Gradual disappearance of the Cholera.--Death of M. Casimir Perier.--His
Funeral.--Funeral of General Lamarque.--Magnificent Military
Escort.--The Duc de Fitzjames.--An Alarm.--First symptoms of popular
Revolt.--Scene on the Pont Royal.--Charge on the people by a body of
cavalry.--The _Sommations_.--General Lafayette and _the Bonnet
Rouge_.--Popular Prejudices in France. England, and America.--Contest in
the Quartier Montmartre.--The Place Louis XVI.--A frightened
Sentinel.--Picturesque Bivouac of troops in the Carousel.--Critical
situation.--Night-view from the Pont des Arts.--Appearance of the
Streets on the following morning.--England an enemy to Liberty.--Affair
at the Porte St. Denis.--Procession of Louis-Philippe through the
streets.--Contest in the St. Mary.--Sudden Panic.--Terror of a national
Guard and a young Conscript.--Dinner with a Courtier.--Suppression of
the Revolt.
Dear ----,
Events have thickened since my last letter. The cholera gradually
disappeared, until it ceased to be the subject of conversation. As soon
as the deaths diminished to two or three hundred a day, most people
became easy; and when they got below a hundred, the disease might be
said to be forgotten. But though the malady virtually disappeared, the
public was constantly reminded of its passage by the deaths of those
who, by force of extraordinary care, had been lingering under its fatal
influence. M. Casimir Perier was of the number, and his death has been
seized on as a good occasion to pass a public judgment on the measures
of the government of the _juste milieu_, of which he has been popularly
supposed to be the inventor, as well as the chief promoter. This
opinion, I believe, however, to be erroneous. The system of the _juste
milieu_ means little more than to profess one thing and to do another;
it is a stupendous fraud, and sooner or later will be so viewed and
appropriately rewarded. It is a profession of liberty, with a secret
intention to return to a government of force, availing itself of such
means as offer, of which the most obvious, at present, are the
stagnation of trade and the pressing necessities of all who depend on
industry, in a country that is taxed nearly beyond endurance. Neither M.
Perier, nor any other man, is the prime mover of such a system; for it
depends on the Father of Lies, who usually employs the most willing
agents he can discover. The inventor of the policy, _sub Diabolo_, is
now in London. M. Perier had the merits of decision, courage, and
business talents; and, so far from being the founder of the present
system, he had a natural frankness, the usual concomitant of courage,
that, under other circumstances, I think, would have indisposed him to
its deceptions. But he was a manufacturer, and his spinning-jennies were
very closely connected with his political faith. Another state of the
market would, most probably, have brought him again into the liberal
ranks.
The funeral obsequies of M. Perier having been loudly announced as a
test of public opinion, I walked out, the morning they took place, to
view the pomp. It amounted to little more than the effect which the
patronage of the ministry can at any time produce. There was a display
of troops and of the _employés_ of the government, but little apparent
sympathy on the part of the mass of the population. As the deceased was
a man of many good qualities, this indifference was rather studied,
proceeding from the discipline and collision of party politics. As an
attempt to prove that the _juste milieu_ met with popular approbations I
think the experiment was a failure.
Very different was the result, in a similar attempt made by the
opposition, at the funeral of General Lamarque. This distinguished
officer fell also a victim to the cholera, and his interment took place
on the 4th of June. The journals of the opposition had called upon its
adherents to appear on this occasion, in order to convince the King and
his ministers that they were pursuing a dangerous course, and one in
which they were not sustained by the sentiment of the nation. The
preparations wore a very different appearance from those made on the
previous occasion. Then everything clearly emanated from authority; now,
the government was visible in little besides its arrangements to
maintain its own ascendency. The military rank of the deceased entitled
him to a military escort, and this was freely accorded to his friends;
perhaps the more freely, from the fact that it sanctioned the presence
of so many more bayonets than were believed to be at the command of the
ministers. It was said there were twenty thousand of the National Guards
present in uniform, wearing, however, only their side-arms. This number
may have been exaggerated, but there certainly were a great many. The
whole procession, including the troops, has been estimated at a hundred
thousand men. The route was by the Boulevards to the Jardin des Plantes,
where the body was to be delivered to the family of the deceased, in
order to be transported to the South of France for interment. Having
other engagements, I merely viewed the preparations, and the
commencement of the ceremonies, when I returned to our own quiet quarter
of the town to pursue my own quiet occupations.
The day passed quietly enough with us, for the Faubourg St. Germain has
so many large hotels, and so few shops, that crowds are never common;
and, on this occasion, all the floating population appeared to have
completely deserted us, to follow the procession of poor Lamarque. I do
not remember to have alluded to the change produced in this particular,
by the cholera, in the streets of Paris. It is supposed that at least
ten thousand of those who have no other abodes, except the holes into
which they crept at night, were swept out of them by this fell disease.
About five o'clock, I had occasion to go to the Rue de Rivoli, and I
found the streets and the garden with much fewer people in them than was
usual at that hour. There I heard a rumour that a slight disturbance had
taken place on the Boulevard des Italiens, in consequence of a refusal
of the Duc de Fitzjames, a leading Carlist, to take off his hat to the
body of Lamarque, as he stood at a balcony. I had often met M. de
Fitzjames in society, and, although a decided friend of the old regime,
I knew his tone of feeling and manners to be too good, to credit a tale
so idle. By a singular coincidence, the only time I had met with General
Lamarque in private was at a little dinner given by Madame de M----, at
which Monsieur de Fitzjames was also a guest. We were but five or six at
table, and nothing could be more amicable, or in better taste, than the
spirit of conciliation and moderation that prevailed between men so
widely separated by opinion. This was not long before Gen. Lamarque was
attacked by his final disease, and as there appeared to me to be
improbability in the rumour of the affair of the Boulevards, I quite
rightly set it down as one of the exaggerations that daily besiege our
ears. It being near six, I consequently returned home to dinner,
supposing that the day would end as so many had ended before.
We were at table, or it was about half-past six o'clock, when the drum
beat the _rappel_. At one period, scarcely a day passed that we did not
hear this summons; indeed, so frequent did it become, that I make little
doubt the government resorted to it as an expedient to strengthen
itself, by disgusting the National Guards with the frequency of the
calls; but of late, the regular weekly parades excepted, we had heard
nothing of it. A few minutes later, François, who had been sent to the
_porte-cochère_, returned with the intelligence that a soldier of the
National Guard had just passed it, bleeding at a wound in the head. On
receiving this information, I left the hotel and proceeded towards the
river. In the Rue du Bac, the great thoroughfare of the faubourg, I
found a few men, and most of the women, at their shop-doors, and
_portes-cochères_, but no one could say what was going on in the more
distant quarters of the town. There were a few people on the quays and
bridges, and, here and there, a solitary National Guard was going to his
place of rendezvous. I walked rapidly through the garden, which, at that
hour, was nearly empty, as a matter of course, and passing under the
arch of the palace, crossed the court and the Carrousel to la Rue de
Richelieu. A profound calm reigned in and about the chateau; the
sentinels and loungers of the Guards seeming as tranquil as usual. There
was no appearance of any coming and going with intelligence, and I
inferred that the royal family was either at St. Cloud, or at Neuilly.
Very few people were in the Place, or in the streets; but those who
were, paused occasionally, looking about them with curiosity, and almost
uniformly in a bewildered and inquiring manner.
I had reached the colonnade of the Théâtre Français, when a strong party
of _gendarmes à cheval_ went scouring up the street, at a full gallop.
Their passage was so swift and sudden, that I cannot say in which
direction they came, or whither they went, with the exception that they
took the road to the Boulevards. A _gendarme à pied_ was the only person
near me, and I asked him, if he could explain the reason of the
movement. "_Je n'en sais rien_," in the _brusque_ manner that the French
soldiers are a little apt to assume, when it suits their humours, was
all the reply I got.
I walked leisurely into the galleries of the Palais Royal, which I had
never before seen so empty. There was but a single individual in the
garden, and he was crossing it swiftly, in the direction of the theatre.
A head was, now and then, thrust out of a shop-door, but I never before
witnessed such a calm in this place, which is usually alive with people.
Passing part of the way through one of the glazed galleries, I was
started by a general clatter that sprung up all around me in every
direction, and which extended itself entirely around the whole of the
long galleries. The interruption to the previous profound quiet, was as
sudden as the report of a gun, and it became general, as it were, in an
instant. I can liken the effect, after allowing for the difference in
the noises, to that of letting fly sheets, tacks, and halyards, on board
a vessel of war, in a squall, and to a sudden call to shorten sail. The
place was immediately filled with men, women, and children, and the
clatter proceeded from the window-shutters that were going up all over
the vast edifice, at the same moment. In less than five minutes there
was not a shop-window exposed.
Still there was no apparent approach of danger. The drums had almost
ceased beating, and as I reached the Carrousel, on my way back to the
Rue St. Dominique, I saw nothing in the streets to justify all this
alarm, which was either the result of a panic, or was calculated for
political effect; artifice acting on apprehension. A few people were
beginning to collect on the bridges and quays, and there was evidently a
greater movement towards the Pont Neuf, than in the lower parts of the
town. As I crossed the Pont Royal, a brigade of light artillery came up
the quays from the Ecole Militaire, the horses on the jump, and the men
seated on the carriages, or mounted, as belongs to this arm. The noise
and hurry of their passage was very exciting, and it gave an impulse to
the shopkeepers of the Rue du Bac, most of whom now began to close their
windows. The guns whirled across the bridge, and dashed into the
Carrousel, on a gallop, by the _guichet_ of the Louvre.
Continuing down the Rue du Bac, the street was full of people, chiefly
females, who were anxiously looking towards the bridge. One _garçon_, as
he aided his master in closing the shop-window, was edifying him with
anathemas against "_ces messieurs les républicains_," who were believed
to be at the bottom of the disturbance, and for whom he evidently
thought that the artillery augured badly. The next day he would be ready
to shout _vive la république_ under a new impulse; but, at present, it
is "_vive le commerce_!"
On reaching the hotel, I gave my account of what was going on, pacified
the apprehensions that had naturally been awakened, and sallied forth a
second time, to watch the course of events.
By this time some forty or fifty National Guards were collected on the
quay, by the Pont Royal, a point where there ought to have been several
hundreds. This was a sinister omen for the government, nor was the
appearance of the crowd much more favourable. Tens of thousands now
lined the quays, and loaded the bridges; nor were these people rabble,
or _sans culottes_, but decent citizens, most of whom observed a grave,
and, as I thought, a portentous silence. I make no manner of doubt that
had a thousand determined men appeared among them at that moment, headed
by a few leaders of known character, the government of Louis-Philippe
would have dissolved like melting snow. Neither the National Guard, the
army, nor the people were with it. Every one evidently waited the issue
of events, without manifesting much concern for the fate of the present
regime. Indeed it is not easy to imagine greater apathy, or indifference
to the result, than was nearly everywhere visible. A few shopkeepers
alone seemed troubled.
On the Pont Royal a little crowd was collected around one or two men of
the labouring classes, who were discussing the causes of the
disturbance. First questioning a respectable-looking by-stander as to
the rumours, I mingled with the throng, in order to get an idea of the
manner in which the _people_ regarded the matter. It would seem that a
collision had taken place between the troops and a portion of the
citizens, and that a charge had been made by a body of cavalry on some
of the latter, without having observed the formalities required by the
law. Some of the people had raised the cry "_aux arms_;" several _corps
de garde_ had been disarmed, and many thousands were rallying in defence
of their liberties. In short everything wore the appearance of the
commencement of another revolution. The point discussed by the crowd,
was the right of the dragoons to charge a body of citizens without
reading the riot act, or making what the French call, the
"_sommations_." I was struck with the plain common sense of one or two
of the speakers, who were of the class of artisans, and who uttered more
good reason, and displayed more right feeling, in the five minutes I
listened, than one is apt to meet with, on the same subjects, in a year,
in the salons of Paris. I was the more struck by this circumstance, in
consequence of the manner in which the same topic had been broached,
quite lately, in the Chamber of Deputies.
In one of the recent affairs in the east of France, the troops had fired
on a crowd, without the previous _sommations_, in consequence, as was
alleged, of some stones being hurled from the crowd against themselves.
Every one, who has the smallest knowledge of a government of laws,
understands its action in an affair of this sort. Ten thousand people
are in a street, in their own right, and half a dozen of them commit an
outrage. Military force becomes necessary, but before it is applied
certain forms are required, to notify the citizen that his ordinary
rights are suspended, in the interests of public order, and to warn him
to go away. This is a provision that the commonest intellect can
understand; and yet some of the leading administration men, _lawyers
too_, maintained that soldiers had the rights of other men, and if
stones were hurled at them from a crowd, they were perfectly justifiable
in using their arms against that crowd! It is only necessary, you will
perceive, to employ an agent, or two, to cast a few stones from a crowd,
to place every collection of citizens at the mercy of an armed force, on
this doctrine. A soldier has the right of a citizen to defend himself
beyond dispute, against the man who assails him; but a citizen who is
assailed from a crowd has no right to discharge a pistol into that
crowd, by way of defending himself. But this is of a piece with most of
the logic of the friends of exclusion. Their cause is bad, and their
reasoning is necessarily bad also.
From the Pont Royal I proceeded to the Pont Neuf, where the collection
of people was still more numerous, every eye being fastened on the quays
in the direction of the Place de la Bastille, near which the disturbance
had commenced. Nothing, however, was visible, though, once or twice, we
heard a scattering fire of musketry. I waited here an hour, but nothing
farther was heard, and, according to promise, I returned to the hotel,
to repeat the little I had seen and gathered. In passing, I observed
that the number of National Guards at the Pont Royal had increased to
about a hundred.
After quieting the apprehensions of my family, I proceeded to quiet
those of a lady of my acquaintance, who was nearly alone in her
lodgings. I found her filled with apprehensions, and firmly believing
that the present government was to be overturned. Among other things,
she told me that the populace had drawn General Lafayette, in triumph,
to his own house, and that, previously to the commencement of the
conflict, he had been presented with a _bonnet rouge_, which he had put
upon his head. The _bonnet rouge_, you will understand, with all
Frenchmen is a symbol of extreme Jacobinism, and of the reign of terror.
I laughed at her fears, and endeavoured to convince her that the idle
tale about General Lafayette could not be true. So far from wishing to
rule by terror, it was his misfortune not to resort to the measures of
caution that were absolutely necessary to maintain his own legal
ascendancy, whenever he got into power. He was an enthusiast for
liberty, and acted on the principle that others were as well disposed
and as honest as himself. But to all this she turned a deaf ear, for,
though an amiable and a sensible woman, she had been educated in the
prejudices of a caste, being the daughter and sister of peers of France.
I found the tale about General Lafayette quite rife, on going again
into the streets. The disposition to give credit to vulgar reports of
this nature, is not confined to those whose condition in life naturally
dispose them to believe the worst of all above them, for the
vulgar-minded form a class more numerous than one might be induced to
think, on glancing a look around him. Liberality and generosity of
feeling is the surest test of a gentleman; but, in addition to those of
training and of a favourable association, except in very peculiar cases,
they are apt to require some strong natural advantages, to help out the
tendencies of breeding and education. Every one who has seen much of the
world, must have remarked the disposition, on the part of those who have
not had the same opportunities, to cavil at opinions and usages that
they cannot understand, merely because they do not come within the
circle of their own every-day and familiar usages. Our own country
abounds with these rustic critics; and I can remember the time when
there was a species of moral impropriety attached to practices that did
not enter into every man's habits. It was almost deemed immoral to
breakfast or dine at an hour later than one's neighbour. Now, just this
sort of feeling, one quite as vulgar, and much more malignant, prevails
in Europe against those who may see fit to entertain more liberal
notions in politics than others of their class. In England, I have
already told you, the system is so factitious, and has been so artfully
constructed, by blending church and state, that it must be an uncommonly
clever man who, in politics, can act vigorously on the golden rule of
Christ, that of doing "unto others, as you would have others do unto
you," and escape the imputation of infidelity! A desire to advance the
interests of his fellow-creatures, by raising them in the social scale,
is almost certain to cause a man to be set down as destitute of morals
and honesty. By imputations of this nature, the efforts and influence of
some of the best men England has ever produced, have been nearly
neutralized, and there is scarcely a distinguished liberal in the
kingdom, at this moment, whom even the well-meaning of the
church-and-state party do not regard with a secret distrust of his
intentions and character. In the practice of imitation this feeling has
even extended (though in a mitigated form) to America, a country in
which, were the truth felt and understood, a man could not possibly
fulfil all the obligations of education and superior training, without
being of the party of the people. Many gentlemen in America, beyond
dispute, are not of the popular side, but I am of opinion that they make
a fundamental mistake as _gentlemen_. They have permitted the vulgar
feelings generated by contracted associations and the insignificant
evils of a neighbourhood, to still within them the high feelings and
generous tendencies that only truly belong to the caste.
In France, the English feeling, modified by circumstances, is very
apparent, although it is not quite so much the fashion to lay stress on
mere morality. The struggle of selfishness and interests is less veiled
and mystified in France than on the other side of the Channel. But the
selfish principle, if anything, is more active; and few struggle hard
for others, without being suspected of base motives.
By looking back at the publications of the time, you will learn the
manner in which Washington was vituperated by his enemies, at the
commencement of the revolution. Graydon, in his "Memoirs of a Life spent
in Pennsylvania," mentions a discourse he held with a young English
officer, who evidently was well disposed, and wished to know the truth.
This gentleman had been taught to believe Washington an adventurer, who
had squandered the property of a young widow whom he had married, by
gambling and dissipation, and who was now ready to embark in any
desperate enterprise to redeem his fortune! This, then, was probably the
honest opinion the British army, in 1776, entertained of the man, whom
subsequent events have shown to have been uniformly actuated by the
noblest sentiments, and who, instead of being the adventurer
represented, is known to have put in jeopardy a large estate, through
disinterested devotion to the country, and the prevailing predominant
trait of whose character was an inflexible integrity of purpose. Now,
Lafayette is obnoxious to a great deal of similar vulgar feeling,
without being permitted, by circumstances, to render the purity of his
motives as manifest, as was the better fortune of his great model,
Washington. The unhandsome and abrupt manner in which he was dismissed
from the command of the National Guards, though probably a
peace-offering to the allies, was also intended to rob him of the credit
of a voluntary resignation.[9]--But, all this time, we are losing sight
of what is passing in the streets of Paris.
[Footnote 9: General Lafayette took the republican professions of the
King too literally, at first, and he did not always observe the
_ménagement_, perhaps, that one seated on a throne, even though it be a
popular one, is apt to expect. In 1830 he told the writer the King had,
that morning, said, that some about him called the General a "maire du
palais." On being asked if the King appeared to entertain the same
notion, his answer was, "Well, he professes not to do so; but then I
think he has _tant soit peu_ of the same feeling." This was ticklish
ground to stand on with a sovereign, and, perhaps, a case without a
parallel in France, since the days of Hugues Capet. A few weeks later,
General Lafayette related another conversation held with Louis-Philippe,
on the subject of his own unceremonious dismissal from office. "You
shall be named _honorary_ Commander-in-chief of the National Guards, for
life," said the King. "Sire, how would you like to be an honorary king?"
It is quite apparent that such a friendship could not last for ever.]
Troops of the line began to appear in large bodies as the evening
closed, and the reports now came so direct as to leave no doubt that
there was a sharp contest going on in the more narrow streets of the
Quartier Montmartre. All this time the feelings of the crowd on the
bridges and quays appeared to be singularly calm. There was little or no
interest manifested in favour of either side, and, indeed, it would not
be easy to say what the side opposed to the government was. The Carlists
looked distrustful, the republicans bold, and the _juste milieu_
alarmed.
I went back to the hotel to make my report, again, about nine, and then
proceeded by the quay and the Pont Louis XVI. to the Carrousel. By the
way, I believe I have forgotten to say, in any of my letters, that in
crossing the Place Louis XVI, with a French friend, a month or two
since, he informed me he had lately conversed with Count--, who had
witnessed the execution of Louis XVI, and that he was told there was a
general error prevalent as regarded the spot where the guillotine was
erected on that occasion. According to this account, which it is
difficult to believe is not correct, it was placed on the side of the
Place near the spot where the carriages for Versailles usually stand,
and just within the _borgnes_ that line the road that here diverges
towards the quay. While correcting popular errors of this sort, I will
add that M. Guillotine, the inventor of that instrument that bears his
name, is, I believe, still living; the story of his having been executed
on his own machine, being pure poetry.
Passing by the Rue de Rivoli, I went to see an English lady of our
acquaintance, who resided in this quarter of the town. I found her
alone, uneasy, and firmly persuaded that another revolution had
commenced. She was an aristocrat by position, and though reasonably
liberal, anxious to maintain the present order of things, like all the
liberal aristocrats, who believe it to be the last stand against popular
sway. She has also friends and connexions about the person of the King,
and probably considered their fortunes as, in some measure, involved in
those of the court. We condoled with each other, as a matter of course;
she, because there was a revolution, and I, because the want of faith,
and the stupendous frauds, practised under the present system, rendered
it necessary.
It was near eleven o'clock before I quitted this part of the town. The
streets were nearly deserted, a patrol occasionally passing; but the
strangers were few, scarcely any having yet returned after their flight
from the cholera. The gates of the garden were closed, and I found
sentinels at the _guichets_ of the Carrousel, who prevented my return by
the usual route. Unwilling to make the _détour_ by the way I had come, I
proceeded by the Rue de Rivoli. As I was walking quite near to the
palace, in order to avoid some mud, I came suddenly on a _Garde
National_ who was placed behind a sentry-box _en faction_. I cannot
describe to you the furious scream with which this man cried "_Allez au
large_." If he took me for a body of bloody-minded republicans, rushing
forward to disarm him, I certainly thought he was some wild beast. The
man was evidently frightened, and just in a condition to take every bush
for an enemy. It is true the other party was rather actively employed in
disarming the different guards, but this fellow was within a hundred
feet of the Etat Major, and in no sort of danger. Notwithstanding the
presented bayonet, I am not quite certain he would not have dropped his
arms had I lifted my walking-stick, though one runs more hazard from a
robber, or a sentinel, who is frightened, than from one who is cool.
There was, however, no blood shed.
Finding the Carrousel closed to me, I passed into the Rue St. Honoré,
which was also pretty well garnished with troops. A few truculent youths
were shouting a short distance ahead of me, but, on the appearance of a
patrol, they ran off. At length I got as far as the Rue du Coq St.
Honoré, and seeing no one in the street, I turned short round its
corner, thinking to get into the court of the Louvre, and to the other
side of the river by the Pont des Arts. Instead of effecting this clever
movement, I ran plump on a body of troops, who were drawn up directly
across the street, in a triple line. This was a good position, for the
men were quite protected from a fire, up or down the great thoroughfare,
while by wheeling on either flank they were ready to act, in a moment,
in either direction.
My reception was not flattering, but the officer in command was too
cool, to mistake a solitary individual for a band of rebels, and I was
suffered to continue up the Rue St. Honoré. I got into the rear of this
guard by turning through the next opening. The court of the Louvre was
unguarded and empty, and passing through it, I got a glimpse of a
picturesque bivouac of troops in the Carrousel. Seeing no obstruction, I
went in that direction, and penetrated to the very rear of a squadron of
cuirassiers, who were dismounted, forming the outer line of the whole
body. There may have been three or four thousand men of all arms
assembled in this spot, chiefly, if not all, regular troops. I stayed
among them unobserved, or at least, unmolested, near half an hour,
watching the effect of the different groups, by the light of the camp
fires. Strong patrols, principally cavalry, went and came constantly,
and scarcely five minutes passed without the arrival and departure of
mounted expresses, the head-quarters of the National Guards being in the
palace.
It was drawing towards midnight, and I bethought me of the uneasiness of
those I had left in the Rue St. Dominique. I was retiring by the upper
_guichet_, the only one unguarded, and had nearly reached it, when a
loud shout was heard on the quay. This sounded like service, and it was
so considered by the troops, for the order "_aux armes_" was given in a
moment. The cuirassiers mounted, wheeled into platoons, and trotted
briskly towards the enemy with singular expedition. Unluckily, they
directed their advance to the very _guichet_ which I was also
approaching. The idea of being caught between two fires, and that in a
quarrel which did not concern me, was not agreeable. The state of things
called for decision, and knowing the condition of affairs in the
Carrousel, I preferred siding with _the juste milieu_, for once in my
life.
The cuirassiers were too much in a hurry to get through the _guichet_,
which was a defile, and too steady to cut me down in passing; and, first
giving them a few minutes to take the edge off the affair, if there was
to be any fighting, I followed them to the quay.
This alarm was real, I understood next day; but the revolters made their
retreat by the Pont des Arts, which is impracticable for cavalry,
attacking and carrying a _corps de garde_, in the Quartier St. Jacques.
The cuirassiers were trotting briskly towards the Pont Neuf, in order to
get at them, when I came out on the quay, and, profiting by the
occasion, I got across the river, by the Pont des Arts.
It was strange to find myself alone on this bridge at midnight, in the
heart of a great capital, at a moment when its streets were filled with
troops, while contending factions were struggling for the mastery, and
perhaps the fate of not only France, but of all Europe, was hanging on
the issue! Excited by these reflections, I paused to contemplate the
scene.
I have often told you how picturesque and beautiful Paris appears viewed
from her bridges. The finest position is that of the Pont Royal; but the
Pont des Arts, at night, perhaps affords even more striking glimpses of
those ancient, tall, angular buildings along the river, that, but for
their forms and windows, would resemble low rocky cliffs. In the centre
of this mass of dwellings, among its damp and narrow streets, into which
the sun rarely penetrates, lay bodies of men, sleeping on their arms, or
merely waiting for the dawn, to decide the fate of the country. It was
carrying one back to the time of the "League" and the "Fronde," and I
involuntarily cast my eyes to that balconied window in the Louvre, where
Charles IX. is said to have stood when he fired upon the flying
Protestants. The brooding calm that reigned around was both
characteristic and strange. Here was an empire in jeopardy, and yet the
population had quietly withdrawn into their own abodes, awaiting the
issue with as much apparent tranquillity, as if the morrow was to be
like another day. Use, and a want of sympathy between the governed and
their governors, had begotten this indifference.
When I reached the Quai Voltaire, not a man was visible, except a
picket on the Pont Royal. Not knowing but some follower of the House of
Orleans, more loyal than usual, might choose to detain me, because I
came from America, I passed down one of the first streets, entering the
Rue du Bac, at some distance from the bridge. I met but half a dozen
people between the quays and the Hotel de ----, and all the shops were
hermetically sealed. As soon as I entered, the porter shut and barred
the gate of our own hotel, and we retired, to rise and see what a "night
might bring forth."
"_Les canons grondent dans les rues, monsieur_" was the remark of the
porter, as I passed out into the street next morning. The population was
circulating freely in our part of the town; the shops, too, were
re-opened, and it appeared to be pretty generally understood that no
fighting was to take place in that vicinity. Passing up the Rue du Bac,
I met three _Gardes Nationaux_, who, by their conversation, were fresh
from the field, having passed the night in what may be called the
enemy's country. They were full of marvels, and, in their own opinion,
full of glory.
The streets were now alive with people, the quays and bridges being
still resorted to, on account of their affording an unobstructed avenue
to the sounds that came from the quarter where the conflict was going
on. Occasionally, a discharge of musketry reached these spots, and once
or twice I heard the report of a gun; but the firing was desultory, far
from heavy, and irregular.
In the Carrousel I met an English acquaintance, and we agreed to go
towards the scene of action together, in order to learn what was going
on. My companion was loud in his complaints against the revolters, who,
he said, would retard the progress of liberty half a century by their
rashness. The government would put them down, and profit by its victory
to use strong measures. I have learned to distrust the liberalism of
some of the English, who are too apt to consult their own national
interests, in regarding the rights of their neighbours. This, you will
say, is no more than human nature, which renders all men selfish. True;
but the concerns of few nations being as extensive, varied, and
artificial, as those of England, the people of other countries are not
liable to be influenced by so many appeals to divert them from a sound
and healthful state of feeling. England, as a nation, has never been a
friend of liberty in other nations, as witness her long and bitter
hostility to ourselves, to France and Holland, and her close alliance
with Turkey, Persia, etc., etc. Just at this moment, apprehension of
Russia causes her to dilate a little more than usual on the
encouragement of liberty; but it is a mystification that can deceive no
one of the least observation. Of whatever sins England is to be accused,
as a nation, she cannot be accused of that of political propagandism.
Even her own recent progress in liberty has been the result of foreign
and external example. I now speak of the state, which extends its
influence very far into society; but there are many individuals who
carry their principles as far as any men on earth. This latter class,
moreover, is largely and rapidly on the increase, has always effected,
and will still effect, far more than the slate itself in favour of
freedom.
We went by the Palais Royal, the Passages Vivienne, and du Panorama, to
the Boulevards. The streets were filled with people, as on a fête, and
there appeared still to be a good deal of anxiety as to the result.
There were plenty of troops, report saying that sixty thousand men were
under arms on the side of the government. Half that number would suffice
to assure its success unless there should prove to be disaffection. Had
a single regiment of the line declared against the King the previous
day, or even on the 6th of June, Louis-Philippe, in my opinion, would
have been dethroned. But, so far as I can learn, none of the principal
persons of the opposition appeared against him on this occasion, or
seemed to have any connexion with the affair.
My companion left me on the Boulevards, and I proceeded towards the
Porte St. Denis where there was evidently something like a contest.
There was a little firing, and I met one or two wounded men, who were
retiring to their _casernes._ One was shot through the body. But the
affair at the Porte St. Denis proved to be nothing serious, and was soon
over. The revolters had retired into the Rue St. Méry, where they were
closely encircled by large bodies of troops, and whither I did not deem
it prudent to follow them. The struggle, in that direction, was much
sharper, and we occasionally heard cannon.
You will probably be curious to know if one did not feel uneasy, in
walking about the streets of a town, while so many men were contending
in its streets. A moment's reflection will show you that there was
little or no danger. One could find a cover in a moment. The streets
were thronged, and it was little probable that either party would
wantonly fire on the mass. The contest was confined to a particular part
of the town, and then a man of ordinary discretion would hardly be so
silly as to expose himself unnecessarily, in a quarrel with which he had
no concern. Women and children were certainly killed on this occasion,
but it was probably under circumstances that did not, in the least,
affect the great body of the inhabitants.
The cafés were frequented as usual, and a little distance from the scene
of action, everything wore the air of an ordinary Sunday, on which the
troops were to be reviewed. The morning passed in this manner, when,
about four o'clock, I again found myself at the Pont Royal, after paying
a visit to the hotel. Here I met two American friends, and we walked by
the quay of the palace, towards the Pont Neuf. The people were in a
dense crowd, and it was even difficult to penetrate the mass. Just
before we reached the bridge, we heard shouts and cries of _Vive le
Roi_, and presently I saw M. de Chabot-Rohan, the first honorary
aide-de-camp, a gentleman whom I personally knew, and who usually led
the cortege of the King. It would seem that Louis-Philippe had arrived
from the country, and had passed by the Boulevards to the Place de la
Bastille, whence he was now returning to the Tuileries, by the quays.
His appearance in the streets, during such a scene, has been much
lauded, and the firmness necessary to the occasion, much dwelt on in the
papers. A very timid man might certainly have been afraid to expose his
person in this manner, but the risk was by no means as great as has been
supposed. The cortege was nowhere under fire, nor, but for, a few
minutes, near the scene of action; and it was not easy to assassinate a
man moving through streets that were filled with troops. _Au reste_,
there is no reason whatever to suppose the King would not have behaved
personally well, in far more critical circumstances.[10] The royal party
passed into the Carrousel by the court of the Louvre, while we turned
upon the bridge.
[Footnote 10: I once asked General Lafayette his opinion of the nerve of
the Duc d'Orleans (_Egalité_). He laughed, and said the King had made an
appeal to him quite lately, on the same subject. "And the answer?" "I
told his Majesty that I believed his father was a _brave_ man; but, you
may be sure, I was glad be did not ask me if I thought he was an
_honest_ one, too."]
The Pont Neuf was crowded with troops, who occupied the _trottoirs_, and
with men, women, and children. There had been some skirmishing at the
Place de Grève, and the scene of the principal contest, the Rue St.
Méry, was near by. We were slowly threading the crowd with our faces
towards the island, when a discharge of musketry (four or five pieces at
most), directly behind us, and quite near, set everybody in motion. A
flock of sheep would not have scattered in greater confusion, at the
sudden appearance of a strange dog among them, than the throng on the
bridge began to scamper. Fear is the most contagious of all diseases,
and, for a moment, we found ourselves running with the rest. A jump or
two sufficed, however, and we stopped. Two soldiers, one a National
Guard, and the other a young conscript, belonging to the line, caught my
eye, and knowing there was no danger, we had time to stop and laugh at
them. The National Guard was a little Mayeux-looking fellow, with an
abdomen like a pumpkin, and he had caught hold of his throat, as if it
were actually to prevent his heart from jumping out of his mouth. A
caricature of fright could scarcely be more absurd. The young conscript,
a fair red-haired youth, was as white as a sheet, and he stood with his
eyes and mouth open, like one who thought he saw a ghost, immoveable as
a statue. He was sadly frightened, too. The boy would probably have come
to, and proved a good soldier in the end; but as for Mr. Mayeux,
although scarcely five feet high, he appeared as if he could never make
himself short enough. He had evidently fancied the whole affair a good
joke, up to that precise moment, when, for the first time, the realities
of a campaign burst upon his disordered faculties. The troops in
general, while they pricked up their ears, disdained even to shoulder
their arms. For those on the bridge, there was, in truth, no danger,
although the nearness of the volley, and the suddenness of the alarm,
were well adapted to set a crowd in motion. The papers next day, said
one or two had been slain by this discharge, which actually came from
the revolters.
You will probably be surprised, when I tell you that I had an engagement
to dine to-day, with a gentleman who fills a high situation near the
person of the King. He had sent me no notice of a postponement, and as I
had seen him pass in the cortège, I was reminded that the hour to dress
was near. Accordingly, I returned home, in order to prove to him that I
was as indifferent as any Frenchman could be, to the events we had all
just witnessed. I found a dozen people assembled in the drawing-room of
Madame ----, at six o'clock precisely, the same as if Paris were quite
tranquil. The General had not yet returned, but I was enabled to report
that he had entered the palace in safety. A moment before the dinner
was announced, he returned, and brought the information that the revolt
was virtually suppressed, a few desperate individuals, who had thrown
themselves into a church, alone holding out. He was in high spirits, and
evidently considered the affair a triumph to Louis-Philippe.