Such fancies with each line I weave,

And thus our book I cannot leave

Without a sigh!

Fond recollections make me grieve

To lay it by!

How other hands, perchance, than mine,

A fairer wreath for it might twine,

'Twere vain to tell;

I can but say, in one brief line,

Dear Book, Farewell!

THE INSURRECTION IN BADEN.

(TO THE EDITOR OF BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE.)

SIR,--I chanced to be at Heidelberg at the outbreak of the late

revolutionary movement, and remained there, or in the neighbourhood,

during its entire duration. It occurs to me that a brief narrative of

the leading events of that period of confusion and anarchy, from the

pen of one who was not only an eyewitness of all that passed, but who,

from long residence in this part of Germany, has a pretty intimate

acquaintance with the real condition and feelings of the people, may

prove suitable to the pages, and not uninteresting to the readers, of

_Blackwood's Magazine_.

At a public meeting held at Offenburg, in the duchy of Baden, on

the 13th of May 1849, and which was attended by many of the most

violent members of the German republican party, it was resolved that

the constitution voted by the national assembly at Frankfort should

be acknowledged; that Brentano and Peter should be charged with the

formation of a new ministry; that Struve, and all other political

offenders, should be forthwith set at liberty; that the selection of

officers for the army should be left to the choice of the privates; and

lastly, that the movement in the Palatinate (Rhenish Bavaria) should be

fully supported by the government of Baden.

For the information of those who have not closely followed the late

course of events in Germany, it may be necessary to mention, that early

in the month of May a revolutionary movement, the avowed object of

which was to force the King to acknowledge the constitution drawn up

by the parliament at Frankfort, had broken out in Rhenish Bavaria. A

provisional government had been formed, the public money seized, forced

contributions levied, and the entire Palatinate declared independent of

Bavaria. The leaders of the insurrection had been joined by a portion

of discontented military; and, in an incredibly short space of time,

the whole province, with the exception of the fortresses of Germersheim

and Landau, had fallen into their hands.

Although the declared motive of the Offenburg assembly was to support

this movement, and thus oblige the reigning princes to bow to the

decrees of the central parliament, there is little doubt that a

long-formed and widely-extended conspiracy existed, the object of which

was to proclaim a republic throughout Germany. The meeting in question

was attended by upwards of twenty thousand persons, many of whom were

soldiers, seduced by promises of increased pay, and of the future

right to elect their officers. Money was plentifully distributed; and

towards evening the mob, mad with drink and excitement, returned,

howling revolutionary songs, to their homes. At the very time this

was going on, a mutiny in the garrison of Rastadt had placed that

fortress in the power of about four thousand soldiers, many of them raw

recruits. This extraordinary event, apparently the result of a drunken

quarrel, was shrewdly suspected to be part of a deep-laid scheme for

supporting the movement, which was expected to follow the next day's

meeting at Offenburg. If such were the hopes of the leaders, they were

not disappointed; the train was laid, and wanted but a spark to fire

it. The result of the Offenburg meeting was known at Carlsruhe by six

o'clock in the evening of the day of its occurrence; and on the same

evening, some riotous soldiers having been placed in confinement, their

comrades insisted on their release. In vain did the officers, headed by

Prince Frederick, (the Grand-duke's second son,) endeavour to appease

them; they were grossly insulted, and the prince received a sabre cut

on the head. It is thought by many persons that if, at this time,

energetic measures had been taken, the whole movement might have been

crushed.

But with citizens timid or lukewarm, and soldiers the greater number of

whom were in open mutiny, it is difficult to say where the repressive

power was to have been found. Be this as it may, the barracks were

demolished, the stores broken open and robbed; and by eleven o'clock

that night the ducal family, and as many of the ministers and

attendants as could find the means of evasion, were in full flight.

With arms supplied by the plunder of the barracks, the mob next

attacked the arsenal, which was under the protection of the national

guard. A squadron of dragoons who came to assist the latter were fired

on by both parties, and the captain, a promising young officer, was

killed on the spot. The dragoons, seeing their efforts to support the

citizens thus misinterpreted, retired, and left the arsenal to its fate.

Early next morning, a provisional government, headed by Brentano and

Fickler, was proclaimed, to which all people were summoned to swear

obedience; and, absurdly enough, the very men, soldiers and citizens,

who the day before had, with the acquiescence of the duke, taken an

oath of allegiance to the empire, now swore to be faithful to the new

order of things. The news of the outbreak spread like wildfire. It

was received with particular exultation in the towns of Mannheim and

Heidelberg; in the latter of which a very republican spirit prevailed,

and where, at the first call, the national guard assembled, eager to

display their valour--in words. It was not long before their mettle

was put to the proof. The Duke, who had taken refuge in the fortress

of Germersheim, had been escorted in his flight by about three hundred

dragoons, with sixteen pieces of artillery. These brave fellows, who

had remained faithful to their sovereign, attempted, after leaving

him in safety, to make their way to Frankfort. As every inch of the

country they had to traverse was in open revolt, the circumstance

was soon known at Heidelberg, where, late in the evening, the tocsin

rang, to summon the peasants from the neighbouring villages, and the

_générale_ beat through the streets to call the citizens to arms, in

order that parties might be sent out to intercept the soldiers. It

would be difficult to describe the panic that prevailed in Heidelberg

at the first sound of this terrible drum. The most ridiculous and

contradictory reports were circulated. That some great danger was

at hand, all agreed; and the story generally credited was, that the

peasants of the Odenwald were coming down, ten thousand strong,

to plunder the town. When the real cause of the disturbance was

discovered, it may be doubted whether, to many, the case appeared much

mended; for, besides the disinclination a set of peaceable tradesmen

might feel to attack a body of dragoons, backed by sixteen pieces

of artillery, many of those who were summoned from their beds were

secretly opposed to the cause they were called upon to serve. But there

was no remedy; and, amidst the tears and shrieks of women, the ringing

of bells, and beating of drums, the first detachment marched off. No

sooner did they arrive at the supposed scene of action, than, seized

with a sudden panic, caused by a row of trees which, in the dark, they

mistook for the enemy in battle array, they faced about, and fairly ran

for it till they found themselves once more in Heidelberg.

The consequences were more serious to some of the members of a second

party, despatched to Ladenburg. In the middle of the night, the sentry

posted on the bridge mistook the trotting of some stray donkey for a

charge of dragoons, and firing his rifle, without farther deliberation

he threw himself over the bridge, breaking a thigh and a couple of ribs

in the fall. The others stood their ground; but it is well known that

several of the party were laid up next day with _nerven feber_, (a sort

of low typhus,) brought on by the fear and agitation they had undergone.

These facts are merely mentioned to show that, had the government, at

the commencement of the outbreak, made the slightest show of firmness,

they would not have met with the resistance which they afterwards found.

The dragoons, after dodging about for two days and nights, worn out

with fatigue and hunger, at length allowed themselves to be captured

near the frontiers of Würtemberg. It seems that the soldiers positively

refused to make use of their arms after the Duke's flight, which,

indeed, is the only way of accounting for three hundred mounted

dragoons, with sixteen pieces of artillery fully supplied with

ammunition, falling into the hands of as many peasants, who would

undoubtedly have fled at the first shot fired.

Whilst these events passed, the reins of government at Carlsruhe

had been seized by Brentano, Peter, Fickler, and Goegg--the latter

a convicted felon. Struve and Blind, condemned to eight years'

imprisonment for their rebellion the year before, were released, and,

with their friends, took a prominent part in the formation of the new

ministry. The war department was given to a Lieutenant Eichfeld, who,

by the way, had some time previously quitted the service, on account

of a duel in which he displayed the white feather. His first measure

was to order the whole body of soldiers, now entirely deprived of their

officers, to select others from the ranks. The choice was just what

might have been expected; and instances occurred in which recruits of

three weeks' standing passed at once to the rank of captain and major.

All discipline was soon at an end. The army, consisting of 17,000

men, was placed under the command of Lieutenant Sigel, a young man of

twenty-two, whose sole claims to preferment seem to have been, that he

was compromised in Struve's abortive attempt at Friburg, and had since

contributed a number of articles, violently abusive of the government,

to some low revolutionary newspapers. Headquarters were established at

Heidelberg, where Sigel, accompanied by Eichfeld, arrived on the 19th

of May.

The pecuniary affairs of the insurgents were in the most flourishing

condition. Seven millions of florins (about £560,000) were found in the

war-chest, besides two and a half millions of paper-money, and large

sums belonging to other departments of the ministry. Their stock of

arms consisted of seventy thousand muskets, without reckoning those

of the national guard and military. Thus equipped and supplied, they

would have been able, with a little drill, and if properly commanded,

to make a long stand against the regular forces sent against them. By

this time, too, the country was fast filling with political refugees

of all shades of opinion. Italians, Swiss, Poles, and French were

daily pouring in; and the well-known Metternich, of Mayence celebrity,

who had not been heard of since his flight from the barricades at

Frankfort, again turned up as commander of a free corps. A sketch of

his costume will give a pretty fair idea of that adopted by all those

who wished to distinguish themselves as ultra-liberals. He wore a

white broad-brimmed felt hat, turned up on one side, with a large red

feather; a blue _kittel_ or smock-frock; a long cavalry sabre swung

from his belt, in which were stuck a pair of ponderous horse pistols;

troopers' boots, reaching to the middle of the thigh, were garnished

with enormous spurs, and across his breast flamed a crimson scarf, the

badge of the red republican.

In order to extend the revolt, and to place Baden in a state of

defence before the governments should recover from their panic, the

most energetic measures were taken. A decree was issued for arming the

whole male population, from eighteen to thirty years of age; and as in

many instances the peasantry proved refractory, a tax of fifty florins

per day was laid on all recusants, who, when discovered, were taken

by force to join the army. Raveaux, Trutschler, Erbe, and Fröbel, the

latter that friend of Robert Blum, who so narrowly escaped the cord

when his companion was shot,--made their appearance at Carlsruhe. They

issued a violent proclamation against the King of Prussia, and, the

better to disguise their real object, called on all Germany to arm in

defence of the parliament at Frankfort, and the provisional government

of Baden. Every artifice, no matter how disreputable, that could serve

the cause, was unscrupulously resorted to. It was officially announced

that Würtemberg and Hesse-Darmstadt were only waiting a favourable

opportunity to join the movement; and to further this object, a

public meeting (which it was hoped would bring forth the same fruits

at Darmstadt, as that of Offenburg had produced at Carlsruhe) was

called by the radicals of the Odenwald. It took place at Laudenbach,

a village situated about three miles within the Hessian frontier,

and was attended by upwards of six thousand armed peasants, and by

three or four thousand of the Baden free corps. The authorities were,

however, on the alert; and after a fruitless summons to the insurgents

to quit the territory, the military were called out. Before orders to

fire were given, the civil commissary, desirous to avoid effusion of

blood, advanced alone towards the crowd, endeavouring to persuade them

to retire peaceably. He was barbarously murdered; and the sight of his

dead body so incensed the Hessian soldiers, that they rushed forward

without waiting for the word of command, and with one volley put the

whole mob of insurgents to flight.

The spirit displayed on this occasion probably saved the country

from a bloody civil war; for had the revolutionary movement passed

the frontiers of Baden, at that moment the flame would doubtless

have spread to Würtemberg, and thence not improbably to the whole of

Germany, with the exception perhaps of Prussia.

To counteract the very unsatisfactory effect of the meeting at

Laudenbach, it was resolved, by a council held at Carlsruhe, that a

bold stroke should be struck. The Hessians, hitherto unsupported by

other troops, could not command anything like the numerical force of

Baden, and Sigel received orders to cross the frontier with all his

disposable troops. Four battalions of the line, with about six thousand

volunteers, were reviewed at Heidelberg before taking the field. They

were indeed a motley crew! The soldiers, who had helped themselves from

the stores at Carlsruhe to whatever best suited their fancy, appeared

on parade equipped accordingly. Shakos, helmets, caps, greatcoats,

frocks, full-dress and undress uniforms, all figured in the same ranks.

The so-called officers, in particular, cut a pitiful figure. If the

smart uniform and epaulette could have disguised the clownish recruit,

who had perhaps figured but a few weeks in the ranks, the license of

his conduct would soon have betrayed him; for officers and privates,

arm in arm, and excessively drunk, might constantly be seen reeling

through the streets. The free corps, unwilling to be outdone by the

regulars, indulged in all sorts of theatrical dresses, yellow and red

boots being in great favour; whilst one fellow, claiming no lower rank

than that of colonel, actually rode about in a blouse and white cotton

drawers, with Hessian boots and large gold tassels.

As it was strongly suspected that the soldiers placed little confidence

in their new leaders, and the free corps, many of whom were serving

against their own wishes, seemed equally unwilling to risk their lives

under such commanders as Metternich and Bönin, (a watchmaker from

Wiesbaden,) all sorts of artifices were resorted to, to encourage

both regulars and irregulars. Their whole force might amount to

thirty thousand men; but, by marches and countermarches, similar to

those by which, in a theatre, a few dozen of soldiers are made to

represent thousands, they so dazzled the eyes of the ignorant, that

it was believed their army numbered nearly a hundred thousand men.

The cavalry, in particular, which were quartered in Heidelberg, were

marched out and in again five times in as many days--at each appearance

being hailed as a fresh regiment. Soothsayers and prophets were also

consulted, and interpreted divers passages in holy writ as foretelling

the defeat of the Prussians, and the success of the "Army of Freedom."

But the trick which, no doubt, had the greatest influence on the minds

of the poor duped people was a forged declaration, purporting to be one

put forth by the Hessian troops, professing their intention of throwing

down their arms on the approach of their "German brothers."

On the 28th of May, the insurgents, ten thousand in number, crossed the

frontier of Hesse-Darmstadt. The Hessians, with three battalions of

infantry, a couple of six-pounders, and a squadron of light cavalry,

waited their approach; and having withdrawn their outposts, (a movement

interpreted into a flight by the opposite party,) they suddenly opened

a severe fire on the advancing columns--driving them back to Weinheim,

with a loss of upwards of fifty killed and wounded. The affair

commenced at four o'clock in the afternoon, and by ten at night the

whole insurgent force arrived pell-mell at Heidelberg. Officers and

dragoons led the van, followed by artillery, infantry, baggage-waggons,

and free corps, mingled together in the utmost disorder. They had run

from Weinheim, a distance of twelve miles, in three hours--driven by

their fears only; for the Hessians, too weak to take advantage of their

victory, and content with driving them from their own territory, waited

for reinforcements before attempting farther hostilities.

This check was a sad damper to the ardour of the insurgents. It was

necessary to find some one on whom to fix the blame; and as the

dragoons were known to be unfavourable to the new order of things, the

official account of the affair stated that the enemy would have been

thoroughly beaten, had the cavalry charged when ordered so to do.

This was the only action fought under Sigel's generalship--as a

specimen of which it may be mentioned that the _band_ of the Guards was

sent into action at the head of the regiment, and lost five men by the

first volley fired. Whatever the reason, Sigel was removed from his

functions next day, and Eichfeld, disgusted with such an opening to the

campaign, changed his place of minister of war for a colonelcy in the

Guards; and, pocketing a month's pay, took himself quietly off, and has

never been heard of since.

As it was now evident there could be no hopes of the Hessians joining

the movement, the tactics were changed, and the most violent abuse

was lavished on them by the organs of the provisional government. The

vilest calumnies were resorted to, to exasperate the Baden troops

against them, such as that they tortured and massacred their prisoners,

&c.

Sigel had succeeded Eichfeld as minister of war; and as it was

tolerably clear that they possessed no general fit to lead their army

to the field, Meiroslawski was invited to take the command. A large sum

of money was sent to him in Paris, and, while waiting his arrival, it

was determined to act strictly on the defensive. With this object the

whole line of the Neckar, from Mannheim to Eberbach and Mosbach, was

strongly fortified; and the regular troops were withdrawn from Rastadt,

and concentrated on the Hessian frontier.

At length the Polish adventurer, whose arrival had been so impatiently

expected, made his appearance at Heidelberg. Meiroslawski, a native of

the grand-duchy of Posen, began his career as a cadet in the Prussian

service. In the Polish revolution of 1832 he played an active part,

and was deeply implicated in the plot concocted at Cracow in 1846,

which brought such dreadful calamities on the unfortunate inhabitants

of Gallicia. For the second time he took refuge in France, and only

returned to his native country to join the outbreak at Posen in 1848.

There he contrived to get himself into a Prussian prison, from which,

however, he was after a time released. He next led the ranks of the

Sicilian insurgents; and on the submission of the island to the

Neapolitan troops, had scarcely time to gain his old asylum, France,

before he was called on to aid the revolutionists of Baden. He is a man

of about forty years of age, of middle height, slightly built, and, so

long as he is on foot, of military carriage and appearance; but seen on

horseback, riding like a postilion rather than a soldier, the effect

is not so good. His eyes are large and expressive, his nose aquiline,

and the lower part of his face covered with a large sandy beard, which

descends to the middle of his breast. Sixty of the Duke's horses,

left in the stables at Carlsruhe, were sent to mount him and his

aides-de-camp. Poles, Swiss, desperadoes of every description, received

commissions, and were attached to the staff, the members of which,

when assembled, were not unlike a group of masqueraders. Accidents,

such as stumbling over their own sabres or their comrades' spurs, were

of common occurrence. Sometimes a horse and his rider would be seen

rolling over together; for, excepting one gentleman, whose rank I could

not learn, but who had figured as rider at an equestrian circus that

had attended the fair, none of the party looked as if they had ever

mounted a horse before.

The first step taken by the government, after Meiroslawski's arrival,

was to make a formal treaty of alliance with the provisional government

of Rhenish Bavaria, in pursuance of one of whose provisions a plentiful

supply of artillery was sent from the fortress of Rastadt, to furnish

the army in that part of the country. That the two governments were

in constant communication with Ledru Rollin and his friends, is now

an authenticated fact, as well as that their chief hopes of success

were built on the assistance they expected to receive from Paris. So

confidently did they anticipate the overthrow, by the Montagne party,

of the present order of things in France, that on the very morning the

attempt took place in Paris, placards were posted up in Carlsruhe,

Mannheim, and Heidelberg, announcing that the citadel of Strasburg

was in the hands of the democrats, who were hastening with a hundred

thousand men to the assistance of their friends in Baden.

Until the arrival of Meiroslawski, Brentano had refused to put in

execution the rigorous measures urged on him by Struve and his party;

but things were now conducted differently. Numbers of persons were cast

into prison without any formal accusation. One clergyman in particular,

thrown into a miserable dungeon, and kept for weeks in solitary

confinement, entirely lost his senses, and, on the arrival of his

liberators, the Prussians, had to be taken to a lunatic asylum, where

he still remains. The whole country was declared to be under martial

law, and notice was given that anybody expressing dissatisfaction with

the government would be severely punished. No person whom the malice or

ignorance of the mob might choose to consider a spy was safe: many of

the principal shops in the towns were closed, the proprietors having

sent off or concealed their goods, and fled the country. Persons known

to be inimical to the government were punished for their opinions by

contributions being levied on their property, or soldiers billeted in

their houses. Count Obendorf, who has a chateau in the vicinity of

Heidelberg, had no less than seven hundred and twenty men quartered

on him at one time. Complaint was unavailing; tyranny and terrorism

reigned throughout the land.

In order to give the semblance of legality to their proceedings, the

elections for a new chamber commenced. It will readily be imagined

that none but the friends of those in power presented themselves

as candidates: the deputies were therefore, without exception, the

intimates or supporters of Brentano & Co. The first act of the new

assembly was to dissolve the _Landes-auschuss_, or provisional

government, as being too numerous a body to act with the required

vigour; and a dictatorial triumvirate, composed of Brentano, Peter, and

Goegg, was appointed in its stead.

By this time serious dissensions had broken out among the leading

members of the democratic party. Brentano had quarrelled with Struve,

who was resolved on nothing less than the proclamation of the red

republic. Finding his friends at Carlsruhe opposed to this attempt,

he called a public meeting at Mannheim. Here again his efforts were

unsuccessful, the soldiers especially being opposed to his doctrines.

As the Würtemberg deputies had always figured among the most violent

of the left, or republican party, at Frankfort, and late events had

given rise to the idea that the people of that country were disposed

to support the movement in Baden, Fickler was sent to Stuttgart, with

a considerable sum of money to corrupt the soldiers; and in full

expectation of the success of his mission, billets were made out for

three thousand men, who, it was stated, were to arrive in the evening

at Heidelberg. Disappointment ensued. The Würtembergers, satisfied with

having forced from their king a promise to accept the constitution

in support of which the Badeners professed to be fighting, were not

inclined to bring further trouble and confusion into their country,

and Fickler was thrown into prison. This untoward event, had the Baden

revolution lasted much longer, was to have produced a terrible war

between the two countries. The Würtemberg minister, however, laughed

at the insurgent government's absurd and impotent threats, and Fickler

still remains in confinement.

The first week after Meiroslawski's arrival was taken up with

preparations for opening the campaign on a grand scale. Upwards of

fifty thousand men were collected on the Hessian frontiers, from

which side it was expected that the enemy would make their attack.

At the same time, the Hessians having been reinforced by troops from

Mecklenburg, Nassau, Hesse-Cassel, and Prussia, prepared to take the

field in earnest. Whilst the first division of the army, under the

command of the Prince of Prussia and General Hirschfeld, entered the

Palatinate between Kreutznach and Saarbrucken, and advanced to the

relief of Germersheim and Landau; Meiroslawski was held in check by

continual feints, made along the whole line of the Neckar. On the 15th

of June, a battalion of Mecklenburgers, with a squadron of Hessian

light cavalry, and a couple of guns, advanced from Weinheim as far as

Ladenburg. The village was taken at the point of the bayonet; but,

ignorant of the immense force of the insurgents, or perhaps from

undervaluing their courage, the troops allowed themselves to be almost

surrounded by the enemy. With great difficulty they succeeded in

regaining their old position; while the major who commanded the party,

and ten privates, were left in the hands of the rebels. The loss on

both sides was considerable, but was in some degree compensated to the

Imperial troops, by two companies of the Baden Guards passing over to

them. This slight success was boasted of by Meiroslawski as a splendid

victory, in the following bulletin:--

"HEADQUARTERS, HEIDELBERG,

_16th June 1849_.

"Our operations against the advancing enemy have been crowned with

success. Yesterday, our brave army was simultaneously attacked on

all sides.

"In Rhenish Bavaria the Prussians were driven back with great

loss. At Ladenburg, Colonel Sigel engaged the enemy, who had

advanced in front; while a column, under the command of the

valiant Oborski, attacked them in rear. The enemy was defeated on

all points, and driven back in the greatest confusion.

"It is only to be regretted that want of cavalry prevented our

following and completely annihilating them.

"Many prisoners were made, and their loss in arms, ammunition, and

baggage, all of which fell into our hands, was considerable.

"Inhabitants of Heidelberg, fear nothing for the future. Continue

to provide the intrepid army under my command with necessaries for

continuing the campaign so gloriously commenced, and I will answer

for the result. Strict obedience to my orders is all I require

from you, to prevent the enemy from overrunning the country.

"In commemoration of the victory of yesterday, so gloriously

obtained, the town of Heidelberg will be illuminated. The lights

will be left burning till daybreak, and the beer-houses will

remain open the whole night.

"(Signed) LOUIS MEIROSLAWSKI,

General-in-Chief of the Army."

This bombastic effusion was followed by several others equally false

and ridiculous. The Prussians had advanced as far as Ludwigshafen,

opposite Mannheim, without encountering any serious resistance. The

insurgent army in the Pfalz, numbering about twelve thousand men,

under the command of the Polish General Sznayda, had abandoned their

intrenchments almost without striking a blow, and, with the provisional

government, fled to Knielingen, from whence they crossed the Rhine

into Baden. The only serious impediment encountered by the Prussians

was at Ludwigshafen, which suffered immense damage from the heavy and

constant bombardment kept up from batteries erected at the opposite

town of Mannheim. The railway station was burned to the ground, and

the value of property destroyed in the store-houses alone has been

calculated at two millions of florins, (£170,000.) On the 17th, Landau

and Germersheim were relieved; and the Prince of Prussia, with his

whole force concentrated before the latter fortress, prepared to cross

the Rhine under the protection of its guns.

Having thus fully accomplished the first part of his arduous

undertaking, by re-establishing order in the Pfalz, the Prince of

Prussia prepared to effect a junction with the second and third

divisions of the army, under the command of General Von Gröben, and

Peucker, the former of whom had again advanced to Ladenburg, on the

right bank of the Neckar. Meiroslawski, in the mean time, remained

totally inactive from the 15th to the 20th inst. Upwards of fifty

thousand men had been reviewed by him in Heidelberg and its vicinity;

besides this, the twelve thousand Bavarian insurgents, under the

command of Sznayda, were in the neighbourhood of Bruchsal; and with

such a force, anything like a determined resistance would have

compelled the Prussians to purchase victory by a heavy loss. Whatever

may be his reputation for talent, Meiroslawski showed but little skill

as a general during his short command in Baden. Instead of opposing the

crossing of the Rhine by the Prussians, which, with so large a force,

and fifty-four pieces of well-served artillery, he might easily have

done, the Prince of Prussia, with a division of fifteen thousand men,

was allowed to obtain a secure footing in his rear, almost unopposed.

From this moment the position of the insurgents became critical in

the extreme. The line of the Neckar was occupied on the right bank

by the second and third divisions of the army, comprising upwards of

thirty thousand men. Although hitherto held in check by the strong

intrenchments that had been thrown up, they might still advance in

front; whilst the high road to Rastadt was effectually cut off by the

Prince of Prussia, whose headquarters were now at Phillipsburg.

The Rhine had been crossed by the Prussians on the 20th, and on

the evening of that day Meiroslawski, for the first time, showed a

disposition to move from his comfortable quarters at the Prince Carl

hotel in Heidelberg. Collecting all his force, (with the exception of

three or four thousand men, who were left in the intrenchments before

Ladenburg and on the line of the Neckar,) he left Heidelberg "to

drive the Prussians," as he announced, "into the Rhine," and effect a

junction with Sznayda's corps in the neighbourhood of Carlsruhe. The

plan was a bold one; but Meiroslawski ought to have known better than

to attempt its execution with the undisciplined force he commanded. He,

however, appears to have entertained no doubt of the result; for the

commissariat, baggage, and even the military chest were sent forward,

he himself following in a carriage and four.

Early on the morning of the 21st the action commenced, and Meiroslawski

found to his cost that six thousand well-disciplined Prussians were

more than a match for his whole army. At ten o'clock on the same

morning a proclamation was issued at Heidelberg by Struve, stating

"that the Prussians were beaten on all points, that their retreat to

the Rhine was cut off, and that ten thousand prisoners would be sent

to Heidelberg in the evening. The loss on the side of the "Army of

Freedom" was eight slightly hurt, and two severely wounded--no killed!"

In spite of the obvious absurdity of this proclamation, most of the

townspeople believed it; and it was not till two o'clock in the

afternoon that their eyes were opened to the deception practised on

them, by the arrival of between thirty and forty cart-loads of wounded

insurgents. Before nightfall, upwards of three hundred suffering

wretches filled the hospitals. Crowds of fugitives flocked into the

town, and every appearance of discipline was at an end. It seems that,

on the approach of the enemy, the Prussian advanced guard, composed

of one battalion only, retired till they drew the insurgents into the

very centre of their line, which lay concealed in the neighbourhood of

Wagheusel. This movement was interpreted into a flight by Meiroslawski;

a halt was called; and whilst he was refreshing himself at a roadside

inn, and his troops were in imagination swallowing dozens of Prussians

with every fresh glass of beer, they suddenly found themselves almost

surrounded by the royal forces. At the very first volley fired by the

Prussians, many of the Baden heroes threw down their arms, and took

to their heels; the artillery and baggage waggons, which were most

unaccountably in advance, faced about, and drove through the ranks at

full speed, overthrowing and crushing whole companies of insurgents.

The panic soon became general: dragoons, infantry, baggage-waggons, and

artillery, got mingled together in the most inextricable confusion, and

those who could, fled to the woods for safety. The approach of night

prevented the Prince of Prussia from following up his victory, but he

established his headquarters at Langenbruken, within nine miles of the

town.

Whilst the hopes of the insurgents received a deathblow in this

quarter, General Peucker had pushed with his division through the

Odenwald, and, after some insignificant skirmishing at Hirschhorn,

crossed the Neckar in the vicinity of Zwingenberg, with the intention

of advancing on Sinsheim, and cutting off the retreat of the rebels

in that direction. Von Gröben, who, on account of the bridges at

Ladenburg, Mannheim, and Heidelberg, being undermined, was unwilling to

cross the Neckar, sent a small reconnoitring party over the hills, and,

to the great consternation of the inhabitants, the Prussians suddenly

made their appearance on the heights above the village of Neuenheim,

thus commanding the town of Heidelberg. Four hundred of the foreign

legion immediately sallied over the bridge, and, posting themselves

in some houses on that side of the river, kept up a desperate firing,

though the enemy were too far above their heads for their bullets to

take effect. The Prussians for some time looked on with indifference,

but, before retiring, they gave the insurgents a taste of what their

newly-invented[11] _zund-nadel_ muskets could accomplish. Out of four

shots fired, at a distance of full fifteen hundred yards, two took

effect; the one killing an insurgent on the bridge, and the other

wounding one of the free corps in the town.

[11] The advantages of this new invention (of which the Prussians have

now 50,000 in use) are the increased rapidity of loading, extent of

range, and precision of aim. A thoroughly drilled soldier can fire

from eight to ten rounds in a minute, whilst with a common percussion

gun three times is considered good practice. Neither ramrod nor cap

is required; the cartridge, which is placed in the gun by opening the

breech, contains a fulminating powder, which is pierced by the simple

action of pulling the trigger; and the charge of powder being ignited

in front, instead of from behind, (as in the common musket,) the entire

force of powder is exploded at once. The barrels are rifled, and

_spitz_ or pointed bullets are used.

To return to Meiroslawski's army. After those who had been fortunate

enough to reach Heidelberg had taken a few hours' rest and refreshment,

the entire mass moved off in the direction of Sinsheim, their only

hope of escape being to pass that town before the arrival of General

Peucker's division. Thousands had thrown away their arms and fled;

and most of the soldiers, anxious to escape another collision with

the Prussians, threw off their uniforms and concealed themselves in

the woods. One-half of the rebels were disbanded, or had been taken

prisoners; and Meiroslawski, with the remnant, made all speed to quit

the town. Every horse in the neighbourhood was put into requisition

to aid them in their flight, and the whole gang of civil authorities,

headed by Struve and his wife in a carriage, (well filled with

plunder,) followed the great body of fugitives. The intrenchments at

Ladenburg, &c., were abandoned, and by 7 o'clock on the evening of

the 22d, the town of Heidelberg was once more left to the peaceable

possession of its terrified inhabitants. The foreign legion, composed

of Poles, Italians, Swiss, French--in short, the refuse of all

nations--were the last to leave; nor did they do so, till they had

helped themselves to whatever they could conveniently carry off:

indeed, the near vicinity of the Prussians alone prevented the complete

plunder of the town. During the night, the better disposed citizens

removed the powder that undermined the bridge, and a deputation was

sent to inform General von Gröben that he could advance without

impediment. At 4 o'clock on the morning of the 23d, to the great joy of

every respectable inhabitant of Heidelberg, he made his entry into the

town. Mannheim had also been taken possession of without firing a shot,

and the communication between the first and second divisions of the

royal army was now open.

After leaving Heidelberg, Meiroslawski succeeded in once more uniting

about fifteen thousand of the fugitives under his banner. General

Peucker's attempt to intercept him at Sinsheim had failed, the

insurgent general having reached it two hours before him. Taking to

the hills, he got out in rear of the Prince of Prussia's division,

and joined his force to that of Sznayda, which was before Carlsruhe.

Robbery and plunder marked the entire line of march. Wine and

provisions that could not be carried off, were wantonly destroyed, and

the inhabitants of the villages traversed by this undisciplined horde,

will long have reason to remember the passage of the self-styled "Army

of Freedom."

At Upsdal, Durlach, and Bruchsal, the rebels made a more energetic

resistance than they had yet done; and it was not without a hard

struggle, and great loss on both sides, that the Prince of Prussia,

at the head of the three divisions off his army, (now united, and

numbering upwards of forty thousand men,) entered Carlsruhe on the

25th of June. On the approach of the Prussians, the provisional

government, the members of the chamber, and the civil authorities of

every description, having emptied the treasury, and carried off all the

public money on which they could lay their hands, made their escape

to join the remains of the Rump parliament, who, since they had been

kicked out of Würtemberg, had established themselves at Freiburg.

After a rest of two days in the capital of Baden, the Prussian army was

again put in motion to attack the insurgents, now strongly intrenched

along the valley of the Murg, the narrowest part of the duchy. Owing

to the numerous and well-served artillery of the insurgents, it was

not without severe fighting, and great sacrifice of life, that they

were driven from their positions. Another disorderly flight succeeded;

and by the 30th of the month, the Prussians were in quiet possession

of Baden-Baden, Oos, Offenburg, and Kebl, besides having completely

surrounded Rastadt, and cut off every hope of retreat from that

fortress. The remainder of Meiroslawski's force was entirely dispersed,

the greater number being captured, or escaping in small parties into

France or Switzerland. A few hundreds only remained in Freiburg, under

the command of Sigel. Meiroslawski took refuge in Basle, having held

the command of the Baden forces exactly three weeks; and Brentano,

after having remained just long enough to be abused and threatened by

his own party, made his escape with most of the other revolutionary

leaders into Switzerland, from which he issued the following

justification of his conduct. As the document contains a tolerably

faithful sketch of the revolution, with the opinion of one who may

certainly be considered as an unprejudiced judge, we give it in full:--

"TO THE PEOPLE OF BADEN.

"Fellow-citizens! Before leaving the town of Freiburg and the

duchy of Baden, on the night of the 28th June, I informed the

president of the constitutional assembly that it was my intention

to justify my conduct towards the people of Baden, but not towards

an assembly that had treated me with outrage. If I did not do

this at the time I left the country for which I have acted all

through with a clear conscience, and from which I was driven by a

tyrannical and selfish party, it was because I wished to see what

this party would say against the absent. To-day I have seen their

accusation, and no longer delay my defence, in order that you may

judge whether I have merited the title of traitor; or whether the

people's cause--the cause of freedom, for which your sons, your

brothers, have bled--can prosper in the hands of men who only seek

to hide personal cowardice by barbarity, mental incapacity by

lies, and low selfishness by hypocrisy.

"Fellow-citizens! Since the month of February I have strained

every nerve in the cause of freedom. Since the month of February,

I have sacrificed my own affairs to the defence of persecuted

republicans. I have willingly stood up for all who claimed my

assistance; and let any say if I have been reimbursed one kreutzer

of the hundreds I have expended. Fellow-citizens! I am loath

to call to mind the sacrifices I have made; but a handful of

men are shameless enough to call me traitor; a handful of men,

partly those in whose defence I disinterestedly strained every

nerve, would have me brought to 'well-deserved punishment:' these

men, whose sole merit consists in tending to bring discredit

on freedom's cause, through their incapacity, barbarity, and

terrorism; and whose unheard-of extravagance has brought us to the

brink of ruin.

"I did not return home after Fickler's trial. The exertion I

had used in his defence had injured my health, and I went for

medical advice to Baden-Baden. On the 14th of May, I was fetched

from my bed; but, in spite of bodily weakness, I was unwilling

to remain behind. I wished to see the cause of freedom free from

all dirty machinations, I wished to prevent the holy cause from

falling into disrepute through disgraceful traffic; I wished to

keep order, and to protect life and property. For some time I was

enabled to effect this: I endeavoured to prevent injustice of all

kinds, and in every place, and whenever I was called on; I strove

to protect the innocent against force, and to prove that even the

complete overthrow of the government could be accomplished without

allowing anarchy to reign in its stead.

"Fellow-citizens! However my conduct as a revolutionist may be

judged, I have a clear conscience. Not a deed of injustice can be

laid to my door: not a kreutzer of your money have I allowed to

be squandered, not a heller has gone into my pocket! But this I

must say, you will be astonished, if ever you see the accounts, to

find how your money has been wasted, and how few there were who

sacrificed anything to the holy cause of the people, and how many

took care to be well paid out of the national coffers for every

service rendered.

"No sooner had the revolution broken out than hundreds of

adventurers swarmed into the land, with boasts of having suffered

in freedom's cause: they claimed their reward in hard cash from

your coffers. There was no crossing the streets of Carlsruhe

for the crowds of uniformed, sabre-carrying clerks; and whilst

this herd of idlers revelled on your money, your half-famished

sons were exposing their breasts to the bullets of the enemy in

freedom's cause. But whoever set himself to oppose this order of

things was proclaimed to be a mean and narrow-minded citizen;

whoever showed a disinclination to persecute his political

adversary _à la Windischgratz_, was a _réactionnaire_ or a traitor.

"At the head of this party was Struve, the man whose part I took

before the tribunal at Freiburg--not as a legal adviser, but as

a friend; the man whose absurd plan for giving the ministers

salaries of six thousand florins; of sending ambassadors to Rome

and Venice, and agents to St. Petersburg and Hungary, I overruled;

the man whose endeavour to give every situation to which a good

salary was attached to foreign adventurers, was effectually

opposed by me. This man, despised for his personal cowardice,

whose dismissal from the provisional government was demanded by

the entire army--this man, instead of supporting and strengthening

the government as he promised, tried, because his ambitious

views found no encouragement, and with the assistance of foreign

adventurers, to overthrow me; and when I showed him the force that

was drawn up ready to oppose him, he took refuge in base lies, and

had not even sufficient courage to go home, till I, whom he had

just tried to overthrow, protected him with my own body to his

house.

"The people had chosen between us, for at the elections he had

been first thrown out, and he only obtained three thousand votes

as a substitute, whilst I had been elected by seven thousand

voices.

"I had placed all my hopes in the Constitutional Assembly. I

thought that men elected by the free choice of the people would

duly support my honest endeavours. I was mistaken. An assembly,

the majority of whose members were mere ranters, totally incapable

of fulfilling the task imposed on them, and who sought to conceal

their ignorance by proposing revolutionary measures--which were

carried one day, to be revoked as impracticable the next--was the

result of the election. That I should prove a thorn in the sides

of such men was clear; and as it was not in their power to get

rid of me, they sought to make me a powerless tool, by creating a

three-headed dictatorship, with the evident intention of making

use of my name, whilst holding me in check by the other two

dictators. Although such a situation might be undignified, still,

from love of the cause, I determined to accept it. I scarcely ever

saw my colleagues in Carlsruhe, as they found it more agreeable to

run after the army. No reports from the seat of war ever reached

me; and yet the assembly demanded from me, as being the only

one present, accounts of what I had received no report of. All

responsibility was thrown on my shoulders. If the minister of war

neglected to supply the army with arms or ammunition, the fault

was mine; if the minister of finance wanted money, I was to blame;

and if the army was beaten, my want of energy was the cause of it!

"Thus was I abandoned at Carlsruhe in the last most dangerous

days, and left with a set of deputies who, for the most part,

had not even sufficient courage to sleep in the capital. My

co-dictators found it more convenient to play the easier part

of mock heroes with the army. Thousands can bear witness that I

shrunk from no work, however trivial; but I can prove to most

of these pot-valiant heroes, that they put off the most urgent

motions as 'not pressing,' whilst they clung to others that were

of no importance, merely because they carried them out of all

danger at the national expense.

"In Offenburg we were joined by the newly-elected member

Gustavus Struve, who immediately demanded my dismissal from the

government. On being told that this was impossible, he next wished

me to be taken from the dictatorship, and to be given one of the

minister's places. He talked of the want of energy displayed by

the government, called it little better than treason, and tried

to learn from my friends what plans I intended to adopt. He

demanded that the fugitives from the Pfalz should be placed in

office, though, God knows, we owed them nothing. Indignant at such

conduct, I took no part in the secret council held at Freiburg,

although I informed several of the deputies of my intention to

resign, unless I received full satisfaction for the machinations

of Struve.

"The first public meeting of the assembly took place on the

evening of the 28th June, when Struve brought forward the

following motion:--

"'That every effort at negotiation with the enemy be considered

and punished as high treason.' Considering what had before taken

place, I could not do less than oppose the motion, which I did on

the grounds that, as such negotiations could only proceed from

the government, the motion was tantamount to a vote of want of

confidence. In spite of this declaration on my part, the motion

was carried by twenty-eight against fifteen votes, and the contest

between Struve and Brentano was decided in favour of the former.

Although some few of the deputies declared their vote not to

imply want of confidence, the assembly did not, in that capacity,

express such an opinion. If they did, I call on them to produce

the notes of such a resolution having been carried; and if they

fail to do so, I brand them with the name of infamous liars. After

this, I did what all honourable men would have done--I resigned.

Who, I ask, was to prevent my doing so; and why am I to be branded

with the name of traitor? I laugh those fools to scorn who imagine

they could prevent freedom of action in a man who, having been

shamefully ill-used, chose to withdraw from public life.

"I do not fear inquiry, and demand from the national assembly that

the result of their investigation be made public, as it can only

terminate in victory for me and destruction to my adversaries. Why

did this same assembly keep secret the fact that, on the 28th of

June, they decided to send me a deputation the next morning, in

order to beg I would remain in power--I the traitor, I who was to

be brought to 'well-merited punishment!' It was easy to foresee

the personal danger I was exposed to if I refused, and I therefore

preferred seeking quiet and repose in Switzerland, to enjoying the

rags of freedom emitted under Struve's dictatorship in Baden.

"I am to be called to account! My acts are open to the world. No

money ever came under my superintendence--this was taken care

of by men who had been employed in the department for years.

My salary as head of the government was three florins per day,

and I have paid all travelling expenses out of my own pocket.

But if those are to be called to account who had charge of the

public money, and became my enemies because I would not have it

squandered, then, people of Baden! you will open your eyes with

astonishment; then, brave combatants, you will learn that, whilst

you fasted, others feasted!

"The people of Baden will not be thankful for a 'Struve

government,' but they will have to support it; and over the grave

of freedom, over the graves of their children, will they learn to

know those who were their friends and those who only sought for

self-aggrandisement and tyranny!

"And when the time comes that the people are in want of me

again, my ear will not be deaf to the call! But I will never

serve a government of tyrants, who can only keep in power by

adopting measures that we have learned to despise, as worthy of a

Windischgratz or a Wrangel!

"Fellow-citizens! I have not entered into details. I have only

drawn a general sketch, which it will require time to fill up.

Accused of treason by the princes, accused of treason by the

deputies of Freiburg, I leave you to decide whether I have merited

the title.

"_Feuerthalen bei Schaffhausen,

1 July, 1849._

"LOUIS BRENTANO."

At this time of writing, Rastadt still remains in possession of two

or three thousand insurgents; but, almost without provisions, and

deprived of all hopes of assistance, the fortress may be daily expected

to surrender. Such is the termination of an insurrection of seven

weeks' duration, which is calculated to have cost the country thirty

millions of florins and four thousand lives. There is no denying that,

at one time, it assumed a most formidable aspect; and had the people of

Würtemberg given it the support its leaders confidently expected from

them, it might, aided by the discontent that undoubtedly prevails in

many other parts of Germany, long have baffled the efforts of Prussia

to put it down. Yet there are few persons, even among those who

witnessed the outbreak from its commencement, who can tell what was the

object of its promoters, unless plunder and personal aggrandisement be

assigned as their incentives. Their professed motive was to support

the union of Germany in one empire; but, as the Grand-duke of Baden

had already taken the oath to obey and defend the constitution framed

at Frankfort, there was not the slightest pretext for upsetting his

government. It is certain that the republicans played a most active

part in the affair--their intention no doubt being, as soon as they

found themselves victorious under the banner of the empire, to hoist

a democratic flag of their own. Many who were not inclined to go so

far, joined them upon doubts of the fair intentions of the Germanic

princes towards their subjects. Some were perhaps glad of any sort

of change, other turbulent spirits were anxious for a row, but, from

first to last, none seem to have had any clearly defined object, or

anything to offer in extenuation of such waste of blood and treasure.

The next striking circumstance is the evident incapacity of the chiefs,

civil and military. Throughout the affair, we do not see one proof of

superior talent, or a single act of daring courage. The only useful

reflection it affords is one that is perhaps worthy the attention of

the rulers of Germany. Last year, Struve's attempt to revolutionise the

country was principally supported by ignorant peasants, mad students,

and a few ultra-liberals and republicans, and it was in great measure

put down by the soldiers of Baden. This year, a great proportion of the

citizens in the principal towns were openly in favour of the movement,

and nearly the whole Baden army joined the revolt.

HEIDELBERG, _15th July 1849_.

LAMARTINE'S REVOLUTION OF 1848.

So completely was the ordinary framework of European society broken up

in France by the Revolution of 1789, that the leaders of every great

political movement, since that time, have sprung from an entirely

different class of society from what they were before that event. The

old territorial noblesse no longer appear as the leaders in action,

or the rulers of thought. The time has gone by when an Admiral de

Coligny, or a Henry of Béarn, stood forth as the chiefs of the Reformed

movement; a Duc d'Orleans no longer heads the defection of the nobles

from the throne, or a Mirabeau rouse a resistance to the mandates of

the sovereign. Not only the powers of the sword, not only the political

lead of the people, but the direction of their thoughts, has passed

from the old nobility. The confiscation of their property has destroyed

their consequence, the dispersion of their families ruined their

influence. Neither collectively nor individually can they now lead

the people. The revolution of 1830, begun by Thiers and the writers

in the _National_ newspaper, was carried out by Lafitte the great

banker. That of 1848, springing from the columns of the _Réforme_ and

the _Démocratie Pacifique_, soon fell under the lead of M. Marrast the

journalist, and M. Lamartine the romancer and poet. And now the latter

of these authors has come forth, not only as the leader but as the

historian of the movement. Like Cæsar, he appears as the annalist of

his own exploits: like him, he no doubt flatters himself he can say, "I

came, I saw, I conquered."

The reason is, that mankind cannot exist even for a day but under

the lead of a few. Self-government is the dream of the enthusiast,

the vision of the inexperienced: oligarchy is the history of man. In

vain are institutions popularised, nobles destroyed, masses elevated,

education diffused, self-government established: all that will not

alter the character of man; it will not qualify the multitude for

self-direction; it will not obviate that first of necessities to

mankind--_the necessity of being governed_. What is the first act of

every assembly of men associated together for any purpose, social,

political, or charitable? To nominate a committee by whom their common

affairs are to be regulated. What is the first act of that committee?

To nominate a sub-committee of two or three, in whom the direction

of affairs is practically to be vested. Begin, if you please, with

universal suffrage: call six millions of electors to the poll, as

in France at this time, or four millions, as in America--the sway

of two or three, ultimately of one, is not the less inevitable. Not

only does the huge mass ultimately fall under the direction of one

or two leading characters, but from the very first it is swayed by

their impulsion. The millions repeat the thoughts of two or three

journals, they elaborate the ideas of two or three men. What is the

origin of the whole free-trade principles which have totally altered

the policy, and probably shortened the existence, of the British

empire? The ideas of Adam Smith, nurtured in the solitude of Kirkaldy.

Would you learn what are the opinions generally prevalent in the

urban circles in England, in whom political power is practically

vested, on Wednesday or Thursday? Read the leading articles of the

_Times_ on Monday or Tuesday. The more men are educated, the more that

instruction is diffused, the more widely that journals are read, the

more vehement the political excitement that prevails, the more is the

sway of this oligarchy established, for the greater is the aptitude

of the general mind to receive the impulse communicated to it by the

leaders of thought. The nation, in such circumstances, becomes a vast

electric-machine, which vibrates with the slightest movement of the

central battery.

Lamartine, as an author, can never be mentioned without the highest

respect. The impress of genius is to be seen in all his works: nature

has marked him for one of the leaders of thought. A mind naturally

ardent and enthusiastic, has been nurtured by travel, enriched by

reflection, chastened by suffering. His descriptive powers are of

the very highest order. We have already done justice, and not more

than justice, to the extreme beauty of his descriptions of Oriental

scenery.[12] They are the finest in the French, second to none in

the English language. His mind is essentially poetical. Many of his

effusions in verse are touching and beautiful, though they do not

possess the exquisite grace and delicate expression of Beranger. But

his prose is poetry itself: so deeply is his mind imbued with poetical

images--so sensitive is his taste to the grand and the beautiful--so

enthusiastic is his admiration of the elevated, whether in nature or

art, that he cannot treat even an ordinary subject without tinging it

with the colours of romance.

[12] See _Blackwood's Magazine_, vol. lvi., p. 657.

From this peculiar texture of Lamartine's mind arises both the

excellences and defects of his historical compositions. He has all the

romantic and poetical, but few of the intellectual qualities of an

historian. Eminently dramatic in his description of event, powerful

in the delineation of character, elevated in feeling, generous in

sentiment, lofty in speculation--he is yet destitute of the sober

judgment and rational views which are the only solid foundation for

either general utility or durable fame in historical composition. He

has the conceptions of genius and the fire of poetry in his narrative,

but little good sense, and still less of practical acquaintance with

mankind. That is his great defect, and it is a defect so serious that

it will probably, in the end, deprive his historical works of the place

in general estimation to which, from the beauty of their composition

and the rich veins of romance with which they abound, they are justly

entitled. These imaginative qualities are invaluable additions to the

sterling qualities of truth, judgment, and trust-worthiness; but they

can never supply their place. They are the colouring of history; they

give infinite grace to its composition; they deck it out with all the

charms of light and shade: but they can never make up for the want of

accurate drawing from nature, and a faithful delineation of objects as

they really exist in the world around us. Nay, an undue preponderance

of the imaginative qualities in an historian, if not accompanied by a

scrupulous regard to truth, tends rather to lessen the weight due to

his narrative, by inspiring a constant dread that he is either passing

off imaginary scenes for real events, or colouring reality so highly

that it is little better than fiction. This is more especially the case

with a writer such as Lamartine, whose thoughts are so vivid and style

so poetical, that, even when he is describing events in themselves

perfectly true, his narrative is so embellished that it assumes the

character of romance, and is distrusted from a suspicion that it is a

mere creation of the imagination.

In addition to this, there is a capital deficiency in Lamartine's

historical works, for which no qualities of style or power of

composition, how brilliant soever, can compensate; and which, if not

supplied in some future editions, will go far to deprive them of all

credit or authority with future times. This is the _entire want of

all authorities or references_, either at the bottom, of the page or

at the end of the work. In the eight volumes of the _History of the

Girondists_, and the four on the _Revolution of 1848_, now before us,

we do not recollect ever having met with a single reference or footnote

containing a quotation from any state paper, speech, or official

document. It is impossible to overestimate the magnitude of this

defect; and it is astonishing how so able and well-informed a writer

as Lamartine should have fallen into it. Does he suppose that the

world are to take everything he says off his hand, without reference

or examination; or imagine that the brilliant and attractive graces

of his style do not increase the necessity for such authorities, from

the constant suspicion they beget that they have been drawn from the

store of his imagination, not the archives of history? No brilliancy of

description, no richness of colouring, no amount of dramatic power, can

make up for a want of the one thing needful--trust in the TRUTH of the

narrative. Observe children: every one knows how passionately fond they

are of having stories told them, and how much they prefer them to any

of the ordinary pastimes suited to their years. How often, however, do

you hear them say, _But is it all true?_ It is by making them believe

that fiction is the narrative of real event that the principal interest

is communicated to the story. Where the annals of event are coloured as

Lamartine knows how to colour them, they become more attractive than

any romance. The great success of his _History of the Girondists_,

and of Macaulay's _History of England_, is a sufficient proof of

this. But still the question will recur to men and women, as well as

children--"But is it all true?" And truth in his hands wears so much

the air of romance, that he would do well, by all possible adjuncts, to

convey the impression that it is in every respect founded in reality.

There is no work which has been published in France, of late years,

which has met with anything like the success which his _History of the

Girondists_ has had. We have heard that fifty thousand copies of it

were sold in the first year. Beyond all doubt, it had a material effect

in producing the Revolution of 1848, and precipitating Louis Philippe

from the throne. It was thus popular, from the same cause which

attracts boys to narratives of shipwrecks, or crowds to representations

of woe on the theatre--deep interest in tragic events. He represented

the heroes of the first great convulsion in such attractive colours,

that men, and still more women, were not only fascinated by the

narrative and deeply interested in the characters, but inspired by a

desire to plunge into similar scenes of excitement themselves--just

as boys become sailors from reading terrific tales of shipwreck, or

soldiers, from stories of perils in the deadly breach. In his hands,

vice equally with virtue, weakness with resolution, became attractive.

He communicated the deepest interest to Robespierre himself, who is the

real hero of his story, as Satan is of the _Paradise Lost_. He drew

no veil over the weakness, the irresolution, the personal ambition

of the Girondists, so fatal in their consequences to the cause of

freedom in France, and through it to that of liberty over the whole

world; but he contrived to make them interesting notwithstanding their

faults--nay, in consequence of those very faults. He borrowed from

romance, where it has been long understood and successfully practised,

especially in France, the dangerous secret of making characters of

_imperfect goodness_ the real heroes of his tale. He knew that none of

the leading characters at Paris were Sir Charles Grandisons; and he

knew that, if they had been so, their adventures would have excited,

comparatively speaking, very little interest. But he knew that many

of them were political Lovelaces; and he knew well that it is by such

characters that in public, equally as private life, the weakness of the

world is fascinated, and their feelings enchained. And it is in the

deep interest which his genius has communicated to really worthless

characters, and the brilliant colours in which he has clothed the most

sinister and selfish enterprises, that the real danger of his work

consists, and the secret of the terrible consequences with which its

publication was followed is to be found.

In truth, however, the real cause of those terrible consequences lies

deeper, and a fault of a more fundamental kind than any glossing over

the frailties of historical characters has at once rendered his work

so popular and its consequences so tremendous. Rely upon it, truth

and reason, all-powerful and even victorious in the end, are never

a match for sophistry and passion in the outset. When you hear of a

philosophical historical work going through half-a-dozen editions in

six months, or selling fifty thousand copies in a year, you may be

sure that there is a large intermixture of error, misrepresentation,

and one-sidedness in its composition. The cause is, that truth and

reason are in general distasteful in the outset to the human mind; and

it is by slow degrees, and the force of experience alone, that their

ascendency is established. What attracts, in the first instance, in

thought, independent of the charms of eloquence and the graces of

composition--which of course are indispensable to great success--is

_coincidence with the tendency and aspirations of general thought_.

But so prone to error and delusion is the human mind, from its

inherent character and original texture, that it is a hundred to one

that general thought at any one time, especially if it is one of

considerable excitement or vehement feeling, is founded in error. And

thus it often happens, that the works which have the most unbounded

success at their first publication, and for a considerable time after,

are precisely those which contain the largest portion of error, and

are likely, when reduced into practice, to have the most fatal effects

upon the best interests of the species. Witness the works of Rousseau

and Voltaire in France, to whose influence the first revolution is

mainly to be ascribed; those of Lamartine, Victor Hugo, and Eugene Sue,

who have been chiefly instrumental in bringing about the still more

widespread convulsions of our times.

The fundamental principle of Lamartine's political philosophy, and

which we regard as his grand error, and the cause at once of his

success in the outset and his failure in the end, is the principle

of the general innocence and perfectibility of human nature. It is

this principle, so directly repugnant to the fundamental doctrines

of Christianity, that it may be regarded as literally speaking the

"banner-cry of hell," which is at the bottom of the whole revolutionary

maxims; and it is so flattering to the hopes, and agreeable to the

weakness of human nature, that it can scarcely ever fail, when brought

forward with earnestness and enforced by eloquence, to captivate the

great majority of mankind. Rousseau proclaimed it in the loudest

terms in all his works; it was the great secret of his success.

According to him, man was born innocent, and with dispositions only

to virtue: all his vices arose from the absurdity of the teachers

who tortured his youth, all his sufferings from the tyranny of the

rulers who oppressed his manhood. Lamartine, taught by the crimes,

persuaded by the sufferings of the first Revolution, has modified this

principle without abandoning its main doctrines, and thus succeeded

in rendering it more practically dangerous, because less repugnant to

the common sense and general experience of mankind. His principle is,

that _démagogie_ is always selfish and dangerous; _démocratie_ always

safe and elevating. The ascendency of a few ambitious or worthless

leaders precipitates the masses, when they first rise against their

oppressors, into acts of violence, which throw a stain upon the cause

of freedom, and often retard for a season its advance. But that advance

is inevitable: it is only suspended for a time by the reaction against

bloodshed; and in the progressive elevation of the millions of mankind

to general intelligence, and the direction of affairs, he sees the

practical development of the doctrines of the gospel, and the only

secure foundation for general felicity. He is no friend to the extreme

doctrines of the Socialists and Communists, and is a stanch supporter

of the rights of property--and the most important of all rights, those

of marriage and family. But he sees in the sway of the multitude the

only real basis of general happiness, and the only security against the

inroads of selfishness; and he regards the advances towards this grand

consummation as being certain and irresistible as the advance of the

tide upon the sand, or the progress from night to morning. In this way

he hopes to reconcile the grand doctrine of human perfectibility with

the universal failure of all attempts at its practical establishment;

and continues to dream of the irresistible and blessed march of

democracy, while recounting alike the weakness of the Girondists,

and the crimes of the Jacobins--the woful result of the Revolution

of 1789--and the still more rapid and signal failure of that which

convulsed the world sixty years afterwards.

The simple answer to all these absurdities and errors, productive of

such disastrous consequences when reduced into practice, is this--"The

heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked."--"There

is none that doeth good, no, not one." It is from this _universal_ and

inevitable tendency to wickedness, that the practical impossibility

of establishing democratic institutions, without utter ruin to the

best interests of society, arises. You seek in vain to escape from

the consequences of this universal corruption, by committing power to

a multitude of individuals, or extinguishing the government of a few

in the sway of numbers. The multitude are themselves as bad by nature

as the few, and, for the discharge of the political duties with which

they are intrusted, incomparably worse; for, in their case, numbers

annihilate responsibility without conferring wisdom, and the contagion

of common opinions inflames passion without strengthening reason. In

the government of a few, capacity is generally looked for, because it

is felt to be beneficial by the depositaries of power; but in that

of numbers it is as commonly rejected, because it excites general

jealousy, without the prospect of individual benefit. Democratic

communities are ruined, no one knows how, or by whom. It is impossible

to find any one who is responsible for whatever is done. The ostensible

leaders are driven forward by an unseen power, which they are incapable

alike of regulating or withstanding: the real leaders--the directors of

thought--are unseen and irresponsible. If disasters occur, they ascribe

them to the incapacity of the statesmen at the head of affairs: they

relieve themselves of responsibility, by alleging, with truth, the

irresistible influence of an unknown power. No one is trained to the

duties of statesmanship, because no one knows who is to be a statesman.

Ignorance, presumption, and ambition, generally mount to the head of

affairs: the wheel of fortune, or the favour of a multitude incapable

of judging of the subject, determines everything. The only effectual

security against spoliation by the rulers of men, the dread of being

spoliated themselves, is lost when these rulers are men who are not

worth spoliating. Durable interest in the fortunes of the community is

no longer felt, when durable tenure of power is known to be impossible.

The only motive which remains is, that of making the most of a tenure

of power which is universally known to be as short-lived as it is

precarious; and prolonging it as long as possible, by bending, in every

instance, to the passions or fantasies of the multitude, nominally

vested with supreme power, really entirely guided by a few insolvent

and ambitious demagogues--

"Ces petits souverains qu'il fait pour un année,

Voyant d'un temps si court leur puissance bornée,

Des plus heureux desseins font avorter le fruit,

De peur de le laiser à celui qui le suit;

Comme ils ont peu de part aux biens dont ils ordonnent,

Dans le champs du public largement ils moissonnent;

Assurés que chacun leur pardonne aisément,

Espérant à son tour un pareil traitement;

Le pire des états, c'est l'état populaire."[13]

[13] CORNEILLE, _Cinna_, Act ii., scene 1.

Lamartine, regarding the march of democracy as universal and

inevitable, is noways disconcerted by the uniform failure of all

attempts in old communities to establish it, or the dreadful

catastrophes to which they have invariably led. These are merely the

breaking of the waves of the advancing tide; but the rise of the

flood is not the less progressive and inevitable. He would do well to

consider, however, whether there is not a limit to human suffering;

whether successive generations will consent to immolate themselves

and their children for no other motive than that of advancing an

abstract principle, or vindicating privileges for the people fatal to

their best interests; and whether resisted attempts, and failures at

the establishment of republican institutions, will not, in the end,

lead to _a lasting_ apathy and despair in the public mind. Certain

it is, that this was the fate of popular institutions in Greece, in

Rome, and modern Italy: all of which fell under the yoke of servitude,

from a settled conviction, founded on experience, that anything was

preferable to the tempests of anarchy. Symptoms, and those too of the

most unequivocal kind, may be observed of a similar disposition in the

great majority, at least of the rural population, both in France and

England. The election of Prince Louis Napoleon by four millions out of

six millions of electors, in the former country--the quiet despair

with which measures of the most ruinous kind to general industry are

submitted to in the latter, are so many proofs of this disposition.

The bayonets of Changarnier, the devastating measures of free trade

and a restricted currency, are submitted to in both countries, because

anything is better than shaking the foundations of government.

In treating of the causes which have led to the revolution of 1848,

Lamartine imputes a great deal too much, in our estimation, to

individual men or shades of opinion, and too little to general causes,

and the ruinous effects of the first great convulsion. He ascribes it

to the personal unpopularity of M. Guizot, the selfish and corrupt

system of government which the king had established, and the discontent

at the national risks incurred by France for the interests only of

the Orleans dynasty, in the Montpensier alliance. This tendency

arises partly from the constitution of Lamartine's mind, which is

poetical and dramatic rather than philosophical; and partly from the

disinclination felt by all intelligent liberal writers to ascribe the

failure of their measures to their natural and inevitable effects,

rather than the errors or crimes of individual men. In this respect,

doubtless, he is more consistent and intelligible than M. Thiers,

who, in his _History of the French Revolution_, ascribes the whole

calamities which occurred to the _inevitable march of events_ in such

convulsions--forgetting that he could not in any other way so severely

condemn his own principles, and that it is little for the interest of

men to embrace a cause which, in that view, necessarily and inevitably

leads to ruin. Lamartine, in running into the opposite extreme, and

ascribing everything to the misconduct and errors of individual men,

is more consistent, because he saves the principle. But he is not the

less in error. The general discontent to which he ascribes so much, the

universal selfishness and corruption which he justly considers as so

alarming, were themselves the result of previous events: they were the

effects, not the causes, of political change. And without disputing the

influence, to a certain extent, of the individual men to whose agency

he ascribes everything, it may safely be affirmed that there are four

causes of paramount importance which concurred in bringing about the

late French revolution; and which will for a very long period, perhaps

for ever, prevent the establishment of anything like real freedom in

that country.

The first of these is the universal disruption of all the old bonds

of society, which took place in the first Revolution, and the general

fretting against all restraint, human or divine, which arose from

the ruin of religion and confusion of morals which then took place.

These evils have only been partially remedied by the re-establishment

of the Christian faith over the whole realm, and the sway which it

has undoubtedly acquired in the rural districts. The active and

energetic inhabitants of the great towns still continue influenced by

the Revolutionary passions, the strongest of which is the thirst for

present enjoyment, and the impatience of any restraint, whether from

the influence of conscience or the authority of law. This distinctly

appears from the licentious style of the novels which have now for a

quarter of a century issued from the press of Paris, and which is in

general such that, though very frequently read in England, it is very

seldom, especially by women, that this reading is admitted. The drama,

that mirror of the public mind, is another indication of the general

prevalence of the same licentious feeling: it is for the most part

such, that few even of the least tight-laced English ladies can sit

out the representation. The irreligion, or rather _general oblivion

of religion_, which commonly prevails in the towns, is a part, though

doubtless a most important part, of this universal disposition:

Christianity is abjured or forgotten, not because it is disbelieved,

but because it is disagreeable. Men do not give themselves the trouble

to inquire whether it is true or false; they simply give it the go-by,

and pass quietly on the other side, because it imposes a restraint,

to them insupportable, on their passions. Dispositions of this sort

are the true feeders of revolution, because they generate at once its

convulsions in like manner, as passions which require gratification,

poverty which demands food, and activity which pines for employment.

Foreign war or domestic convulsion are the only alternatives which,

in such a state of society, remain to government. Napoleon tried the

first, and he brought the Cossacks to Paris; Louis Philippe strove

to become the Napoleon of peace, but he succeeded only in being the

pioneer of revolution.

The great and durable interests of society, which the indulgence of

such passions inevitably ruins, are the barrier which, in ordinary

circumstances, is opposed to these disorders; and it is this influence

which has so long prevented any serious outbreak of anarchy in Great

Britain. But the immense extent of the confiscation of landed property

during the first Revolution, and the total ruin of commercial and

movable wealth, from the events of the maritime war, and the effects

of the enormous issue of assignats, has prevented the construction of

this barrier in anything like sufficient strength to withstand the

forces which pressed against it. Nine-tenths of the realised wealth of

the country was destroyed during the convulsion; what remained was for

the most part concentrated in the hands of a few bankers and moneyed

men, who aimed at cheapening everything, and depressing industry, in

order to augment the value of their metallic riches. The influence

of the natural leaders of the producing class, the great proprietors

of land, was at an end, for they were almost all destroyed. The six

millions of separate landed proprietors, who had come in their place,

had scarcely any influence in the state; for the great majority of

them were too poor to pay 200 francs a-year (£8) direct taxes--the

necessary condition towards an admission into the electoral body--and

as individuals they were in too humble circumstances to have any

influence in the state. The returns of the "_Impôt foncière_," or

land-tax, showed that above four millions of this immense body had

properties varying from £2 to £10 a-year each--not more than is enjoyed

by an Irish bogtrotter. In these circumstances, not only was the

steadying influence of property in general unfelt in the state, but the

property which did make itself felt was of a disturbing rather than a

pacifying tendency; for it was that of bankers and money-lenders, whose

interests, being those of consumers, not producers, went to support

measures calculated to depress industry rather than elevate it, and

thereby augment rather than diminish the distress which, from these

causes, soon came to press so severely upon the urban population.

These causes were the necessary results of the dreadful waste of

property, and ruin of industry, which had taken place during the first

Revolution. The multitude of little proprietors with which France was

overspread, could furnish nothing to the metropolis but an endless

succession of robust hands to compete with its industry, and starving

mouths to share its resources. What could the six millions of French

landowners, the majority of them at the plough, afford to lay aside

for the luxuries of Paris? Nothing. You might as well expect the

West-End shopkeepers of London to be sustained by the starving western

Highlanders of Scotland, or the famished crowds of Irish cottars. The

natural flow of the wealth of the land to the capital of the kingdom,

which invariably sets in when agricultural property is unequally

distributed, and a considerable part of it is vested in the hands of

territorial magnates, was at once stopped when it became divided among

a multitude of persons, not one of whom could afford to travel ten

miles from home, or to buy anything but a rustic dress and a blouse to

cover it. At least sixty millions sterling, out of the eighty millions

which constitute the net territorial produce of France, was turned

aside from Paris, and spent entirely in the purchase of the coarsest

manufactures or rude subsistence in the provinces. The metropolis came

to depend mainly on the expenditure of foreigners, or of the civil

and military employés of government. This woful defalcation in its

resources occurred at a time, too, when the influx of needy adventurers

from the country was daily increasing, from the impossibility of

earning a livelihood, amidst the desperate competition of its squalid

landowners, and the decline of agriculture, which necessarily resulted

from their inability to adopt any of its improvements. Thus the

condition of the working classes in Paris went on getting constantly

worse, during the whole reign of Louis Philippe; and it was only in

consequence of the vast influx of foreigners, which the maintenance

of peace and the attractions of the court occasioned, that they were

not reduced many years before to the despair and misery which at once

occasioned and followed the last revolution.

Amidst a population excited to discontent by these causes, another

circumstance has operated with peculiar force, which we do not

recollect to have seen hitherto noticed in disquisitions on this

subject--this is the prodigious number of _natural children_ and

foundlings at Paris. It is well known that ever since the close of the

first Revolution the number of illegitimate births in Paris has borne a

very great proportion to the legitimate; they are generally as 10,000

to 18,000 or 19,000. For a long time past, every third child seen

in the streets of Paris has been a bastard. Hitherto this important

feature of society has been considered with reference to the state of

morality in regard to the relation of the sexes which it indicates;

but attend to its social and political effects. These bastards do

not always remain children; they grow up to be men and women. The

foundlings of Paris, already sufficiently numerous, are swelled by a

vast concourse of a similar class over all France, who flock, when

they have the means of transport, to the capital as the common sewer

of the commonwealth. There are at present about 1,050,000 souls in the

French metropolis. Suppose that a third of these are natural children,

there are then 350,000 persons, most of them foundlings of illegitimate

birth, in that capital. Taking a fourth of them as capable of bearing

arms, we have 85,000 _bastards constantly ready to fight in Paris_.

Consider only the inevitable results of such a state of things in an

old and luxurious metropolis, teeming with indigence, abounding with

temptation, overflowing with stimulants to the passions. The _enfant

trouvé_ of Paris, when grown up, becomes a _gamin de Paris_, just as

naturally and inevitably as a chrysalis becomes a butterfly. He has

obtained enough of instruction to enable him to imbibe temptation, and

not enough to enable him to combat it. He has in general received the

rudiments of education: he can read the novels of Victor Hugo, Eugene

Sue, and George Sand; he can study daily the _Réforme_ or _National_,

or _Démocratie Pacifique_. He looks upon political strife as a game

at hazard, in which the winning party obtain wealth and honour,

mistresses, fortunes, and enjoyments. As to religion, he has never

heard of it, except as a curious relic of the olden time, sometimes

very effective on the opera stage; as to industry, he knows not what

it is; as to self-control, he regards it as downright folly where

self-indulgence is practicable. The most powerful restraints on the

passions of men--parents, children, property--are to him unknown. He

knows not to whom he owes his birth; his offspring are as strange to

him as his parents, for they, like him, are consigned to the Foundling

Hospital: he has nothing in the world he can call his own, except

a pair of stout arms to aid in the formation of barricades, and a

dauntless heart ready at any moment to accept the hazard of death

or pleasure. Hanging midway, as it were, between the past and the

future, he has inherited nothing from the former but its vices, he will

transmit nothing to the latter but its passions. Whoever considers the

inevitable results of eighty or ninety thousand men in the prime of

life actuated by these dispositions, associating with an equal number

of women of the same class, affected by the same misfortune in their

birth, and influenced by the same passions, constantly existing in a

state of indigence and destitution in the heart of Paris, will have no

difficulty in accounting for the extraordinary difficulty which, for

the last half century, has been experienced in governing France, and

will probably despair of ever succeeding in it but by force of arms.

We hear nothing of these facts from Lamartine, whose mind is

essentially dramatic, and who represents revolutions, as he evidently

considers them, as the work of individual men, working upon the

inevitable march of society towards extreme republican institutions.

He gives us no statistics; he never refers to general causes,

except the universal progress towards democracy, which he regards

as irresistible. Least of all is he alive to the ruinous effects of

the first great disruption of the bonds of society which naturally

followed the Revolution of 1789, or disposed to regard the subsequent

convulsions, as what they really are--the inevitable result and just

punishment of the enormous sins of the Revolution. And--mark-worthy

circumstance!--these consequences are the obvious result of the great

crimes committed in its course; the confiscation of property which it

occasioned, the overthrow of religion and morals with which it was

attended. They have fallen with peculiar severity upon Paris, the

centre of the revolutionary faction, and the focus from which all its

iniquities emanated, and where the blood of its noblest victims was

shed. And if revolutions such as we have witnessed or read of in that

country are indeed inevitable, and part of the mysterious system of

Providence in the regulation of human affairs, we can regard them as

nothing but a realisation of that general tendency to evil which is so

clearly foretold in prophecy, and indications of the advent of those

disastrous times which are to be closed by the second coming of the

Messiah.

We have all heard of the mingled treachery and irresolution--treachery

in the national guard, irresolution in the royal family--which brought

about the revolution which Lamartine has so eloquently described. It

is evident, even from his account--which, it may be supposed, is not

unduly hostile to the popular side--that it was the bar-sinister in

its birth which proved fatal, in the decisive moment, to the Throne

of the Barricades; and that the revolution might with ease have been

suppressed, if any other power had been called to combat it but that

which owed its existence to a similar convulsion.

"The King was lost in thought, while the tocsin was sounding, on

the means by which it might yet be possible to calm the people,

and restrain the revolution, in which he persisted in seeing

nothing but a riot. The abdication of his external-political

system, personified in M. Guizot, M. Duchatel, and the majority of

the Chambers entirely devoted to his interests, appeared to him

to amount to more than the renunciation of his crown; it was the

abandonment of his thoughts, of his wisdom, of the prestige of his

infallibility in the eyes of Europe, of his family, of his people.

To yield a throne to adverse fortune, is little to a great mind.

To yield his renown and authority to triumphant adverse opinion

and implacable history, is the most painful effort which can be

required of a man, for it at once destroys and humbles him. But

the King was not one of those hardy characters who enjoy, with

_sang-froid_, the destruction of a people for the gratification of

their pride. He had read much of history, acted much in troubled

times, reflected much. He could not conceal from himself, that a

dynasty which should reconquer Paris by means of grape-shot and

bombs would be for ever besieged by the horror of the people.

His field of battle had always been opinion. It was on it that

he wished to act; he hoped to regain it by timely concessions.

Only, like a prudent economist, he higgled with opinion like a

Jewish pawnbroker, in the hopes of purchasing it at the smallest

possible sacrifice of his system and dignity. He flattered himself

he had several steps of popularity to descend before quitting the

throne."--(Vol. i., p. 102.)

The immediate cause of the overthrow of the throne, it is well known,

was the fatal order which the delusion of M. Thiers, when called to the

ministry, extorted from the weakness of the King, to stop firing--to

cease resistance--to succumb to the assailants. Marshal Bugeaud was

perfectly firm; the troops were steady; ample military force was

at their command; everything promised decisive success to vigorous

operations. Marshal Bugeaud's plan was of the simplest but most

efficacious kind.

"Marshal Bugeaud, with his military instinct, matured by

experience and the habit of handling troops, knew that

_immobility_ is the ruin of the morale of soldiers. He changed in

a moment the plan of operations submitted to him. He instantly

called around him the officers commanding corps. The one was

Tiburie Sebastiani, brother of the marshal of the same name, a

calm and faithful officer; the other, General Bedeau, whose name,

made illustrious by his exploits in Africa, carried respect with

it, to his companions in arms in Paris. He ordered them to form

two columns of 3500 men each, and to advance into the centre

of Paris--the one by the streets which traverse it from the

Boulevards to the Hôtel de Ville, the other by streets which cross

it from the quays. Each of the columns had artillery, and their

instructions were to carry, in their advance, all the barricades,

to destroy these fortresses of the insurrection, to cannonade the

masses, and concentrate their columns on the Hôtel de Ville, the

decisive point of the day. General Lamoricière was to command a

reserve of 9000 men, stationed around the palace."--(Vol. i., pp.

136, 137.)

The despair of the troops when compelled to retire before a tumultuous

mob--to confess defeat in their own capital, and in the face of Europe,

is thus described:--

"At daybreak the two columns of troops set out on their march;

their progress was, every ten minutes, reported by staff-officers

in disguise. _They experienced no serious resistance on their way

to the Hôtel de Ville_; the crowd opened as they advanced, with

cries of '_Vive la Réforme!_' they trampled under foot, without

firing a shot, the beginnings of the barricades. Nevertheless,

the uncertainty of what was passing in the Tuileries paralysed

the arms in the hands of the soldiers. The Marshal, at length

constrained by the reiterated orders of the King, sent orders to

his lieutenants to make the troops fall back. Marshal Bedeau,

upon this, made his battalions retire. Some soldiers threw their

muskets on the ground, as a sign of despair or fraternisation.

Their return across Paris had the appearance of a defection, or of

the advanced guard of the revolution marching on the Tuileries.

The troops, already vanquished by these orders, took up their

position, _untouched but powerless_, on the Place de la Concorde,

in the Champs Elysées, in the Rue de Rivoli. The French troops,

when disgraced, are no longer an army. They felt in their hearts

the bitterness of that retreat; they feel it still."--(Vol. i., p.

139.)

But it was soon found that these disgraceful concessions to mob

violence would avail nothing; that M. Thiers and M. Odillon Barrot

were alike unequal to stemming the torrent which they had put in

motion; and that the King, as a reward for his humane order to the

troops not to fire upon the people, was to be called on to abdicate!

In the disgraceful scene of pusillanimity and weakness which ensued,

we regret to say the princes of the royal family, and especially the

Duke de Montpensier, evinced as much cowardice as the princesses did

courage;--exemplifying thus again what Napoleon said of the Bourbons

in 1815, that there was only one man in the family, and that man was a

woman. The decisive moment is thus described with dramatic power, but,

we have no doubt, historic truth, by M. Lamartine:--

"M. Girardin, in a few brief and sad words, which abridged minutes

and cut short objections, said to the King with mournful respect,

that changes of ministry were no longer in season; that the moment

was sweeping away the throne with the councils, and that there was

but one word suitable to the urgency of the occasion, and that

word was '_abdication_.'

"The King was in one of those moments when truths strike without

offending. Nevertheless, he let fall, upon hearing these words,

from his hands the pen with which he was arranging the names of

the new ministry. He was desirous of discussing the question.

M. Girardin, pitiless as evidence, pressing as time, would not

even admit of discussion. 'Sire!' said he, 'the abdication

of the king, or the abdication of the monarchy--there is the

alternative. Circumstances will not admit even of a minute to find

a third issue from the straits in which we are placed.' While he

thus spoke, M. Girardin placed before the King the draft of a

proclamation which he had prepared and he wished to have printed.

That proclamation, concise as a fact, consisted only of four

lines, calculated to attract the eyes of the people.

The abdication of the King.

The regency of the Duchess of Orleans.

The dissolution of the Chamber of Deputies.

A general amnesty.

"The King hesitated. _The Duke de Montpensier his son_, carried

away, doubtless, by the energetic expression in the physiognomy,

gesticulations, and words of M. Girardin, pressed his father

with more vehemence than rank, age, and misfortunes should have

permitted to the respect of a son. _The pen was presented, and the

crown torn from the monarch by an impatience which could not wait

for his full and free conviction._ The rudeness of fortune towards

the King was forgotten _in the precipitance of the council_.

On the other hand, blood was beginning to flow, the throne was

gliding away. The lives even of the King and his family might

be endangered. Everything can be explained by the solicitude

and the tenderness of the councillors. History should ever take

the version which least humiliates and bruises least the human

heart."--(Vol. i., p. 127.)

Observe the poetic justice of this consummation. The member of his

family, who at the decisive moment failed in his duty, and compelled

his infirm and gray-haired father to abdicate, was the DUC DE

MONTPENSIER--the very prince for whose elevation he had perilled the

English alliance, violated his plighted word, endangered the peace

of Europe! The heir-presumptive of the crown of Spain was the first

to shake the crown of France from his father's head! Vanquished by

his personal fears, unworthy of his high rank and higher prospects,

a disgrace to his country, he evinced, what is rare in France in any

station, not merely moral, but physical pusillanimity. To this end have

the intrigues of the Orleans family, from Egalité downwards, ultimately

tended. They have not only lost the crown, to win which they forgot

their allegiance and violated their oaths, but they have lost it with

dishonour and disgrace: they are not only exiles, but they are despised

exiles. Such have been the fruits of the Orleans intrigues to gain the

crown of France.

As a bright contrast to this woful exhibition, we gladly translate M.

Lamartine's account of the memorable scene in the chambers, where the

Duchess of Orleans nobly contended with an infuriated and bloodthirsty

rabble for the crown, now devolved to her son by his grandfather's

abdication. Had such spirited devotion been found in her husband's

family, they might have transmitted the honours they had won in the

Orleans dynasty.

"The great door opposite the tribune, on a level with the most

elevated benches in the hall, opened; a woman appeared dressed in

mourning: it was the Duchess of Orleans. Her veil, half raised on

her hat, allowed her countenance to be seen, bearing the marks

of an emotion and sadness which heightened the interest of youth

and beauty. Her pale cheeks bore the traces of the tears of the

widow, the anxieties of the mother. No man could look on those

features without emotion. At their aspect, all resentment against

the monarchy fled from the mind. The blue eyes of the princess

wandered over the scene, with which she had been a moment dazzled,

as if to implore aid by her looks. Her slender but elegant form

bowed at the applause which saluted her. A slight colour--the dawn

of hope amidst ruin--of joy amidst sorrow--suffused her cheeks.

A smile of gratitude beamed through her tears. She felt herself

surrounded by friends. With one hand she held the young king, who

stumbled on the steps, with the other the young Duke of Chartres:

infants to whom the catastrophe which destroyed them was a subject

of amusement. They were both clothed in short black dresses.

A white shirt-collar was turned over their dresses, as in the

portraits by Vandyke of the children of Charles I.

"The Duke of Nemours walked beside the princess, faithful to the

memory of his brother in his nephews; a protector who would ere

long stand in need of protection himself. The figure of that

prince, ennobled by misfortune, breathed the courageous but modest

satisfaction of a duty discharged at the hazard of his life. Some

generals in uniform, and officers of the national guard, followed

her steps. She bowed with timid grace to the assembly, and sat

down motionless at the foot of the tribune, an innocent accused

person before a tribunal without appeal, which was about to judge

the cause of royalty. At that moment, that cause was gained in the

eyes and hearts of all."--(Vol i. p. 177.)

But it was all in vain. The mob on the outside broke into the assembly.

The national guard, as usual, failed at the decisive moment, and

royalty was lost.

"An unwonted noise was heard at the door on the left of the

tribune. Unknown persons, _national guards_ with arms in their

hands, common people in their working-dresses, break open the

doors, overthrow the officers who surround the tribune, invade

the assembly, and, with loud cries, demand the Duke of Nemours.

Some deputies rose from their seats to make a rampart with their

bodies around the princess. M. Mauguin calmly urged them to

retire. General Oudinot addressed them with martial indignation.

Finding words unavailing, he hastily traversed the crowd to demand

the support of the national guard. He represented to them the

inviolability of the assembly, and the respect due to a princess

and a woman insulted amidst French bayonets. The national guards

heard him, feigned to be indignant, but _slowly took up their

arms, and ended by doing nothing_."--(Vol. i. p. 180.)

In justice to Lamartine also, we must give an abstract of his animated

and eloquent account of the most honourable event in his life, and

one which should cover a multitude of sins--the moment when he singly

contended with the maddened rabble who had triumphed over the throne,

and, by the mere force of moral courage and eloquent expression,

defeated the Red Republicans, who were desirous to hoist the _drapeau

rouge_, the well-known signal of bloodshed and devastation:--

"In this moment of popular frenzy, Lamartine succeeded in calming

the people by a sort of patriotic hymn on their victory--so

sudden, so complete, so unlooked-for even by the most ardent

friends of liberty. He called God to witness the admirable

humanity and religious moderation which the people had hitherto

shown alike in the combat and their triumph. He placed prominently

forward that sublime instinct which, the evening before, had

thrown them, when still armed, but already disciplined and

obedient, into the arms of a few men who had submitted themselves

to calumny, exhaustion, and death, for the safety of all.

'That,' said Lamartine, 'was what the sun beheld yesterday, and

what would he shine upon to-day? He would behold a people the

more furious that there was no longer any enemies to combat;

distrusting the men whom but yesterday it had intrusted with the

lead,--constraining them in their liberty, insulting them in their

dignity, disavowing their authority, substituting a revolution

of vengeance and punishment for one of unanimity and fraternity,

and commanding the government to hoist, in token of concord, the

standard of a combat to the death between the citizens of the

same country! That red flag, which was sometimes raised as the

standard against our enemies when blood was flowing, should be

furled after the combat, in token of reconciliation and peace. I

would rather see the black flag which they hoist sometimes in a

besieged town as a symbol of death, to designate to the bombs the

edifices consecrated to humanity, and which even the balls of the

enemy respect. Do you wish, then, that the symbol of your republic

should be more menacing and more sinister than the colours of

a besieged city?' 'No no!' cried some of the crowd, 'Lamartine

is right: let us not keep that standard, the symbol of terror,

for our citizens.' 'Yes, yes!' cried others, 'it is ours--it is

that of the people--it is that with which we have conquered. Why

should we not keep, after the conflict, the colours which we have

stained with our blood?'--'Citizens!' said Lamartine, after having

exhausted every argument calculated to affect the imagination

of the people, 'you may do violence to the government: you may

command it to change the colours of the nation and the colours

of France. If you are so ill advised and so obstinate in error

as to impose on it a republic of party and flag of terror, the

government is as decided as myself to die rather than dishonour

itself by obeying you: for myself, my hand shall never sign that

decree: I will resist even to the death that symbol of blood; and

you should repudiate it as well as I; for the red flag which you

bring us has never gone beyond the Champ de Mars, dragged red in

the blood of the people in '91 and '93; but the tricolor flag has

made the tour of the world, with the name, the glory, and the

liberty of our country.' At these words, Lamartine, interrupted

by the unanimous cries of enthusiasm, fell from the chair which

served for his tribune, into the arms stretched out on all sides

to receive him. The cause of the new republic was triumphant over

the bloody recollections which they wished to substitute for it.

The hideous crowd which filled the hall retired, amidst cries of

'_Vive Lamartine!--Vive le Drapeau Tricolor!_'

"The danger, however, was not over. The crowd which had been

carried away by his words was met by another crowd which had not

hitherto been able to penetrate into the hall, and which was

more vehement in words and gesticulations. Menacing expressions,

ardent vociferations, cries of suffocation, threatening gestures,

discharges of firearms on the stair, tatters of a red flag waved

by naked arms above the sea of heads, rendered this one of the

most frightful scenes of the Revolution. 'Down with Lamartine!

Death to Lamartine! no Temporising,--the Decree, the Decree,

or the Government of Traitors to the lamp-post!' exclaimed the

assailants. These cries neither caused Lamartine to hesitate, to

retire, nor to turn pale. At the sight of him the fury of the

assailants, instead of being appeased, increased tenfold. Muskets

were directed at his head, the nearest brandished bayonets in his

face, and a savage group of twenty, with brutal drunken visages,

charged forward with their heads down, as if to break through

with an enormous battering-ram the circle which surrounded him.

The foremost appeared bereft of reason. Naked sabres reached

the head of the orator, whose hand was slightly wounded. The

critical moment had arrived; nothing was yet decided. Hazard

determined which should prevail. Lamartine expected momentarily

to be thrown down and trampled under foot. At that instant one

of the populace sprang from the crowd, a ball discharged from

below grazed his face and stained it with blood; while it still

flowed, he stretched out his arms to Lamartine--'Let me see him,

let me touch him,' cried he, 'let me kiss his hand! Listen to him,

oh, my citizens! follow his councils: you shall strike me before

touching him. I will die a thousand times to preserve that good

citizen for my country.' With these words he precipitated himself

into his arms, and held him convulsively embraced. The people were

moved at this scene; and a hundred voices again exclaimed '_Vive

le Gouvernement Provisoire!--Vive Lamartine!_'"--(Vol. i. pp. 393,

402.)

We purposely close our account of Lamartine's personal career with this

splendid passage in his life. His subsequent conduct, it is well known,

has ill accorded with this beginning. His popularity in Paris fell as

rapidly as it had risen; and on occasion of the terrible revolt of June

1848, he retired from the government, with all his colleagues, from

acknowledged inability to meet the crisis which had arisen. We have

heard different accounts of the real causes of his mysterious alliance

with his former opponent, and the head of the Red Republicans, M. Ledru

Rollin, to which this fall was owing. Some of these stories are little

to his credit. We forbear to mention them, lest we should unwittingly

disseminate falsehood in regard to a man of undoubted genius and

great acquirements. Perhaps, in some future "Confidences," he may be

able to explain much which undoubtedly at present stands in need of

explanation. We gladly leave this dubious subject, to give a place to

his dramatic account of the dreadful conflict in June, in the streets

of Paris, which is the more entitled to credit, as he was an eyewitness

of several of its most terrible scenes:--

"Assemblages of eight or ten thousand persons were already formed

on the Place of the Pantheon to attack the Luxembourg. M. Arago

harangued them and persuaded them to disperse; but it was only to

meet again in the quarters adjoining the Seine, in the Faubourg St

Antoine, and on the Boulevards. At the sight of them the faubourgs

turned out--the streets were filled--the _Ateliers Nationaux_

turned out their hordes--the populace, excited by some chief,

began to raise barricades. These chiefs were, for the most part,

brigadiers of the national workshops, the pillars of sedition and

of the clubs, irritated at the disbanding of their corps, the

wages of which, passing through their hands, had been applied,

it is said, to paying the Revolution. From the barriers of

Charenton, Fontainebleau, and Menilmontant, to the heart of Paris,

the entire capital was in the hands of a few thousand men. The

_rappel_ called to their standards 200,000 National Guards, ten

times sufficient to overthrow those assemblages of the seditious,

and to destroy their fortifications. But it must be said, to

the disgrace of that day, and for the instruction of posterity,

that the National Guard at that decisive moment _did not answer

in a body to the appeal of the government_. Their tardiness,

their disinclination, their inertness, left the streets in some

quarters open to sedition. They looked on with calm eyes on the

erection of thousands of barricades, which they had afterwards to

reconquer with torrents of blood. Soon the government quitted the

Luxembourg and took refuge in the National Assembly, where, at the

headquarters of General Cavaignac, was established the supreme

council of the nation.

"Government had reckoned on the support of the National Guard;

but the incessant beating of the _rappel_ failed in bringing it

forth to its standards. In several quarters they were imprisoned

by the insurgents. In fine, be it tardiness, or be it fatality,

the army was far from responding in a body to the imminence and

universality of the peril. Its numerical weakness aggravated the

danger. General Lamoricière, invincible, though soon besieged by

200,000 men, occupied the whole extent from the Rue du Temple to

the Madeleine, from the Rue de Clichy to the Louvre--constantly

on horseback, ever foremost in fire, he had two horses shot under

him--his countenance black with powder, his forehead running down

with sweat, his voice hoarse with giving the word of command, but

his eye serene and calm as a soldier in his native element, he

restored spirit to his men, confidence to the National Guards.

His reports to government breathed the intrepidity of his soul,

but he made no concealment of the imminence of the danger, and

the insufficiency of the troops at his disposal. He painted the

immense multitude of the assailants and the vast network of

barricades which stretched between the Bastile and the Chateau

d'Eau, between the barriers and the Boulevard. Incessantly he

implored reinforcements, which the government as continually

summoned to its support by the telegraph, and officers specially

despatched. At length the National Guards of the neighbourhood of

Paris began to arrive, and, ranging themselves round the Assembly,

furnished an example to those of the capital. Then, and not till

then, confidence began to be felt in the midst of the chances of

the combat."--(Vol. ii., pp. 480-481.)

It was a most fortunate event for the cause of order, and, with it,

of real freedom throughout the world, that this great revolt was so

completely suppressed, though at the cost of a greater number of lives,

particularly in general officers, than fell in many a bloody battle, by

the efforts of General Cavaignac and his brave companions in arms. It

is said that their measures, at first, were not skilfully taken--that

they lost time, and occasioned unnecessary bloodshed at the outset, by

neglecting to attack the barricades when they began to be formed; and

certainly the easy and bloodless suppression of the late revolt against

the government of Prince Louis Napoleon, by General Changarnier, seems

to favour this opinion. It must be recollected, however, that the

revolt of May 1849 occurred when the memory of the popular overthrow

of June 1848 was still fresh in the minds of the people; and it is not

easy to overestimate the effect of that decisive defeat in paralysing

revolt on the one side, and adding nerve to resistance on the other. It

is evident that Louis Napoleon is not a Duc de Montpensier--he will not

surrender his authority without a fight. But supposing that there was

some tardiness in adopting decisive measures on occasion of the June

revolt, that only makes the lesson more complete, by demonstrating the

inability of the bravest and most determined populace to contend with a

regular military force, when the troops are steady to their duty, and

bravely led by their chiefs. The subsequent suppression of the revolts

in Prague, Vienna, Madrid, and Rome, have confirmed the same important

truth. Henceforth, it is evident, the horrors of revolution may always

be averted, when government is firm, and the military are faithful.

And these horrors are in truth such, that it becomes evidently the

first of political and social duties for the rulers of men to justify

the eminence of their rank by their courage, and the troops to

vindicate the trust reposed in them by their fidelity. Passing by the

woful _exposé_ of the almost hopeless state of the French finances,

with a deficit of above TWELVE MILLIONS sterling, despite an addition

of forty-five per cent to the direct taxes, made by Prince Louis

Napoleon to the National Assembly, we rest on the following curious and

important details taken from the _Times_ of July 12, in regard to the

effect of the revolution of 1848 upon the comforts and condition of the

labouring classes in France:--

"It appears it is the middle class of tradesmen that are now most

suffering from the effects of revolution. The funds on which this

class had been living, in the hope that better days would soon

arrive, and which amongst some of the small tradesmen formed their

capital, have become exhausted. Those who had no money had, at all

events, some credit; but both money and credit are now gone. The

result is, that even in this period of comparative tranquillity

more shops are closed than in the days of turbulence.

"The following statement of the fluctuations of the revenues of

the city of Paris, occasioned also by revolution, and which goes

back to 1826, is taken from the _Débats_:--

"'The returns of the produce of indirect impost is the unfailing

testimony to the progress or decrease of public tranquillity. We

proved this truth yesterday in publishing, on the authority of a

well-informed journal, the comparative state of the receipts of

the Paris _octroi_ for the first six months of the years 1847,

1848, and 1849. It is still further proved by valuable documents

which we have at this moment before us. Thus, the produce of

the _octroi_ was, in 1847, 34,511,389 francs; and in 1848, only

26,519,627 francs, showing a difference of 7,991,762 francs. This

decrease is enormous, in relation to the immense necessities

created by the political and social crisis, the works undertaken

by the city, and the previous expenses it had to provide for. We

could analyse the different chapters of this municipal revenue,

which affords life to so many branches of Parisian industry;

but it is useless to inquire, for each of these chapters, the

particular causes of diminution. With the great event of 1848

before us, all details disappear. One sole cause has produced a

decrease in the receipts, and that is the revolution of February;

which, at first menacing society itself by the voice of democratic

orators and the pens of demagogue writers, frightened away capital

and annihilated industry of all kinds. In order to be able to

judge of the influence of great political events on the receipts

of the Paris _octroi_, it will be sufficient to recur to the years

which preceded and followed the revolution of 1830:--

Francs.

In 1826 the produce was 31,057,000

In 1827 (the first shock in consequence

of the progress of the

opposition in the country, and

the dissolution of the national

guard) 29,215,000

In 1828 (fall of the Villèle ministry--continuation

of the political

movement notwithstanding

the Montignac ministry) 28,927,000

In 1829 (ministry of the 8th

August--presentiments of a

struggle between the crown and

country) 27,695,000

In 1830 (July Revolution) 26,240,000

In 1831 (incessant agitation--repeated

outbreaks) 24,035,000

In 1832 (continuation of revolutionary

movement--events of

the 5th and 6th June) 22,798,000

In 1833 (progressive establishment

of tranquillity) 26,667,000

In 1834 (the situation becomes

better, with the exception of the

events of the 13th and 14th

April, which, however, were

brief) 27,458,000

From 1835 to 1838 (calm--cabinet

of 15th April--the produce

in the latter year) 31,518,000

In 1839 (Parliamentary coalition,

12th May) 30,654,000

In 1840 (fears of war--rupture of

the English Alliance, &c.) 29,906,000

From 1841 to 1845 (calm--progressive

increase in the latter

year) 34,165,000

In 1846 (notwithstanding the

dearness of food, the receipts

were) 33,990,000

In 1847 (commercial crisis, &c.) 33,033,000

In 1848 (revolution of February) 26,519,000

"The following from _La Patrie_ gives a good idea of the effects

of an unquiet state of society:--

"'Revolutions cost dear. They, in the first place, augment the

public expenses and diminish the general resources. Occasionally

they yield something, but before gathering in the profits the bill

must be paid. M. Audiganne, _chef de bureau_ at the department

of commerce and agriculture, has published a curious work on

the industrial crisis brought on by the revolution of February.

M. Audiganne has examined all branches of manufactures, and

has shown that the crisis affected every one. In the Nord, at

Lisle, cotton-spinning, which occupied thirty-four considerable

establishments, employing a capital of 7,000,000f. or 8,000,000f.;

and tulle making, employing 195 looms, were obliged to reduce

their production one-half. At Turcoing and Roubaix, where cloth

and carpet manufactories occupied 12,000 workmen, the produce went

down two-thirds, and 8000 men were thrown out of work. In the

Pas-de-Calais the fabrication of lace and cambrics was obliged

to stop before a fall of twenty-five per cent. The linen factory

of Capecure, founded in 1836, and which employed 1800 men, was

in vain aided by the Municipal Council of Boulogne and the local

banks; it at last succumbed to the crisis. In the department of

the Somme, 142,000 workmen, who were employed in the woollen,

cotton, stocking, and velvet manufactories, were reduced to

idleness. In the arrondissement of Abbeville, where the business,

known by the name of 'lockwork' of Picardy, yielded an annual

produce of 4,000,000f., the orders stopped completely, and the

unfortunate workmen were obliged to go and beg their bread in the

environs. At Rouen, where the cotton trade gave an annual produce

of more than 250,000,000f., there were the same disasters; yet

the common goods continued to find purchasers, owing to their

low price. At Caen, the lace manufacture, which in 1847 employed

upwards of 50,000 persons, or one-eighth of the population of

Calvados, was totally paralysed. At St Quentin, tulle embroidery,

which gave a living to 1500 women, received just as severe a

blow as in March and April, 1848; almost all the workshops were

obliged to close. In the east the loss was not less considerable.

Rheims was obliged to close its woollen-thread factories during

the months of March, April, and May, 1848. The communal workshop

absorbed in some weeks an extraordinary loan of 430,000f.

Fortunately, an order for 1,500,000f. of merinos, from New York,

allowed the interrupted factories to reopen, and spared the town

fresh sacrifices. The revolutionary tempest penetrated into Alsace

and there swept away two-thirds of the production. Muhlhausen

stopped for several months the greater number of its looms, and

diminished one-half the length of labour in the workshops, which

remained open. Lyons also felt all the horrors of the crisis.

In the same way as muslin and lace, silk found its consumption

stopped. For several months the unfortunate Lyons' workmen had for

sole subsistence the produce of the colours and scarfs ordered

by the Provisional Government. At St Etienne and St Chamond,

the principal points of our ribbon and velvet manufacture, and

where 85,000 workmen were employed, the production went down

two-thirds. At Paris M. Audiganne estimates the loss in what is

called Paris goods at nine-tenths of the production. The loss on

other articles, he considers, on the contrary, to have been only

two-thirds on the sale, and a little more than one-half on the

amount of the produce. We only touch in these remarks on the most

striking points of the calculation; the total loss, according

to M. Audiganne, amounts, for the workmen alone, to upwards of

300,000,000f.'"

Such have been the consequences to the people of listening to the voice

of their demagogues, who impelled them into the revolution of 1848--to

the national guards, of hanging back at the decisive moment, and

forgetting their oaths in the intoxication of popular enthusiasm.

And if any one supposes that these effects were only temporary, and

that lasting freedom is to be won for France by these sacrifices, we

recommend him to consider the present state of France, a year and a

half after the revolution of 1848, as painted by one of its ablest

supporters, M. Louis Blanc.

PROTEST.

"While Paris is in a state of siege, and when most of the journals

which represent our opinions are by violence condemned to silence,

we believe it to be a duty owing to our party to convey to it, if

possible, the public expression of our sentiments.

"It is with profound astonishment that we see the organs of the

counter-revolution triumph over the events of the 13th of June.

"Where there has been no contest, how can there have been a

victory?

"What is then proved by the 13th of June?

"That under the pressure of 100,000 soldiers, Paris is not free in

her movements? We have known this more than enough.

"Now, as it has always been, the question is, if by crowding Paris

with soldiers and with cannon, by stifling with violent hands

the liberty of the press, by suppressing individual freedom,

by invading private domiciles, by substituting the reign of

Terror for that of Reason, by unceasingly repressing furious

despair--that which there is wanting a capacity to prevent, the

end will be attained of reanimating confidence, or re-establishing

credit, of diminishing taxes, of correcting the vices of the

administration, of chasing away the spectre of the deficit, of

developing industry, of cutting short the disasters attendant

upon unlimited competition, of suppressing those revolts which

have their source in the deep recesses of human feeling, of

tranquillising resentments, of calming all hearts? The state of

siege of 1848 has engendered that of 1849. The question is, if

the amiable perspective of Paris in a state of siege every eight

or ten months will restore to commerce its elastic movements, to

the industrious their markets, and to the middle classes their

repose."--_L. Blanc._

It is frequently asked what is to be the end of all these changes,

and under what form of government are the people of France ultimately

to settle? Difficult as it is to predict anything with certainty of

a people with whom nothing seems to be fixed but the disposition to

change, we have no hesitation in stating our opinion that the future

government of France will be what that of imperial Rome was, an

ELECTIVE MILITARY DESPOTISM. In fact, with the exception of the fifteen

years of the Restoration, when a free constitutional monarchy was

imposed on its inhabitants by the bayonets of the Allies, it has ever

since the Revolution of 1789 been nothing else. The Orleans dynasty

has, to all appearance, expired with a disgrace even greater than

that which attended its birth: the Bourbons can scarcely expect, in

a country so deeply imbued with the love of change, to re-establish

their hereditary throne. Popular passion and national vanity call

for that favourite object in democratic societies--a rotation of

governors: popular violence and general suffering will never fail to

re-establish, after a brief period of anarchy, the empire of the sword.

The successive election of military despots seems the only popular

compromise between revolutionary passion and the social necessities of

mankind; and as a similar compromise took place, after eighty years of

bloodshed and confusion, in the Roman commonwealth, so, after a similar

period of suffering, it will probably be repeated, from the influence

of the same cause, in the French nation.

Dies Boreales.

No. III.

CHRISTOPHER UNDER CANVASS.

SCENE--_Gutta Percha._

TIME--_Early Evening._

NORTH--BULLER--SEWARD--TALBOYS.

* * * * *

NORTH.

Trim--trim--trim--

TALBOYS.

Gentlemen, are you all seated?

NORTH.

Why into such strange vagaries fall as you would dance, Longfellow!

Seize his skirts, Seward. Buller, cling to his knees. Billy, the

boat-hook--he will be--he is--overboard.

TALBOYS.

Not at all. Gutta Percha is somewhat crank--and I am steadying her, sir.

NORTH.

What is that round your waist?

TALBOYS.

My Air-girdle.

NORTH.

I insist upon you dropping it, Longman. It makes you reckless. I did

not think you were such a selfish character.

TALBOYS.

Alas! in this world, how are our noblest intentions misunderstood! I

put it on, sir, that, in case of a capsize, I might more buoyantly bear

you ashore.

NORTH.

Forgive me, my friend. But--be seated. Our craft is but indifferently

well adapted for the gallopade. Be seated, I beseech you! Or, if you

will stand, do plant both feet--do not--do not alternate so--and above

all, do not, I implore you--show off on one, as if you were composing

and reciting verses.--There, down you are--and if there be not a hole

in her bottom, Gutta Percha is safe against all the hidden rocks in

Loch Awe.

TALBOYS.

Let me take the stroke oar.

NORTH.

For sake of the ancient houses of the Sewards and the Bullers, sit

where you are. We are already in four fathom water.

TALBOYS.

The Lines?

BILLY.

Nea, nea--Mister Talboys. Nane shall steer Perch when He's afloat but

t' auld commodore.

NORTH.

Shove off, lads.

TALBOYS.

Are we on earth or in heaven?

BILLY.

On t' watter.

NORTH.

Billy--mum.

TALBOYS.

The Heavens are high--and they are deep. Fear would rise up from that

Profound, if fear there could be in the perfectly Beautiful!

SEWARD.

Perhaps there is--though it wants a name.

NORTH.

We know there is no danger--and therefore we should feel no fear. But

we cannot wholly disencumber ourselves of the emotions that ordinarily

great depth inspires--and verily I hold with Seward, while thus we hang

over the sky-abyss below with suspended oars.

SEWARD.

The Ideal rests on the Real--Imagination on Memory--and the Visionary,

at its utmost, still retains relations with Truth.

BULLER.

Pray you to look at our Encampment. Nothing visionary there--