The proclamation of Louis Bonaparte as President of the Republic was
made on December 20.
The weather, which up to then had been admirable, and reminded one more
of the approach of spring than of the beginning of winter, suddenly
changed. December 20 was the first cold day of the year. Popular
superstition had it that the sun of Austerlitz was becoming clouded.
This proclamation was made in a somewhat unexpected manner. It had been
announced for Friday. It was made suddenly on Wednesday.
Towards 3 o’clock the approaches to the Assembly were occupied by
troops. A regiment of infantry was massed in rear of the Palais d’Orsay;
a regiment of dragoons was echeloned along the quay. The troopers
shivered and looked moody. The population assembled in great uneasiness,
not knowing what it all meant. For some days a Bonapartist movement had
been vaguely spoken of. The faubourgs, it was said, were to turn out and
march to the Assembly shouting: “Long live the Emperor!” The day before
the Funds had dropped 3 francs. Napoleon Bonaparte, greatly alarmed,
came to see me.
The Assembly resembled a public square. It was a number of groups rather
than a parliament. In the tribune a very useful bill for regulating the
publicity of the sessions and substituting the State Printing Office,
the former Royal Printing Office, for the printing office of the
“Moniteur,” was being discussed, but no one listened. M. Bureau de Puzy,
the questor, was speaking.
Suddenly there was a stir in the Assembly, which was being invaded by
a crowd of Deputies who entered by the door on the left. It was the
committee appointed to count the votes and was returning to announce
the result of the election to the Presidency. It was 4 o’clock, the
chandeliers were lighted, there was an immense crowd in the public
galleries, all the ministers were present. Cavaignac, calm, attired in
a black frock-coat, and not wearing any decoration, was in his place. He
kept his right hand thrust in the breast of his buttoned frock-coat, and
made no reply to M. Bastide, who now and then whispered in his ear.
M. Fayet, Bishop of Orleans, occupied a chair in front of the General.
Which prompted the Bishop of Langres, the Abbé Parisis, to remark: “That
is the place of a dog, not a bishop.”
Lamartine was absent.
The _rapporteur_ of the committee, M. Waldeck-Rousseau, read a cold
discourse that was coldly listened to. When he reached the enumeration
of the votes cast, and came to Lamartine’s total, 17,910 votes, the
Right burst into a laugh. A mean vengeance, sarcasm of the unpopular men
of yesterday for the unpopular man of to-day.
Cavaignac took leave in a few brief and dignified words, which were
applauded by the whole Assembly. He announced that the Ministry had
resigned in a body, and that he, Cavaignac, laid down the power. He
thanked the Assembly with emotion. A few Representatives wept.
Then President Marrast proclaimed “the citizen Louis Bonaparte”
President of the Republic.
A few Representatives about the bench where Louis Bonaparte sat
applauded. The remainder of the Assembly preserved a glacial silence.
They were leaving the lover for the husband.
Armand Marrast called upon the elect of the nation to take the oath of
office. There was a stir.
Louis Bonaparte, buttoned up in a black frock-coat, the decoration of
Representative of the people and the star of the Legion of Honour on his
breast, entered by the door on the right, ascended the tribune, repeated
in a calm voice the words of the oath that President Marrast dictated to
him, called upon God and men to bear witness, then read, with a foreign
accent which was displeasing, a speech that was interrupted at rare
intervals by murmurs of approval. He eulogized Cavaignac, and the eulogy
was noted and applauded.
After a few minutes he descended from the tribune, not like Cavaignac,
amid the acclamations of the Chamber, but amid an immense shout of “Long
live the Republic!” Somebody shouted “Hurrah for the Constitution!”
Before leaving Louis Bonaparte went over to his former tutor, M.
Vieillard, who was seated in the eighth section on the left, and shook
hands with him. Then the President of the Assembly invited the committee
to accompany the President of the Republic to his palace and have
rendered to him the honours due to his rank. The word caused the
Mountain to murmur. I shouted from my bench: “To his functions!”
The President of the Assembly announced that the President of the
Republic had charged M. Odilon Barrot with the formation of a Cabinet,
and that the names of the new Ministers would be announced to the
Assembly in a Message; that, in fact, a supplement to the Moniteur would
be distributed to the Representatives that very evening.
It was remarked, for everything was remarked on that day which began
a decisive phase in the history of the country, that President Marrast
called Louis Bonaparte “citizen” and Odilon Barrot “monsieur.”
Meanwhile the ushers, their chief Deponceau at their head, the officers
of the Chamber, the questors, and among them General Lebreton in
full uniform, had grouped themselves below the tribune; several
Representatives had joined them; there was a stir indicating that Louis
Bonaparte was about to leave the enclosure. A few Deputies rose. There
were shouts of “Sit down! Sit down!”
Louis Bonaparte went out. The malcontents, to manifest their
indifference, wanted to continue the debate on the Printing Office Bill.
But the Assembly was too agitated even to remain seated. It rose in
a tumult and the Chamber was soon empty. It was half past 4. The
proceedings had lasted half an hour.
As I left the Assembly, alone, and avoided as a man who had disdained
the opportunity to be a Minister, I passed in the outer hall, at the
foot of the stairs, a group in which I noticed Montalembert, and also
Changarnier in the uniform of a lieutenant-general of the National
Guard. Changarnier had just been escorting Louis Bonaparte to the
Elysee. I heard him say: “All passed off well.”
When I found myself in the Place de la Revolution, there were no longer
either troops or crowd; all had disappeared. A few passers-by came from
the Champs-Elysees. The night was dark and cold. A bitter wind blew from
the river, and at the same time a heavy storm-cloud breaking in the west
covered the horizon with silent flashes of lightning. A December wind
with August lightning--such were the omens of that day.