:--
“I repeat that I had no accomplices. Alone I formed my plan. Not a soul
knew beforehand what were my projects, my resources, or my hopes. If I
am guilty towards anyone it is towards my friends alone. Yet let them
not accuse me of lightly abusing such courage and devotion as theirs.
They will understand the motives of honour and of prudence which forbade
my revealing to them how wide and powerful were the reasons on which my
hope of success was founded.
[Illustration: THE MARIE DE MÉDICIS GROTTO AND FOUNTAIN.]
“One last word, gentlemen. I represent before you a principle, a cause,
and a defeat. The principle is the sovereignty of the people; the cause
is the empire; the defeat is Waterloo. The principle you have
recognised; the cause you have served; the defeat you wish to avenge.
Yes, you and myself are of one mind, and my sole aspiration now is to
bear the full penalty of the defection of others.
“Representative as I am of a political cause, I cannot accept as judge
of my desires and my actions a political tribunal. Your forms impose on
no one. You are the victorious party. I have no justice to expect from
you, and I wish nothing from your generosity.”
The sentence on Prince Louis Napoleon was imprisonment for life, that on
Count Orsi imprisonment for five years; while the other conspirators
were condemned to punishments which varied according to the nature of
the part they had played in the disastrous expedition.
[Illustration: BACK OF THE MARIE DE MÉDICIS FOUNTAIN.]
The case of the Duc de Praslin--tried, like that of Louis Napoleon, at
the Luxemburg--was very painful and very dramatic. The duke was a
member of the Choiseul family, whose name he bore in addition to his
own. Under Louis Philippe he was attached to the household of the
Duchess of Orleans, and in 1845, having previously been a deputy, was
raised to the peerage. In 1824 he had married the daughter of Marshal
Sebastiani, and that marriage, for seventeen years, seemed a happy one.
Many children were born of the union; and it was not until 1841 that any
sign of disagreement manifested itself between the husband and the wife.
The jealousy of the latter was then roused; not, it was afterwards said,
for the first time. A young lady named Henriette Deluzy-Desportes had
just been engaged as governess. She was lively, graceful, and
moderately pretty, and soon gained such an ascendency over her pupils as
well as over the duke as to cause the duchess the greatest uneasiness.
To make matters worse, the duchess was advised by her husband not to
trouble herself any more about the education of her children, which was
now, he said, in excellent hands. At last, after suffering the deepest
vexation (of which she gave a touching account in her private diary,
found after her death), she resolved to apply for a separation. Then, to
avoid all scandal, the old marshal made representations to his
son-in-law, while two other persons addressed remonstrances to Mlle.
Deluzy. An arrangement was entered into by which the duchess agreed to
abandon the lawsuit while Mlle. Deluzy was to leave the house. The
marshal agreed to pay her an annuity of 1,500 francs, which was
guaranteed by the duchess. The arrangement was made in the month of
June, 1847; and on the 18th of July following Mlle. Deluzy left the
Hôtel Sebastiani in the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, where the Praslin
family had taken up their residence. The duchess had gained the victory.
But she was by no means satisfied with the position of things, and felt
that she was still menaced by an approaching danger. Her husband, it
appeared, had uttered some dark threats. “He will never forgive me,” she
wrote in her diary. “The future terrifies me. I cannot think of it
without trembling.” The day the governess left the Paris house the whole
Praslin family started for the duke’s country place at Vaux-Praslin.
They were not to return to Paris until the 17th of August. Meanwhile the
duke made three journeys to Paris, remaining there each time for two or
three days; and he never failed to pay a visit to Mlle. Deluzy, who had
gone to live with a schoolmistress in the Rue Harlay. The valet who
accompanied the duke on all these journeys remarked on one occasion that
the governess saw the duke back to the railway station, and on wishing
him good-bye burst into tears.
[Illustration: THE FREMIEL-CARPEAUX FOUNTAIN, LUXEMBURG GARDENS.]
On the 17th of August the Praslin family returned to Paris, intending to
go on to Dieppe for the sea-bathing. The duke at once drove to the
school where Mlle. Deluzy was staying. She wished, it seemed, to be
engaged in this school as teacher; but before signing the engagement the
schoolmistress thought it necessary to have from the Duchess de Praslin
a letter recommending Mlle. Deluzy, and at the same time denying the
truth of certain reports which had got abroad respecting her conduct
while governess in the ducal family.
The duke promised to get the required letter from his wife, and it was
arranged that Mlle. Deluzy should call on the afternoon of the following
day at the Hôtel Sebastiani, in order, in the first place, to express
her regret to the duchess, and afterwards to ask for the letter, which,
according to the duke, Mme. de Praslin would be sure, under the
circumstances, to give. It was already late in the evening, and when, at
eleven o’clock, the duke got home, the duchess was in bed. After wishing
his daughter good-night the duke went to his room, which, like his
wife’s, was on the ground floor, the two communicating with one another
by a corridor. The house was dark, except in the duchess’s room, where
she was accustomed to keep a lamp burning all night.
At half-past four in the morning shrieks were heard; and at the same
time the duchess’s bell rang violently. The duke’s valet and the
duchess’s maid were awakened by the noise. They got up, dressed
hurriedly, and were soon outside their mistress’s room, which, contrary
to custom, they found bolted. Shrieks, groans, and other sounds, as of
blows, were still heard. Then someone seemed to be rushing across the
bedroom, interrupted here and there, as if by an obstacle. The two
servants tried to get through another door communicating with the
drawing-room, but this also was fastened.
They cried out “Madam!” “Madam!” but received no answer. Nothing was to
be heard but gasps and groans. They hurried into the garden; but the
windows, both of the duchess’s bedroom and of her boudoir, were closed,
as they generally were. At one point, however, they found open the door
of a staircase leading to the antechamber which separated the duke’s
apartment from that of the duchess. The servants entered. It was quite
dark; but on lighting a lamp they found the duchess lying on the ground,
her head resting on a settee, with nothing on but a chemise, and bathed
in blood. In a few moments the alarm was given throughout the house. The
duke came out of his room. He wore a grey dressing-gown. There was a
wild expression in his eyes, and, striking his hands against the wall
and against his own head, he kept repeating, “What is it?” “What is it?”
Then, casting his eyes upon his wife, he uttered cries of despair. The
duchess was still living; but soon breathed her last without being able
to utter one word. In a short time two commissaries of police arrived,
who proceeded to a preliminary examination. The body was examined by
three doctors, when five wounds were discovered at the back of the head
and neck, and eight on the forehead and breast. The jugular vein and the
carotid artery had both been cut, and blood was still flowing from these
wounds. There were wounds, too, on both hands, evidently caused by the
edge of a sharp instrument at which the unhappy victim had clutched. The
face was marked with scratches round the mouth, indicating a struggle in
which the duke had attempted to stifle his wife’s cries. This struggle
had evidently been of the most violent kind. All the furniture had been
upset. Both the bed and the carpet were covered with blood; and the door
leading to the drawing-room was, all round the lock and the bolts,
marked by bloodstained fingers.
Who were the assassins? Traces of blood were found in the corridor
leading from the apartment of the duchess to that of the duke. A loaded
pistol, too, was picked up in the duchess’s room, with spots of blood on
the barrel, and with hairs, evidently those of the victim, sticking to
it. The duke, when questioned on the subject, said that he had himself
brought the pistol into the bedroom on hearing the duchess’s first
cries, and that the traces of blood might have been produced by him
after he had raised the body of his wife and was going back to his own
room.
Towards eight o’clock the prefect of police, the procureur-general, the
procureur of the king, and the examining judge of the district appeared.
General Sebastiani, brother of the marshal and uncle of the murdered
woman, also arrived, and turned faint at the sight before him. The
duke’s valet hurried to his master’s bedroom for a glass of water, and
found the place in strange disorder. The mantelpiece was covered with
fragments of papers just burned, and on a table in the middle of the
room was a bottle containing water. The valet was about to pour out a
glass when the duke stopped him, and going to the window, poured the
contents of the bottle into the garden, saying that the water was dirty.
All the servants were called in, when the valet observed that it would
be well to make a search in the duke’s own room. In the pockets of his
dressing-gown were found various objects stained with blood, the remains
of papers, burnt, and of a handkerchief, partly consumed. The
dressing-gown had in various places been recently washed. It was only
now that the law officers seemed to suspect the duke. After
interrogating M. de Praslin, whose explanations were clumsy and
incomplete, they again visited his room, where they found a knife with
blood-stains on the handle, a dagger, a yataghan, and a hunting-knife.
His hands were examined, and several scratches found upon them. On his
right arm was a recent bruise, such as might be produced by the violent
impress of a finger; on his right hand a wound, which apparently had
been produced by a bite; on the first finger of this hand another wound
of the same kind; on the left hand several scratches, apparently made by
human nails; on the left leg a deep contusion. At the same time no sign
of robbery or of housebreaking could anywhere be seen.
[Illustration: THE LUXEMBURG MUSEUM.]
Doubt was no longer possible. The Duc de Praslin was the assassin of his
wife. As regards the moral evidence, it appeared that for a long time
past there had been a grave misunderstanding between the duke and the
duchess, and that there had been intimate relations between the duke and
Mlle. Deluzy. The governess was arrested and interrogated, when she
denied absolutely that there had been any relations of an improper
character between herself and the duke. Her answers, however, threw
light on the terrible drama that had been enacted in the Praslin family.
M. de Praslin, she said, had entrusted her exclusively with the
education of his children, and this confidence on his part wounded the
duchess both as a wife and as a mother. She threatened to apply to the
court for a separation, and, according to Mlle. Deluzy, the perpetual
menaces of the wife exasperated the husband to such a point that he at
length lost all self-control. In spite of her explanations, Mlle. Deluzy
was placed in solitary confinement under the accusation of being the
duke’s accomplice. It was proved that she had kept up a correspondence
with him since leaving the house, and that he had been to see her on the
evening before the night on which the crime was committed.
As regarded the duke, the law officers held that his privilege as a peer
exempted him from arrest, though he had been taken as nearly as possible
_in flagrante delicto_. It was thought sufficient to have him watched in
his own house, under the surveillance of police agents; and as King
Louis Philippe was at Eu, a special messenger was sent to him, begging
him to convoke the Chamber of Peers as a high court of justice.
[Illustration: THE HÔTEL DE SENS.]
But already a change had taken place in the condition of the Duc de
Praslin, who was suddenly attacked with fits of vomiting, followed by an
ardent thirst and complete prostration. The doctors thought at first
that he was suffering from cholera, but they afterwards believed that he
had taken poison. Meanwhile the order convoking the Court of Peers
reached Paris on the 20th of August. The President, Duke Pasquier, at
once issued a warrant against M. de Praslin; but it was not thought
advisable to execute it forthwith. The Duc de Praslin’s house was now
surrounded by angry crowds; and of so deadly a character was the rage
manifested against him that it was not until three days afterwards, at
five in the morning, that the authorities considered it safe to remove
him to the prison attached to the Luxemburg Palace.
Just as he was leaving his house the police found upon him a little
flask containing a mixture of laudanum and arsenical acid, of which he
had drunk half. Notwithstanding his enfeebled condition, President
Pasquier, assisted by a commission of six members of the Court of Peers,
subjected him to an interrogatory. Neither a positive confession nor a
formal denial could be obtained from him. His physical condition,
meanwhile, became worse and worse. On the second day he was delirious,
and on the third he expired. The analysis made by Orfila and Ambroise
Tardieu showed the presence in the stomach of a great quantity of
arsenic.
[Illustration: THE MINERALOGICAL MUSEUM.]
A few days afterwards the Court of Peers met in secret conclave, when it
received from the chancellor and president a report of the examination
through which the accused had passed. The whole tendency of the report
was to establish the guilt of the accused. “This presumption,” concluded
Duke Pasquier, “was, unhappily, only too well founded. The prisoner has
pronounced judgment and condemnation on himself. He succumbed seven days
and a half after the moment when, with atrocious barbarity, he immolated
the most innocent, the most pure, the most interesting of victims. This
interval, however, was sufficient to enable the ordinary judges,
pursuing their inquiry on the part of the Chamber of Peers, to bring
completely to light the guilt of the accused, and the horrible
circumstances which, from day to day, have made it still more clear.”
The death of the criminal brought the labours of the court to an end.
“But yet,” said the president, as he concluded his communication of the
report, “it was to be desired that the reparation should have been as
complete as was the crime itself. In such an affair as this the
principle of equality before the law should have been proclaimed more
forcibly than ever.”
The body of the Duc de Praslin was buried secretly at night on the 26th
of August, in the southern cemetery, his grave not being marked even by
a cross.
Mlle. Deluzy was taken before a police magistrate, when, on a proof of
alibi, the case was dismissed, and she was set at liberty.
This terrible affair had beyond doubt a political effect, from the
conviction with which it inspired the French people generally that there
existed in France one law for the poor and another for the rich. The
Court of Peers did its duty, and, in its desire to show how fully it
recognised the principle of equality before the law, it communicated
every document connected with the trial to the public press. But the
duke, in spite of the crushing evidence against him, had been allowed to
remain in his own house, when an ordinary criminal would have been at
once taken to prison. No ordinary criminal, again, would have been in a
position to obtain poison. The circumstances, moreover, under which the
duke had been buried were suspicious; and many believed that he did not
die at all of the poison--so slow in its action--but that he was enabled
to cross the Channel and reach England, where, at the moment of his
death being publicly announced in the Chamber of Peers, he was quietly
living.
So much for the remarkable trials of which the Luxemburg has been the
scene.
When, in 1848, the Republic was for the second time established in
France, the Chamber of Peers was abolished; and in the spring of the
great revolutionary year the members of the commission for the
organisation of labour, wearing their blouses, seated themselves on the
softly-cushioned benches of what had been formerly known as _la chambre
haute_. It was on the recommendation of this commission that “national
workshops” were opened, in order to satisfy the claims of the
unemployed, who loudly asserted their “right to labour”; and it was on
the closing of the national workshops, whose cost the Government was at
last unable to meet, that the formidable insurrection of June, 1848,
broke out. With the re-establishment of the Senate, under the Second
Empire, the Luxemburg Palace became once more its place of meeting.
Let us now take a glance at the gardens in which the palace stands. With
the parks and gardens of London they will scarcely bear comparison;
though a French descriptive writer declares that they combine, with the
ordinary attractions of the garden, the beauty of the park and even, in
certain solitary corners, the wildness of the forest.
The Luxemburg Gardens are, in any case, adorned by two beautiful
fountains. They are enlivened, too, every afternoon by the music of a
military band; and they enclose at one end a most interesting museum,
the Musée de Minéralogie, forming part of the National School of Mines.
The admirable picture gallery in the Luxemburg Palace is occupied by the
works of living masters alone. It is not until an artist is dead that
his paintings are held worthy of being transported to that national
Walhalla of pictorial heroes, the Louvre.