THE TUILLERIES.
“How do you feel yourself to-day, Mr Bagsby?” said I, as I entered the
apartment of that heroic individual on the following morning; “you made
a very close shave of it, I can tell you. Eugène Sue wanted to have you
stretched upon a shutter, and carried in procession as a victim through
all the streets of Paris.”
“Victim indeed!” replied Bagsby manipulating the small of his back,
“I’ve been quite enough victimised already. Hanged if I don’t get that
villain Albert impeached when I reach England, that’s all! I worked
among them with the pickaxe till my arms were nearly broken, and the
only thanks I got was to be shot at like a popinjay.”
“Nay, Mr Bagsby, you have covered yourself with glory. Every one says
that but for you the barricade would inevitably have been carried.”
“They might have carried it to the infernal regions for aught that I
cared,” replied Bagsby. “Catch me fraternising again with any of them; a
disreputable set of scoundrels with never a shirt to their back.”
“You forget, my dear sir,” said I: “Mr Cobden is of opinion that they
are the most affectionate and domesticated people on the face of the
earth.”
“Did Cobden say that?” cried Bagsby: “then he’s a greater humbug than I
took him to be, and that is saying not a little. He’ll never get another
testimonial out of me, I can tell you. But pray, how did I come here?”
“Why, you were just about to be treated to a public funeral, when very
fortunately you exhibited some symptoms of resuscitation, and a couple
of hairy patriots carried you to my lodgings. Your exertions had been
too much for you. I must confess, Mr Bagsby, I had no idea that you were
so bloodthirsty a personage.”
“Me bloodthirsty!” cried Bagsby, “Lord bless you! I am like to faint
whenever I cut myself in shaving. Guns and swords are my perfect
abomination, and I don’t think I could bring myself to fire at a
sparrow.”
“Come, come! you do yourself injustice. I shall never forget the
brilliant manner in which you charged down the barricade.”
“All I can tell you is, that I was deucedly glad to hide myself in one
of the empty coaches. But when a bullet came splash through the pannel
within two inches of my ear, I found the place was getting too hot to
hold me, and scrambled out. I had covered myself with one of their red
rags by way of concealment, and I suppose I brought it out with me. As
to jumping down, you will allow it was full time to do that, when fifty
fellows were taking a deliberate aim with their guns.”
“You are too modest, Mr Bagsby; and, notwithstanding all your
disclaimers, you have gained a niche in history as a hero. But come;
this may be a busy day, and it is already late. Do you think you can
manage any breakfast?”
“I’ll try,” said Bagsby; and, to do him justice, he did.
Our meal concluded, I proposed a ramble, in order to ascertain the
progress of events, of which both of us were thoroughly ignorant.
Bagsby, however, was extremely adverse to leaving the house. He had a
strong impression that he would be again kidnapped, and pressed into
active service; in which case he positively affirmed that he would
incontinently give up the ghost.
“Can’t you stay comfortably here,” said he, “and let’s have a little
bottled porter? These foreign chaps can surely fight their own battles
without you or me; and that leads me to ask if you know the cause of all
this disturbance. Hanged if I understand any thing about it!”
“I believe it mainly proceeds from the King having forbidden some of the
deputies to dine together in public.”
“You don’t say so!” cried Bagsby: “what an old fool he must be! Blowed
if I wouldn’t have taken the chair in person, and sent them twelve dozen
of champagne to drink my health.”
“Kings, Mr Bagsby, are rarely endowed with a large proportion of such
sagacity as yours. But really we must go forth and look a little about
us. It is past mid-day, and I cannot hear any firing. You may rely upon
it that the contest has been settled in one way or another—either the
people have been appeased, or, what is more likely, the troops have
sided with them. We must endeavour to obtain some information.”
“You may do as you like,” said Bagsby, “but my mind is made up. I’m off
for Havre this blessed afternoon.”
“My dear sir, you cannot. No passports can be obtained just now, and the
mob has taken up the railroads.”
“What an idiot I was ever to come here!” groaned Bagsby. “Mercy on me!
must I continue in this den of thieves, whether I will or no?”
“I am afraid there is no alternative. But you judge the Parisians too
hastily, Mr Bagsby. I perceive they have respected your watch.”
“Ay, but you heard what that chap said about the slaughter-house lane. I
declare he almost frightened me into fits. But where are you going?”
“Out, to be sure. If you choose to remain—”
“Not I. Who knows but they may take a fancy to seek for me here, and
carry me away again! I won’t part with the only Englishman I know in
Paris, though I think it would be more sensible to remain quietly where
we are.”
We threw ourselves into the stream of people which was rapidly setting
in towards the Tuilleries. Great events seemed to have happened, or at
all events to be on the eve of completion. The troops were nowhere to be
seen. They had vanished from the city like magic.
“_Bon jour_, Citoyen Bagsby,” said a harsh voice, immediately behind us.
“I hear high accounts of your valour yesterday at the barricades. Allow
me to congratulate you on your first revolutionary experiment.”
“I turned round, and encountered the sarcastic smile of M. Albert the
ouvrier. He was rather better dressed than on the previous evening, and
had a tricolored sash bound around his waist. With him was a crowd of
persons evidently in attendance.
“Should you like, Mr Bagsby, to enter the service of the Republic? for
such, I have the honour to inform you, France is now,” continued the
ouvrier. “We shall need a few practical heads—”
“Oh dear! I knew what it would all come to!” groaned Bagsby.
“Don’t misapprehend me—I mean heads to assist us in our new commercial
arrangements. Now, as free-trade has succeeded so remarkably well in
Britain, perhaps you would not object to communicate some of your
experiences to M. Crémieux, who is now my colleague?”
“Your colleague, M. Albert?” said I.
“Exactly so. I have the honour to be one of the members of the
Provisional Government of France.”
“Am I in my senses or not?” muttered Bagsby. “Oh, sir, whoever you are,
do be a good fellow for once, and let me get home! I promise you, I
shall not say a word about this business on the other side of the
Channel.”
“Far be it from me to lay any restraint upon your freedom of speech, Mr
Bagsby. So, then, I conclude you refuse? Well, be it so. After all, I
daresay Crémieux will get on very well without you.”
“But pray, M. Albert—one word,” said I. “You mentioned a republic—”
“I did. It has been established for an hour. Louis Philippe has
abdicated, and in all probability is by this time half a league beyond
the barrier. The Duchess of Orleans came down with her son to the
Chamber of Deputies, and I really believe there would have been a
regency; for the gallantry of France was moved, and Barrot was
determined on the point. Little Ledru Rollin, however, saved us from
half measures. Rollin is a clever fellow, with the soul of a
Robespierre; and, seeing how matters were likely to go, he quietly
slipped to the door, and admitted a select number of our friends from
the barricades. That put a stop to the talking. You have no idea how
quiet gentlemen become in the presence of a mob with loaded muskets.
Their hearts failed them; the deputies gradually withdrew, and a
republic was proclaimed by the sovereign will of the people. I am just
on my way to the Hotel de Ville, to assist in consolidating the
government.”
“_Bon voyage_, M. Albert!”
“Oh, we shall do it, sure enough! But here we are near the Tuilleries.
Perhaps, gentlemen, you would like to enjoy the amusements which are
going on yonder, and to drink prosperity to the new Republic in a glass
of Louis Philippe’s old Clos Vougeot. If so, do not let me detain you.
Adieu!” And, with a spasmodic twitch of his nose, the eccentric ouvrier
departed.
“Well! what things one does see abroad, to be sure!” said Bagsby: “I
recollect him quite well at the time of the Reform Bill—”
“Hush, my dear Bagsby!” said I, “This is not the moment nor the place
for any reminiscences of the kind.”
Certainly the aspect of what was going forward in front of the
Tuilleries was enough to drive all minor memories from the head of any
man. A huge bonfire was blazing in the midst of the square opposite the
Place du Carrousel, and several thousands of the populace were dancing
round it like demons. It was fed by the royal carriages, the furniture
of the staterooms, and every combustible article which could in any way
be identified with the fallen dynasty. The windows of the palace were
flung open, and hangings, curtains, and tapestries of silk and golden
tissue, were pitched into the square amidst shouts of glee that would
have broken the heart of an upholsterer. It was the utter recklessness
of destruction. Yet, with all this, there was a certain appearance of
honesty preserved. The people might destroy to any amount they pleased,
but they were not permitted to appropriate. The man who smashed a mirror
or shattered a costly vase into flinders was a patriot,—he who helped
himself to an inkstand was denounced as an ignominious thief. I saw one
poor devil, whose famished appearance bore miserable testimony to his
poverty, arrested and searched; a pair of paste buckles was found upon
him, and he was immediately conducted to the gardens, and shot by a
couple of gentlemen who, five minutes before, had deliberately slit some
valuable pictures into ribbons! Every moment the crowd was receiving
accession from without, and the bonfire materials from within. At last,
amidst tremendous acclamations, the throne itself was catapulted into
the square, and the last symbol of royalty reduced to a heap of ashes.
The whole scene was so extremely uninviting that I regretted having come
so far, and suggested to Bagsby the propriety of an immediate retreat.
This, however, was not so easy. Several of the citizens who were now
dancing democratic polkas round the embers, had been very active
partisans at the barricade on the evening before, and, as ill-luck would
have it, recognised their revivified champion.
“_Trois mille rognons!_” exclaimed my revolutionary friend the butcher,
“here’s the brave little Englishman that led us on so gallantly against
the Municipal Guard! How is it with thee, my fire-eater, my stout
swallower of bullets? Art thou sad that there is no more work for thee
to do? Cheer up, citizen! we shall be at the frontiers before long; and
then who knows but the Republic may reward thee with the baton of a
marshal of France!”
“_Plus de maréchaux!_” cried a truculent chiffonier, who was truculently
picking a marrow-bone with his knife. “Such fellows are worth nothing
except to betray the people. I waited to have a shot at old Soult
yesterday, but the rascal would not show face!”
“Never mind him, citizen,” said the butcher, “we all know Père
Pomme-de-terre. But thou lookest pale! Art thirsty? Come with me, and I
will show thee where old Macaire keeps his cellar. France will not
grudge a flask to so brave a patriot as thyself.”
“Ay, ay! to the cellar—to the cellar!” exclaimed some fifty voices.
“_Silence, mes enfans!_” cried the butcher, who evidently had already
reconnoitred the interior of the subterranean vaults. “Let us do all
things in order. As Citizen Lamartine remarked, let virtue go hand in
hand with liberty, and let us apply ourselves seriously to the
consummation of this great work. We have now an opportunity of
fraternising with the world. We see amongst us an Englishman who last
night devoted his tremendous energies to France. We thought he had
fallen, and were about to give him public honours. Let us not be more
unmindful of the living than the dead. Here he stands, and I now propose
that he be carried on the shoulders of the people to the
royal—_peste!_—I mean the republican cellar, and that we there drink to
the confusion of all rank, and the union of all nations in the bonds of
universal brotherhood!”
“Agreed! agreed!” shouted the mob; and for the second time Bagsby
underwent the ceremony of entire fraternisation. He was then hoisted
upon the shoulders of some half-dozen patriots, notwithstanding a
melancholy howl, by which he intended to express disapprobation of the
whole proceeding. I was pressed into the service as interpreter, and
took care to attribute his disclaimer solely to an excess of modesty.
“Thou also wert at the barricade last night,” said the butcher. “Thou,
too, hast struck a blow for France. Come along. Let us cement with wine
the fraternity that originated in blood!”
So saying, he laid hold of my arm, and we all rushed towards the
Tuilleries. I would have given a trifle to have been lodged at that
moment in the filthiest tenement of the Cowcaddens; but any thing like
resistance was of course utterly out of the question. In we thronged, a
tumultuous rabble of men and women, through the portal of the Kings of
France, across the halls, and along the galleries, all of them bearing
already lamentable marks of violence, outrage, and desecration. Here was
a picture of Louis Philippe, a masterpiece by Horace Vernet, literally
riddled with balls; there a statue of some prince, decapitated by the
blow of a hammer; and in another place the fragments of a magnificent
vase, which had been the gift of an emperor. Crowds of people were
sitting or lying in the state apartments, eating, drinking, smoking, and
singing obscene ditties, or wantonly but deliberately pursuing the work
of dismemberment. And but a few hours before, this had been the palace
of the King of the Barricades!
Down we went to the cellars, which by this time were tolerably clear, as
most of the previous visitors had preferred the plan of enjoying the
abstracted fluid in the upper and loftier apartments. But such was not
the view of Monsieur Destripes the butcher, or of his friend
Pomme-de-terre. These experienced bacchanals preferred remaining at
headquarters, on the principle that the _séance_ ought to be declared
permanent. Bagsby, as the individual least competent to enforce order,
was called to the chair, and seated upon a kilderkin of Bordeaux, with a
spigot as the emblem of authority. Then began a scene of brutal and
undisguised revelry. Casks were tapped for a single sample, and their
contents allowed to run out in streams upon the floor. Bottles were
smashed in consequence of the exceeding scarcity of cork-screws, and the
finest vintage of the Côte d’Or and of Champagne, were poured like water
down throats hitherto unconscious of any such generous beverage.
I need not dwell upon what followed—indeed I could not possibly do
justice to the eloquence of M. Pomme-de-terre, or the accomplishments of
several _poissardes_, who had accompanied us in our expedition, and now
favoured us with sundry erotic ditties, popular in the Faubourg St
Antoine. With these ladies Bagsby seemed very popular: indeed, they had
formed themselves into a sort of body-guard around his person.
Sick of the whole scene, I availed myself of the first opportunity to
escape from that tainted atmosphere; and, after traversing most of the
state apartments, and several corridors, I found myself in a part of the
palace which had evidently been occupied by some of those who were now
fleeing as exiles towards a foreign land. The hand of the spoiler also
had been here, but he was gone. It was a miserable thing to witness the
desolation of these apartments. The bed whereon a princess had lain the
night before, was now tossed and tumbled by some rude ruffian, the
curtains were torn down, the gardes-de-robe broken open, and a hundred
articles of female apparel and luxury were scattered carelessly upon the
floor. The setting sun of February gleamed through the broken windows,
and rendered the heartless work of spoliation more distinct and
apparent. I picked up one handkerchief, still wet, it might be with
tears, and on the corner of it was embroidered a royal cypher.
I, who was not an insurgent, almost felt that, in penetrating through
these rooms, I was doing violence to the sanctity of misfortune. Where,
on the coming night, might rest the head of her who, a few hours before,
had lain upon that pillow of down? For the shelter of what obscure and
stifling hut might she be forced to exchange the noble ceiling of a
palace? This much I had gathered, that all the royal family had not
succeeded in making their escape. Some of the ladies had been seen, with
no protectors by their side, shrieking in the midst of the crowd; but
the cry of woe was that day too general to attract attention, and it
seemed that the older chivalry of France had passed away. Where was the
husband at the hour when the wife was struggling in that rout of terror?
I turned into a side passage, and opened another door. It was a small
room which apparently had escaped observation. Every thing here bore
token of the purity of feminine taste. The little bed was untouched:
there were flowers in the window, a breviary upon the table, and a
crucifix suspended on the wall. The poor young inmate of this place had
been also summoned from her sanctuary, never more to enter it again. As
I came in, a little bird in a cage raised a loud twittering, and began
to beat itself against the wires. The seed-box was empty, and the last
drop of water had been finished. In a revolution such as this, it is the
fate of favourites to be neglected.
The poor thing was perishing of hunger. I had no food to give it, but I
opened the cage and the window, and set it free. With a shrill note of
joy, it darted off to the trees, happier than its mistress, now thrown
upon the mercy of a rude and selfish world. I looked down upon the scene
beneath. The river was flowing tranquilly to the sea; the first breezes
of spring were moving through the trees, just beginning to burgeon and
expand; the sun was sinking amidst the golden clouds tranquilly—no sign
in heaven or earth betokened that on that day a mighty monarchy had
fallen. The roar of Paris was hushed; the work of desolation was over;
and on the morrow, its first day would dawn upon the infant Republic.
“May Heaven shelter the unfortunate!” I exclaimed; “and may my native
land be long preserved from the visitation of a calamity like this!”