The first of these famous ordinances suspended the liberty of the press, and prohibited the publication of any journals excepting such as were authorized by the Government.

The second dissolved the new Chamber of Deputies, or Legislature, because the members were too liberal in their political opinions, assuming that the electors had been deceived by the popular clamor, and had chosen such persons as they ought not to have chosen.

The third reduced the number of deputies from three hundred and ninety-five to two hundred and twenty-eight, and so altered the electoral franchise, in order to secure the return of members favorable to the Government, as to deprive a large number of the right of suffrage who had heretofore exercised it.

Such, in brief, were the ordinances which overthrew the throne of Charles X. and drove the elder branch of the Bourbons into exile. There were others issued at the same time, but which were of no material importance.

Frivolous as was the character of Charles X., he had sagacity enough to know that such decrees could not be issued in France without creating intense agitation. His ministers also, though the advocates of the despotic principles of the old regime, were men of ability. They recognized the measures as desperate. Popular discontent had reached such a crisis that it was necessary either to silence it by despotic power or yield to it, introducing reforms which would deprive the ministers of their places.

Prince Polignac was at this time prime minister. His mother had been the bosom-friend of Maria Antoinette. Through his whole life he was the unswerving friend of the Bourbons. Implicated in the plot of Georges for the overthrow of the First Consul, he was condemned to death. Napoleon spared his life, and finally liberated him, upon which he followed Count d'Artois (Charles X.) into exile. Returning with the Bourbons, in the rear of the Allied armies, he was rewarded for his life-long fidelity to the ancient regime by the highest honors.

The sorrows of life had left their impress upon his pensive features. He was well-read, very decided in his views that the people were made to be governed, not to govern. He was energetic, but possessed of so little worldly wisdom that he thought that the people, however much exasperated, could be easily subdued by determined action.

M. de la Bourdonnaye, Minister of the Interior, like Polignac, was an ultra Royalist. He had been one of the most violent of the Vendeans in their opposition to the Revolution, and is represented, even by those who were in sympathy with him, as wishing to govern by a royalist reign of terror.

M. de Bourmont, Minister of War, had been a staunch Royalist in the days of the Revolution, struggling with the Vendeans in defense of the monarchy. Upon the establishment of the Empire he gave his adhesion to Napoleon. Being a man of ability, he was placed in responsible posts. At Waterloo, upon the eve of the great struggle, he deserted to the Allies, carrying as his peace-offering the betrayal of the emperor's plan of campaign. It is supposed that his testimony against Marshal Ney sealed the fate of that illustrious man. The French people had not forgotten his defection at Waterloo, and he was exceedingly unpopular.

These were the prominent ministers. The other members of the cabinet, though men of ability, were not of historic note. The original appointment of these ministers, whose opinions were so obnoxious and well known, had caused great indignation. The liberal press assailed them with vehemence. The Journal des Debats, after announcing the names of the ministers, exclaimed:

"The emigration of M. de Polignac, the fury of proscription of M. de la Bourdonnaye, desertion to the enemy in M. de Bourmont—such are the three principles in the three leading persons of the administration. Press upon it. Nothing but humiliation, misfortune, and danger will drive it from power."

M. Guizot was then editor of the journal Le Temps. He had already attained renown. His weighty editorials, distinguished alike for cogent argument and depth of philosophical thought, carried conviction to the most intelligent minds. M. Thiers was editor of the Nationale. His great abilities, already developed in his "History of the French Revolution," had given him a commanding position among the journalists on the liberal side. Both of these distinguished writers, and many others, assailed the ministry with such popular effect, that it was clear that their utterances must be silenced, or the ministry must fall. Hence the Ordinances were issued.

The scene at the signing of these ordinances is represented by Lamartine as quite dramatic. The important measure of the coup d'etat was anxiously discussed under the pledge of secrecy. The project of the ministers was cordially approved by the king. He is reported to have said:

"It is not the ministry, it is the crown, which is attacked. It is the cause of the throne against revolution which is at issue. One or the other must succumb. I recollect what occurred in 1789. The first step my unhappy brother, Louis XVI., made in retreat before the revolutionists was the signal of his ruin. They, too, pretended fidelity to the crown, and demanded only the dismissal of its ministers. He yielded, and all was lost. Gentlemen, I will not dismiss you. No! Let them conduct us, if they please, to the scaffold. But let us fight for our rights; and if we are to fall, fall sword in hand. I had rather be led to execution on horseback than in a cart."

On the morning of the 25th of July, 1830, the king and his ministers met at the palace of St. Cloud to sign the fatal ordinances. They all seem to have been in some degree aware of the peril of the step. Many of them had passed a sleepless night, and were deeply impressed with the solemnity of the occasion. They sat pale, silent, anxious, as Prince Polignac slowly read the ordinances and presented them to the king for his signature. Charles X. took the pen, turned pale, and for a moment hesitated. Then raising his eyes to heaven, as if imploring Divine aid, he said, "The more I think of it, the more I am convinced that it is impossible to do otherwise than I do." With these words he affixed his signature to the document which expelled him and his dynasty from France.[U]

[Footnote U: "The ministers took their places in silence around the fatal table. Charles X. had the dauphin on his right and M. de Polignac on his left. He questioned each of his servants, one after another, and when he came to M. d'Hausrez, that minister repeated his observations of the preceding day. 'Do you refuse?' inquired Charles X. 'Sire,' replied the minister, 'may I be allowed to address one question to the king? Is your majesty resolved on proceeding, should your ministers draw back?' 'Yes,' said Charles, firmly. The minister of marine took the pen and signed.

"When all the signatures were affixed, there was a solemn and awful pause. An expression of high-wrought energy, mingled with uneasiness, sat on the faces of the ministers. M. de Polignac's alone wore a look of triumph. Charles X. walked up and down the room with perfect composure."—France under Louis Philippe, by Louis Blanc, p. 107.]

The ministers, one after another, countersigned the ordinances. Not a word was spoken. "Despair," says Alison, "was painted on every visage." Polignac, in the temporary absence of M. Bourmont, was acting Minister of War. In reply to the inquiry what means of resistance the Government had in case of insurrection, he replied, with confidence equal to his self-deception,

"No popular movement is to be apprehended. At all events, Paris is sufficiently garrisoned to crush any rebellion and guarantee public tranquillity."

The force upon which Polignac relied consisted of 11,550 men in Paris, with twelve pieces of cannon. There were also fifteen battalions of infantry and thirty-four squadrons of cavalry stationed in towns not far distant, which could be rapidly collected to aid the troops within the walls. On the other hand, the city of Paris, in a general insurrection, could furnish 200,000 fighting men. Many of these had seen actual service. There was a National Guard, the militia of the metropolis, organized and well armed, consisting of 40,000 men. A portion of the royal troops, also, could not be relied upon in a struggle with the people. General Marmont, one of the marshals of the Empire, was in command of the Royalist troops. He was exceedingly unpopular in Paris, in consequence of the feeble defense it was thought he made when the city was captured by the Allies.

The ordinances were secretly printed, and during the night of the 25th were placarded on the walls of Paris. They also appeared simultaneously the next morning in the Moniteur. Though some of the more sagacious had been suspecting that the Government might resort to measures of desperation, these ordinances took the whole community by surprise. Crowds gathered in the coffee-houses, at the doors of the public journals, and in all the prominent places of resort. There was no sudden ebullition of indignation, and no immediate demonstrations of violence. The event had come so suddenly that the masses were unprepared for action, and the leaders required time to decide whether it were best to attempt forcible resistance, and, if so, what measures to that end could most effectually be adopted. Though throughout the day no insurrectionary movements appeared, still agitation was rapidly on the increase, and Paris represented a bee-hive into which some disturbing element had been cast.

The editors of the leading journals, and several others of the most illustrious advocates of liberal opinions, held a consultation upon the state of affairs. But night came, and the result of their deliberations was not made known. The day had been serene and beautiful, inviting all the population of Paris into the streets. The balmy summer night kept them there. Innumerable rumors increased the excitement, and it was evident that a few words from influential lips would create an insurrection, which might amount to a revolution.

The gentlemen who had met in conference—forty-four in number—after careful deliberation, and having obtained the opinion of the most celebrated lawyers that the ordinances were illegal, gallantly resolved to resist them at the hazard of their lives. They accordingly issued a protest, to which each one affixed his signature. The boldness of the act commanded the admiration even of the advocates of arbitrary power. In their protest they said:

"The Government has lost the character of legality which commands obedience. We resist it in so far as we are concerned. It is for France to determine how far resistance should extend."

The liberal journals refused to take out the license the ordinances required. This act of defiance the Government met by sending the police to seize the journals and close their printing-offices. A commissary of police, with two gendarmes, repaired to the office of the Temps, edited by M. Guizot, in the Boulevard des Italiens. They found the doors barred against them. A blacksmith was sent for to force the entrance. This collected a crowd, and he refused to act in obedience to the police. A second blacksmith was sent for. As he commenced operations the crowd took his tools from him. At length, however, an entrance was effected, and a seal was put upon the printing-presses. This scene, occurring in one of the most populous thoroughfares of Paris, created intense agitation. Still, thus far, there had been so little commotion that the king and his ministers were quite sanguine that their measures would prove triumphant. Charles X. was so infatuated that on that morning—the 26th—he went to Rambouillet, and spent the day in hunting.

During the night of the 26th there was another very important meeting of the leaders of the liberal party at the mansion of M. Casimir Perier. About thirty were present. Nearly all were members of the Chamber of Deputies, and in intellectual strength were among the most illustrious men in France. Anxiously, yet firmly, they discussed the course to be pursued. It was a fearful question to decide. Submission placed France, bound helplessly hand and foot, under the heel of Bourbon despotism. Unsuccessful insurrection would consign them either to life-long imprisonment in the dungeon or to death upon the scaffold.

All agreed in condemning the ordinances as illegal. The more cautious hesitated at rousing the energies of insurrection, and submitting the issue to the decision of the sword. The young and impetuous advocated an immediate appeal to arms. While deliberating, a deputation appeared professing to represent the electors of Paris, and urged that, as the Government was manifestly resolved to support the despotic ordinances by force, nothing remained to the people but to have recourse to insurrection. It was also stated that nearly all the workmen from the manufactories were in the streets, eager to throw up barricades and to defend their rights at every hazard.

At the same time committees presented themselves from various bodies of young men, urging the deputies to take the lead of the patriotic movement in which the people were resolved to engage. Their solicitations were intensified by occasional discharges of musketry in the streets, and by the clatter of iron hoofs, as the king's cavalry here and there made charges to disperse threatening gatherings, or to prevent the erection of barricades. It does not, however, appear that any very decisive action was taken by this body. Late at night it adjourned, to meet again the next day.

The morning of the 27th revealed a scene of turmoil and agitation such as even excitable Paris had rarely witnessed. The king and his court, with twelve hundred of the troops, withdrawn from the city, were at St. Cloud. Large bodies of men were surging through the streets, apparently without leaders or definite object, but ready for any deeds of daring. Every hour of the day affairs were more menacing. Frequent reports were brought by the police to the ministers at St. Cloud, which represented that, though business was generally suspended, and there were agitated crowds in the streets, still no serious danger was apprehended.

But General Marmont, who was intrusted with the command of the garrison in Paris, early in the morning became alarmed in view of the struggle which he apprehended was about to commence, and of the inadequate means under his control to meet it. In counting up his forces he found that he had not more than ten thousand troops within the walls. Of these not more than four thousand could be relied upon in a conflict with the people.

Well might General Marmont tremble. From the remote sections and narrow streets the populace were thronging to central points. The boulevards, from the Place de la Bastile to the Madeleine, presented a dense mass, whose angry looks, loud words, and violent gestures indicated that they would fight with desperation should the struggle once commence. Many of them were skilled in the use of arms. They knew how to construct barricades. Every house was a fortress from whose windows and roof the populace could hurl destruction upon the heads of the troops, wedged in the narrow streets. And General Marmont had reason to fear that of the small force under his command six thousand would fraternize with the people upon the report of the first musket.

The war-worn marshal skillfully arranged his forces, evidently copying the operations of Napoleon in his famous repulse of the attack of the sections upon the Convention. Three battalions were placed at the Carrousel, which might be regarded as a vast fortress in the centre of the city, walled in by the Tuileries and the Louvre. Three battalions were stationed in the Place de la Concorde, with two pieces of artillery. Three battalions of the line were ranged along the boulevards from the Place of the Bastile to the Madeleine. General Marmont did not wait for an attack to be made upon him. He sent out detachments to scour the streets and to prevent the erection of barricades. Reports had reached him that several were in process of construction in the most narrow streets.

The first barricade encountered was in the Rue St. Honore, nearly in front of the Palais Royal. The troops endeavored to disperse the defenders by a volley in the air. As this produced no effect, they opened upon them with a point-blank discharge, by which several were wounded, and one man was killed. The other detachments met with no opposition, but removed several barricades, and dispersed tumultuous gatherings. The agitation was hourly on the increase. Random shots were heard in different parts of the city. The dead body of the man shot while defending the barricade was paraded in blood-stained ghastliness through the streets, exciting frenzied passions. The troops of the line, so called, who were known to be in sympathy with the people, and whom General Marmont distrusted, were received with shouts of applause wherever they appeared.

A vast concourse of the people had assembled in front of the Palais Royal. A detachment of the line was sent to guard the palace. The troops and the populace mingled together, talking and laughing. As the multitude pressed the troops, they opened their ranks and let the living torrent pass through, amidst loud cheers. Several armorers' shops were broken open, and it was manifest that vigorous preparations were going on in anticipation of the struggle of the succeeding day. Still the king, with an infatuation which is inexplicable, took no measures to add to the military strength at the disposal of General Marmont. Thus passed the day of the 27th. It seems that at night the king became somewhat alarmed, for at eleven o'clock he issued an ordinance from his retreat at St. Cloud declaring Paris to be in a state of siege.

During all the hours of the night of the 27th there reigned the calm which precedes the storm. The leaders of the Liberal party—among whom were to be found many of the most intelligent men, the wisest statesmen, and the most accomplished generals in France—had fully decided to submit their cause to the arbitrament of battle. Calm deliberation, organization, carefully matured plans, were requisite to meet the marshalled forces of the monarchy. It was no longer a mere street insurrection, but a kingdom was to be revolutionized. Immediately a new and tremendous impulse was secretly given to the movement. Committees were busy. Agents were active, invested with authority which the populace instinctively recognized without inquiring into the source from which it emanated.

With the early light of the next morning—the 28th—the result of the operations of the night was manifest. In the vicinity of the Place of the Bastile there is a portion of the city densely populated, called the Faubourg St. Antoine. It is inhabited by a class in a humble condition of life, who have ever taken a very prominent part in all the insurrections which have agitated Paris. Reckless of their own lives as well as of the lives of others, they have ever been the most desperate and the most dreaded fighters in every conflict in the streets.

With the morning dawn the faubourg seemed to be swarming. Guided by some mysterious but common impulse, a huge and disorderly mass—ever increasing—of maddened men and equally maddened women, armed with swords, muskets, pickaxes, and every other conceivable weapon of offense or defense, surged along through the Rue St. Denis and along the crowded boulevards towards the Place of the Madeleine, which was occupied by the military. At the same time, at several important points along the boulevards, the people were busy—men, women, and boys—tearing up the pavements, seizing and overturning omnibuses and carts, cutting down the trees, pitching heavy articles of furniture out of the windows of the houses, and thus constructing barricades.

The points selected and the artistic style of structure indicated that military genius of a high order guided the movement. Only a small detachment of troops could be sent out from the central position at the Tuileries. As they could not be everywhere, the intrenchments of the populace rose in various parts of the city, unopposed, with inconceivable rapidity, and with almost military precision. Large bodies advanced simultaneously to the gunsmiths' shops, to the police stations and guard-houses, to the arsenal and powder manufactory, to the artillery depot of St. Thomas Aquinas; and the guns, muskets, and ammunition thus seized were freely distributed to the people. The National Guard, forty thousand strong, was thoroughly armed. The ranks of this formidable body were filled with the citizens of Paris, who were all in sympathy with the insurrection. Many of them appeared in the streets even in their uniform.

A band of armed men advanced to the Hotel de Ville, where but sixteen soldiers were stationed on guard. The soldiers, attempting no opposition, withdrew unmolested. A huge tri-color flag, unfurled from the roof, announced with the peal of the tocsin that that important post, almost an impregnable citadel in the hands of determined men, had fallen into the possession of the people. The tidings swept the streets like a flood, giving a new impulse to the universal enthusiasm. A few moments after another band burst open the gates of Notre Dame, and another tri-color flag waved in the breeze from one of its towers; while the bells of the cathedral with their sublime voices proclaimed to the agitated yet exultant masses the additional triumph. It was scarcely midday, and yet four-fifths of Paris was in the undisputed possession of the insurgents, and, as by magic, from twenty spires and towers the tri-color flag spread its folds in defiance to the banner of the Bourbons. More than a hundred barricades had been erected, or were in the process of erection. Behind them stood more than a hundred thousand well-armed, determined men. With such rapidity and sagacity had all this been effected that there had been scarcely any collision worthy of notice. A few charges had been made by the gendarmery in dispersing crowds, and a few random shots had been fired.

General Marmont, in preparation for assuming the offensive, concentrated the whole of his little band around the Tuileries, and constructed for himself a fortified camp in the Carrousel protected by eight guns. A few troops were forwarded to him from Vincennes and Versailles, so that he could display for the defense of that central point thirty-six hundred soldiers of the Guard, tried men, upon whom he could rely. Six hundred of these were horsemen. Forming three columns, he sent one along the banks of the river to recapture the Hotel de Ville, to demolish all the barricades, and disperse the armed bands, until they reached the Place of the Bastile. Another was to advance to the same point by the boulevards. The third was to force its way through the Rue St. Honore to the Market of the Innocents. Along these three lines the battle now raged fiercely, with equal determination on each side. The scene of tumult, carnage, horror, which ensued can neither be described nor imagined. The streets were narrow. Every house was a fortress, from whose windows a deadly fire was poured upon the troops. The combatants, inflamed by the fury and terror of the strife, neither asked nor granted quarter. Hour after hour they fought, Frenchmen against Frenchmen, brother against brother, and the pavements were clotted with blood. Barricades were taken and retaken. There were triumphant charges and murderous repulses.



CHAPTER VII.

CHARLES X. DETHRONED.

1830

Progress of the insurrection.—Night of tumult.—The "Marseillaise Hymn."—Consternation of the court.—The royal family.—The Duchess de Berri.—Embarrassment of the officers.—Resignation of Count de Raoul.—The troops desert.—Tactics of General Marmont.—The struggle continued.—Interview between General Marmont and M. Arago.—Firmness of Marmont.—Success of the insurgents.—Capture of artillery.—Retreat of the Royalists.—General Marmont and the king.—Consternation at St. Cloud.—Recall of the ordinances.—Scenes of confusion.—Retreat to Versailles.—To Rambouillet.—Abdication.—M. Barrot and the king.—Departure for Cherbourg.—St. Maintenon.—Mournful journey.—Parting with the Guard.—Louis seeks an asylum.—Journey to Cherbourg.—Arrival at Cherbourg.—Embarkation.—A sad farewell.

Night came, the night of the 28th of July, 1830. The royal troops, having really accomplished nothing of any moment in their conflict with the insurgent people, were ordered to avail themselves of the darkness to retreat from all the positions they had gained. Thus, before midnight the troops, virtually defeated, sought refuge in concentrating themselves in their fortified camp at the Carrousel. It was with no little difficulty that some of them fought their way back to regain the quarters which they had left.

Two parties must ever co-operate in such scenes as we are now describing. There must be not only bold men, with arms in their hands, to achieve, but there must be sagacious men in council to plan and direct. During the day a sort of provisional government was established by the insurgents, which continued in session until midnight. The voices of the street cannon had summoned Lafayette to Paris, and he consecrated his world-wide renown to the cause of popular rights, for which he had fought in America, and to which he had been ever true in Europe. M. Lafitte, the wealthiest banker in Paris, consecrated his fortune to the cause. M. Thiers, never prone to follow any lead but that of his own vigorous mind, though he had united with other journalists in recommending resistance, now objected to any resort to violence, and demanded that the resistance should be legal only. Being outvoted by his more practical compeers—Lafayette, Lafitte, and Mauguin—he retired in displeasure, and, abandoning the conflict, took refuge in the country at some distance from Paris. To his remonstrances Lafayette replied in language which one would deem convincing to every mind:

"Legal means have been cut short by the ordinances in the Moniteur, and the discharges of artillery you hear in the streets. Victory can alone now decide the question."

There was but little sleep for any one in Paris that night. A population of a million and a half of people, crowded in narrow streets, was in a state of the wildest excitement. The air was filled with rumors of the approaching forces of the monarchy. The tramp of armed men, the rumbling of the ponderous enginery of war, the clamor of workmen throwing up barricades, the shouts of the mob, and often, rising above all, the soul-stirring strains of the "Marseillaise Hymn," pealed forth from thousands of impassioned lips, together with the darkness of the night, the flash of torches, the blaze of bonfires, presented a spectacle sublime beyond comprehension. The "Marseillaise Hymn" is unquestionably the most powerful composition in the world, both in its words and its music, to rouse the populace to a frenzy of enthusiasm. We give below a vigorous translation of the first verse:

Ye sons of France, awake to glory! Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise! Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary, Behold their tears and hear their cries! Shall hateful tyrants, mischief breeding, With hireling hosts, a ruffian band, Affright and desolate the land, While peace and liberty lie bleeding?

(Chorus.) To arms! to arms, ye brave! Th' avenging sword unsheath! March on! march on! all hearts resolved On liberty or death!

But no translation can equal the force of the original.

The king and his courtiers at St. Cloud were struck with consternation as they received the tidings of the general and successful revolt. The booming of the cannon in the streets of Paris could be distinctly heard. With his spy-glass, from the heights behind the chateau, the king could see the tri-color, the representative of deadly hostility to his dynasty, unfurled from the Hotel de Ville and from the towers of Notre Dame, and then from more than twenty other prominent points in the city. At four o'clock in the afternoon a dispatch from General Marmont informed the king of the desperate state of affairs. The Royal Guard, composed largely of Swiss mercenaries, had been faithful to discipline. But the troops of the line, all Frenchmen, had in many instances refused to fire upon the insurgents.

The fearful and unexpected crisis roused the king to action. It is said he displayed more of coolness and energy than any of his ministers. Orders were sent to General Marmont to concentrate his forces as speedily as possible at the Tuileries. Agents were dispatched to all the divisions of the Royal Guard garrisoned in the towns in the vicinity of Paris to break camp immediately, and move with the utmost haste to the capital. The king's eldest son, the Duke d'Angouleme, of whom we have previously spoken as having married his cousin, the unhappy but heroic and very noble daughter of Louis XVI., was with his father at St. Cloud. The duchess was absent. The widow also of the king's second son, the Duke de Berri, was at St. Cloud with her two children, a daughter ten years old, and the little boy, the Duke of Bordeaux (Count de Chambord), nine years of age. These constituted the royal family.

"While Charles X. thought only of inspiring all around him with his own fatal security, a bold scheme was concocting, almost before his eyes, in the apartments of Madame de Gentaul. Convinced of the old monarch's impotence to defend his dynasty, General Vincent had resolved to save royalty without the king's co-operation, unknown to the king, and, if necessary, despite the king. He went to Madame de Gentaul and set forth to her that, in the existing state of things, the fate of the monarchy depended upon a heroic resolve, and he therefore proposed to her to take the Duchess de Berri and her son, the Duke of Bordeaux, to Paris. He suggested that they should take Neuilly in their way, get hold of the Duke of Orleans, and oblige him by main force to take part in the hazard of the enterprise. They should then enter Paris by the faubourgs, and the Duchess de Berri, exhibiting the royal child to the people, should confide him to the generosity of the combatants. Madame de Gentaul approved of this scheme. In spite of its adventurous character, or rather for that very reason, it won upon the excitable imagination of the Duchess de Berri, and every thing was arranged for carrying it into execution. But the infidelity of a confederate put Charles X. in possession of the plot, and it broke down."[V]

[Footnote V: Les Dix Ans de Louis Philippe, par Louis Blanc.]

The Duke d'Angouleme, called the Dauphin, was a very respectable man, without any distinguishing character. His wife, disciplined in the school not merely of sorrow, but of such woes as few mortals have ever been called to endure, had developed a character of truly heroic mould. The Duchess de Berri was young, beautiful, and fascinating. Her courage, enthusiasm, and love of adventure, as subsequently displayed in the eyes of all Europe, were perhaps never surpassed. Every generous heart will cherish emotions of regret in view of that frailty which has consigned her name to reproach. The two children of the Duchess de Berri were too young to comprehend the nature of the events which were transpiring. Even while the bloody strife was in progress, and the din of the conflict reached their ears, these two innocent children were amusing themselves in a game in which Mademoiselle led the rebels, and the Duke of Bordeaux at the head of his Royal Guard repulsed them.

The cabinet ministers, under the protection of the troops, were in permanent session at the Tuileries. Prince Polignac, a thoroughly impractical man, who was at the head of the Government, seems not at all to have comprehended the true state of affairs. When General Marmont sent him word, on the evening of the 28th, that the troops of the line were fraternizing with the people, he is reported to have replied, with extraordinary coolness and simplicity, "Well, if the troops have gone over to the insurgents, we must fire upon the troops."

Many of these officers found themselves in a very painful situation, embarrassed by the apparently conflicting claims of duty—fidelity to their sovereign on the one hand, and fidelity to the rights of the people on the other. Some, like General Marmont, remained faithful to their colors, some silently abandoned their posts, but refused to enter the ranks of the people to fight against their former comrades; some openly passed over to the people and aided them in the struggle, thus with certainty forfeiting their own lives should the royal troops conquer. The following letter from Count de Raoul to Prince de Polignac, resigning his commission, will give the reader some idea of the embarrassments with which these honorable men were agitated:

"MONSEIGNEUR,—After a day of massacres and disasters, entered on in defiance of all laws, divine and human, and in which I have taken part only from respect to human considerations, for which I reproach myself, my conscience imperiously forbids me to serve a moment longer. I have given, in the course of my life, proofs sufficiently numerous of my devotion to the king, to warrant me, without exposing my intentions to unjust suspicions, to draw a distinction between what emanates from him and the atrocities which are committed in his name. I have the honor to request, monseigneur, that you will lay before the king my resignation of my commission as captain of his guard."

In the confusion of those hours it appears that this letter did not reach its destination. M. Polignac writes: "I never received this letter, I would have sent it back to its author. In the moment of danger no one's resignation is accepted."

The dismal night of the 28th passed quickly away, as both parties summoned their mightiest energies for the death-struggle on the morrow. The truce of a few hours, which darkness and exhaustion compelled, was favorable to the people. I think it was Madame de Stael who made the shrewd remark that "there is nothing so successful as success." The real victory which the people had achieved not only inspired the combatants with new courage, but induced thousands, who had hesitated, to swell their ranks, and the troops of the line very generally deserted the defense of the Government and passed over to the people.

Early in the morning of the 29th the heroic little band of the Guard stationed at the Tuileries—heroic in their devotion to discipline, though unconsciously maintaining a bad cause—received a reinforcement of fifteen hundred infantry and six hundred cavalry. This, however, did but little more than make up for the losses in killed and wounded of the preceding day, and as most of the troops of the line had now gone over to the people, the cause of the Government seemed hopeless. As General Marmont counted up his resources, he found that he had but five thousand effective men and eight guns to defend his position at the Tuileries. A hundred thousand combatants, most of them well armed and disciplined, and renowned for bravery, surrounded him. Military men who may be familiar with the localities, either by observation or from maps, may be interested in seeing how General Marmont disposed of his force to meet the emergency.

A Swiss battalion occupied the Carrousel. Two more Swiss battalions were stationed in the Louvre, a fortress which could not easily be stormed. Two battalions were placed in the Rue de Rivoli, to guard the northern entrance to the Carrousel. Three battalions of the Guard and a regiment of cavalry occupied the garden of the Tuileries and the spacious Place de la Concorde, outside of the iron railing. Two battalions of the line, who had not yet abandoned their colors, were stationed in the Rue Castiglione, which abuts upon the garden near its central northern entrance.

By this arrangement General Marmont, if sorely pressed, could rapidly concentrate his whole force, either in the Carrousel or in the garden of the Tuileries, where he could easily for some time hold an army at bay. Should retreat be found necessary, there was open before him the broad avenue of the Champs Elysees. The ground which the royal troops occupied was all that remained under the control of the Government. The whole of the remainder of Paris was in possession of the insurgents.

It was well known that General Marmont could feel but little sympathy in the cause which, in obedience to his oath, he felt compelled to defend. The insurgents were now pressing the troops on every side. An incessant fire of musketry, accompanied by loud shouts, indicated the renewed severity with which the battle was beginning to rage. The Provisional Government, anxious to arrest, if possible, the carnage inevitable upon the continuance of the struggle, dispatched M. Arago, the celebrated philosopher, who was an intimate friend of General Marmont, to confer with him upon the subject. The philosopher was introduced to the warrior, seated upon his horse in the middle of the Carrousel, surrounded by his staff of officers. The following is, in substance, the conversation which is represented as having taken place between them. M. Arago first urged General Marmont to imitate the troops of the line, and, with his Guard, espouse the cause of the people, which was the cause of liberty and justice. The general firmly and somewhat passionately replied,

"No! propose nothing to me which will dishonor me."

M. Arago then urged him to abandon a bad cause, to surrender his command, retire to St. Cloud, and return his sword to the king, and no longer to fight in defense of despotic measures, and against the people, who were struggling only for their rights. The general replied:

"You know very well whether or not I approve of those fatal and odious ordinances. But I am a soldier. I am in the post which has been intrusted to me. To abandon that post under the fire of sedition, to desert my troops, to be unfaithful to my king, would be desertion, flight, ignominy. My fate is frightful. But it is the decree of destiny, and I must go through with it."[W]

[Footnote W: "The Duc de Raguse found himself invested with a real military dictatorship. His situation was a cruel one. If he took part with the insurgents, he betrayed a king who relied upon him. If he put so many mothers in mourning, without even believing in the justice of his cause, he committed an atrocity. If he stood aloof, he was dishonored. Of these three lines of conduct he adopted that which was most fatal to the people."—LOUIS BLANC].

While they were conversing, the battle was still raging at the outposts with the clamor of shouts, musketry, and booming cannon. An officer came, covered with dust, and bleeding from his wounds, to urge that reinforcements should be dispatched to one of the outposts which was hotly assailed. "I have none to send," said the general, in tones of sadness and despair. "They must defend themselves."

These two illustrious men, in heart both in sympathy, but by the force of circumstances placed in opposite parties, arrayed in deadly strife, after a long and melancholy interview separated, with the kindest feelings, each to act his part, and each alike convinced that the Bourbon monarchy was inevitably and rapidly approaching its end. The Provisional Government, so hastily and imperfectly organized, had also sent a deputation to the ministers assembled in the Tuileries. But Polignac and his associates refused them admission. The decisive decree was then passed by the Provisional Government that the king and his ministers were public enemies, and orders were issued to press the royal troops on every side with the utmost vigor.

The Hotel de Ville became the head-quarters of the insurgents, and the Provisional Government transferred itself there. The military government of Paris was given to Lafayette. The royal troops were speedily driven in to the vicinity of the Louvre, and the situation of the ministers in the Tuileries became alarming. They decided that it was necessary for them to retire to St. Cloud. Before setting out they sent for General Marmont, that they might ascertain his means of defense.

"You may tell the king," said General Marmont, "that, come what may, and though the entire population of Paris should rise up against me, I can hold this position for fifteen days without further reinforcements. This position is impregnable."

As this statement was repeated to the king he was much cheered by it. The monarchy was much stronger in the provinces than in Paris. The populace of the capital could do but little outside of its walls. A few days would give an opportunity to assemble numerous regiments of the Guard from the various positions they occupied in the vicinity of the metropolis. But affairs were rapidly assuming a more fatal aspect in Paris than General Marmont had deemed possible. The whole of the city, except the ground held by the royal troops around the Tuileries, was in the hands of the insurgents. An impetuous band of students from the Polytechnic School rushed upon and took every piece of artillery in the Rue St. Honore.

The regiment placed in the Rue Castiglione, to guard the great entrance into the garden of the Tuileries from the boulevards, through the Rue de la Paix, opened its ranks, and the triumphant populace, with shouts which rang through Paris, entered the iron-railed inclosure. These disasters caused the withdrawal of a portion of the troops who had for some time been defending the Louvre from the colonnade opposite the Church of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, where the insurgents were posted in great strength. Thus encouraged, the insurgents rushed vehemently across the street, and took the Louvre by storm. Flooding the palace like an ocean tide, they opened a deadly fire from the inner windows upon the Swiss in the Carrousel.

These brave men, thus assailed where successful resistance was hopeless, were thrown into a panic. With bullets whistling around them, deafened by the roar of the battle and the shouts of infuriated men, and seeing their comrades dropping every moment upon the pavement dead or wounded, they fled in wild disorder through the arch of the Tuileries into the garden, into which, from the side gate, as we have mentioned, the insurgents were pouring.

All was lost, and, as it were, in a moment. Such are the vicissitudes of battle. General Marmont rushed to the rear, the post of danger and of honor in a retreat. He did every thing which skill and courage could do to restore order, and succeeded in withdrawing his little band into the grand avenue of the Champs Elysees, through which they rapidly marched out of Paris, leaving the metropolis in the hands of the insurgents. In the midst of the storm of death which swept their retreating ranks General Marmont was the last to leave the garden of the Tuileries. One hundred of the Swiss troops, who had been posted in a house at the junction of the Rue de Richelieu and the Rue St. Honore, were unfortunately left behind. They perished to a man.

Did these heroic troops do right in thus proving faithful to their oaths, their colors, and their king? Did these heroic people do right in thus resisting tyranny and contending for liberty at the price of their blood? Alas for man! Let us learn a lesson of charity.

General Marmont having collected his bleeding and exhausted band in the Bois de Boulogne, where pursuit ceased, galloped across the wood to St. Cloud, in anguish of spirit, to announce to the king his humiliating defeat.



"Sire," said this veteran of a hundred battles, with moistened eyes and trembling lips, "it is my painful duty to announce to your majesty that I have not been able to maintain your authority in Paris. The Swiss, to whom I intrusted the defense of the Louvre, seized with a sudden panic, have abandoned that important post. Carried away myself by the torrent of fugitives, I was unable to rally the troops until they arrived at the arch of the Etoile, and I have ordered them to continue their retreat to St. Cloud. A ball directed at me has killed the horse of my aid-de-camp by my side. I regret that it did not pass through my head. Death would be nothing to me compared to the sad spectacle which I have witnessed."

The ministers were called in. All were struck with consternation. The chateau of St. Cloud is but six miles from Paris. Thousands of men, maddened, savage, ripe for any deeds of outrage, might in an hour surround the castle and cut of all possibility of retreat. There was no time for deliberation. As usual on such occasions, confused and antagonistic views were hurriedly offered. M. de Ranville, who had the evening before advised measures of compromise, was now for a continuance of the conflict.

"The throne is overturned, we are told," said he; "the evil is great, but I believe it is exaggerated; I can not believe that the monarchy is to fall without a combat. Happen what may, Paris is not France. If, however, the genius of evil is again to prove triumphant, if the legitimate throne is again to fall, let it fall with honor; shame alone has no future." These sentiments were strongly supported by the Duke d'Angouleme.

The king, however, either from a constitutional want of heroism, or from a praiseworthy desire to save France from the horrors of a protracted civil war, refused to appeal any longer to the energies of the sword. He hoped, however, that by dismissing the obnoxious ministers, and revoking the ordinances, the people might be appeased. A decree in accordance with this resolve was immediately prepared and signed. A new ministry was also announced, consisting of very popular men.

It is said that the Duke d'Angouleme paced the floor, quivering with indignation, as this decree was signed, and that the discarded ministers left the council-chamber "with tears in their eyes and despair in their hearts." The new ordinances were hastily dispatched to the Provisional Government at the Hotel de Ville. "It is too late," was the reply. "The throne of Charles X. has melted away in blood." Some few of the members, dreading the anarchy which might follow the demolition of the throne, urged that the envoys might be received, as it was still possible to come to an accommodation. But their voices were drowned by cries from all parts of the hall, "It is too late. We will have no more transactions with the Bourbons."

It would only bewilder the reader to attempt a narrative of the scenes of desperation, recrimination, confusion, and dismay which simultaneously ensued. M. de Montmart, whom the king had appointed in place of Prince Polignac as the new President of the Council, a noble of vast wealth, and one of the bravest of men, set out in his shirt-sleeves, disguised as a peasant, hoping to gain access to the Provisional Government, and, by his personal influence, to save the monarchy. His mission was in vain. General Marmont, to spare the useless shedding of blood, entered into a truce—some said a capitulation—with the revolutionary forces. The Duke d'Angouleme, in his rage, called the venerable marshal to his face a traitor. In endeavoring to wrest from him his sword, the duke severely wounded his own hand. General Marmont was put under arrest; but soon, by the more considerate king, was released.

The king, with most of the royal family and court, retired to the chateau of Trianon, at Versailles, four or five miles farther back in the country. The Duke d'Angouleme was left in command of such troops of the guard and of the line as could be collected, to act as rear-guard at St. Cloud. But scarcely had Charles X. established himself at Trianon ere the duke presented himself in the presence of his father, with the disheartening intelligence that the troops stationed at the bridge of St. Cloud to prevent the insurgents from crossing the Seine, had refused to fire upon them. In consequence, the revolutionary forces had taken possession of the chateau, and were preparing to march upon Trianon.

The king had gathered around him at Trianon about twelve thousand troops. Some of them were troops of the line. He knew not what reliance could be placed in their fidelity. Alarm-couriers were continually arriving with appalling tidings. Men, women, and boys, inflamed with passion, and many delirious with brandy—on foot, and in all sorts of vehicles—a motley throng of countless thousands—were on the march to attack him. The king had not forgotten the visit of the mob of Paris to his brother Louis XVI. and family at Versailles—their captivity—their sufferings in the dungeon and on the scaffold. Another and an immediate retreat was decided upon to Rambouillet, a celebrated royal hunting-seat, about thirty miles from Paris. It was midnight when the king and his family, in the deepest dejection, under escort of the Royal Guard, ten thousand strong, reached Rambouillet.

The Duke d'Angouleme still earnestly advocated the most determined resistance. But the king, an old man who had already numbered his threescore years and ten, was thoroughly disheartened. After a few hours of troubled repose he, on the following morning, assembled his family around him, and communicated his intention of abdicating in favor of his grandson, the Count de Chambord. His son, the Duke d'Angouleme, renouncing his rights as heir to the throne, assented to this arrangement. The king announced this event in a letter to Louis Philippe, duke of Orleans, appointing the duke lieutenant-general of France—requesting him to proclaim the accession of the Count de Chambord, as Henry V., to the throne, and authorizing him to act as regent during the minority of the king.

The act of abdication—drawn up informally as a letter to the Duke of Orleans—contained the following expressions:

"I am too deeply distressed by the evils that afflict, or that may seem to impend over my people, not to have sought a means to prevent them. I have, therefore, resolved to abdicate the crown in favor of my grandson. The dauphin (the Duke d'Angouleme), who participates in my sentiments, likewise renounces his rights in favor of his nephew. You will therefore have, in your quality of lieutenant-general of the kingdom, to cause to be proclaimed the accession of Henry V. to the crown. You will, furthermore, take all measures that befit you to regulate the forms of the Government during the minority of the new king.

"I renew to you, my cousin, the assurance of the sentiments with which I am your affectionate cousin, CHARLES."

But in the mean time an army of uncounted thousands was hastily organized in Paris to march upon Rambouillet and drive the king out of France. This formidable array of determined men was crowded into carriages, cabriolets, omnibuses, and vehicles of every kind, and was pushed forward as rapidly as possible. General Pajol commanded the expedition. General Excelmans was intrusted with the advance-guard. This motley mass was trundled along, singing the "Marseillaise" and other revolutionary songs, and presenting far more the aspect of a mob than that of an army. In the position in which the king was placed, with troops upon many of whom he could place but little reliance, they were the more to be dreaded. Three commissioners were sent in advance of the revolutionary troops to demand of the king an unqualified resignation of the crown for himself and his descendants. The king received them with calmness and dignity.

"What do you wish with me?" he said. "I have arranged every thing with the Duke of Orleans, my lieutenant-general of the kingdom."

M. Odillon Barrot replied, "If the king would avoid involving the kingdom in unheard-of calamities and a useless effusion of blood, it is indispensable that his majesty and his family should instantly leave France. There are eighty thousand men who have issued from Paris, ready to fall on the royal forces."

The king took Marshal Maison, another of the commissioners, aside into the embrasure of a window, and said to him, "Marshal Maison, you are a soldier and a man of honor. Tell me, on your word of honor, is the army which has marched out of Paris against me really eighty thousand strong?"

"Sire," the marshal replied, "I can not give you the number exactly; but it is very numerous, and may amount to that force."

"Enough," said the king; "I believe you, and I consent to every thing to spare the blood of my Guard."

Orders were immediately issued for the prompt departure of the court for Cherbourg, there to embark for some foreign land. In a few hours the mournful procession was in movement. The long cortege of carriages was accompanied by several regiments of the Guard. Sad indeed must have been the emotions of the inmates of those carriages as they commenced their journey from the splendors of royalty to the obscurity of exile. Slowly this funereal procession of departed power was seen winding its way through the distant provinces of the realm, to find in foreign lands a refuge and a grave.

The first night they stopped at Maintenon, where the illustrious family of Noailles received the royal fugitives with sympathy and generous hospitality, in one of the most ancient and splendid country-seats of the kingdom. Here, the next morning, the king took leave of the greater part of his Guard. He reserved for his escort but a few hundred select troops, with six pieces of cannon. General Marmont, in whom the king reposed implicit trust, was placed in command of this little band, which was to guard the illustrious refugees to the coast.

The parting of the King from that large portion of the Guard from whom he here separated presented a touching spectacle. Loyalty with these soldiers was a religious principle. In these hours of disaster, whatever might have been the faults of their fallen sovereign, they forgot them all. They were drawn up in military array along the noble avenue of the park. As the royal cortege passed between them they presented arms, silent in their grief, while many of these hardy veterans were in tears. The king himself was for the moment quite unmanned, and, bowing his head, sobbed aloud.

Twelve days were occupied in the slow journey to Cherbourg. It was deemed necessary to avoid all the large towns, and to take unfrequented paths, that they might not be arrested in their progress by any popular uprising. Before reaching Cherbourg the king had the mortification of hearing that the Orleans throne had been reared upon the ruins of the Bourbon throne. During the whole of this sad journey General Marmont, whose life had been so full of adventure and vicissitude, rode on horseback by the side of the carriage of the king. Many of the most illustrious noblemen and most distinguished ladies of France, faithful to their principles and their king in the hour of misfortune, added by their presence to the mournful pageantry of the cavalcade. The peasants even were awed by this spectacle of fallen grandeur. Though they gathered in crowds around the carriages in the villages through which they passed the night, no word of insult was offered. In silence they gazed upon the scene, and not unfrequently tears were seen to moisten eyes quite unused to weep.



When the cavalcade reached Valognes, a few miles from Cherbourg, as all danger was passed, the king decided to dismiss the remainder of the Guard. Gathering around him the officers, and six of the oldest soldiers of each company composing his escort, he received from them the royal banners of the elder house of Bourbon, which could no longer be unfurled in France. The Duke and the Duchess d'Angouleme, and the Duchess de Berri, with her daughter, and her son, the Duke of Bordeaux, stood by his side. With a trembling voice, which was finally broken by sobs, the king said:

"I receive these standards, and this child" (pointing to the Duke of Bordeaux) "will one day restore them to you. The names of each of you, inscribed on your muster-rolls, and preserved by my grandson, will remain registered in the archives of the royal family, to attest forever my misfortunes, and the consolation I have received from your fidelity."

This was one of time's tragedies—the dethronement of a dynasty. There are but few who will not, in some degree, appreciate the sublimity of the scene. All present were in tears, and loud sobs were heard. The king and his family then laid aside all the insignia of royalty, and assumed the dress more appropriate to exiles. The king also wrote to the King of England and to the Emperor of Austria, announcing his dethronement, and soliciting an asylum in each of their realms.

It would seem, however, that Charles X., who twice before had been driven into exile, did by no means relinquish the idea of regaining the crown for his family. In taking leave of Prince Polignac, who more than any one else was responsible for the obnoxious ordinances, he said:

"I recollect only your courage. I do not impute to you our misfortunes. Our cause was that of God, of the throne, and of the people. Providence often proves its servants by suffering, and defeats the best designs for reasons superior to what our limited faculties can discern. But it never deceives upright consciences. Nothing is yet lost for our house. I go to combat with one hand, and to negotiate with the other. Retire behind the Loire, where you will find an asylum from the vengeance of the people in the midst of my army, which has orders to assemble at Chartres."

"Charles X.," writes Louis Blanc, "was tranquil. The aspect of the dauphine in tears, of his woe-begone courtiers, and of the two children of the Duchess de Berri, who, in their ignorance, found amusement in the novelty of every thing about them—to all this he was insensible, or at least resigned. But the sight of a bit of tri-colored ribbon, or a slight neglect of etiquette, was enough to excite his petulance. It was necessary, in the small town of L'Aigle, to have a square table made, according to court usage, for the dinner of a monarch who was losing an empire. Thus he showed, combined in his person, that excess of grandeur and of littleness which is acquired from the practice of royalty."

The journey to Cherbourg was sad and solemn. The two princesses, the Duchess d'Angouleme and the Duchess de Berri, walked when the weather was fine. Their dress was very much neglected, because their attendants had not been able to bring away linen or clothes. A grave and pensive expression sat on the faces of the beholders wherever the cortege passed. Some officers presented themselves on the road, bowing in homage to expiring royalty. "Gentlemen," said the king, "keep those worthy sentiments for that child, who alone can save you all;" and he pointed to the little flaxen-haired head of the Duke of Bordeaux, at the window of a carriage following his own.

When the melancholy cortege, consisting of a long train of carriages, reached the cliffs of Cherbourg, they beheld the ocean spread out in its apparently illimitable expanse before them. Here they halted. For a moment dismay filled their hearts; for the advance couriers came galloping back with the tidings that a numerous band of armed insurgents, a tumultuous mob, with shoutings like the roarings of the sea, were advancing to assail the royal party. The king and his son, the Duke d'Angouleme, hastily stepped from their carriages, and, mounting horses, reached Cherbourg in safety. The ladies and children were not molested save from the fright which they experienced.

An immense crowd thronged the streets of Cherbourg, raising revolutionary cries, while the tri-color flags seemed to float from every window. The port is separated from the town by a strong, circular iron railing. The marine gate-way was guarded by some grenadiers, who closed it as soon as the royal carriages, with the small accompanying guard, had entered. Within this inclosure no tri-color flag was seen, no word of reproach was uttered.

Thousands crowded to the railing, eagerly looking through the bars upon the tragedy which was transpiring. The royal party alighted at a small bridge, carpeted with blue cloth. The dauphine, who had passed through so many scenes of woe, nearly fainted as with trembling steps she entered the ship which was to bear her again to exile, and an exile from which death alone could release her. The Duchess de Berri assumed an air of indignation and defiance, characteristic of her Neapolitan blood. The little Duke of Bordeaux, now called the Count de Chambord, in behalf of whom Charles X. had abdicated, and who was consequently now regarded by all the court party as their lawful sovereign, was carried in the arms of M. de Dumas, who was very apprehensive lest the bullet of some assassin might pierce him. The king sufficiently controlled his feelings to appear calm as ever.

The deposed monarch and his despairing household stood upon the deck of the vessel as it was towed by a steamer out of the harbor. As the sails were unfurled, and filled with a favoring breeze, they sadly watched the receding shores of France. There was no parting salute. It was a funereal scene. Even the most ardent Loyalists could not raise a cheer. A few hours' sail conveyed the silent, melancholy court to England, and thence to Scotland, where an asylum was found in the ancient palace of Holyrood, immortalized as the scene of the sufferings of Mary Queen of Scots. Thus fell the throne of Charles X.



CHAPTER VIII.

THE STRUGGLES OF DIPLOMACY.

1830

Birth of the Duke of Bordeaux, now called Count de Chambord.—Henry V. and the Regency.—Strength of the Republicans.—Arguments of the Orleanists.—Embarrassment of Louis Philippe.—Indecision.—The pressure of events.—Interview between the baron and the banker.—Plan of the Legitimists.—Anxiety of Lafayette.—Danger of anarchy.—Orleanist proclamation.—Activity of the Legitimists.—Attempts at compromise.—Fears of the Orleanists.—Singular interview.—Agitation of the ducal family.—Strange crisis of affairs.—Appalling rumor.—The ultra Democrats.—The demand for a plebiscite.—Tumultuous scenes.—Resolutions passed by the Republicans.—Arrogance of the Polytechnic pupils.—Increasing anxiety and peril.—The panic.—Two imperialists.—Testimony of Louis Blanc.—The Empire.—The mob at Neuilly.—The duke visits Paris.—Scene in the Palais Royal.—Advice of Talleyrand.—Proclamation of Louis Philippe.

Upon the sudden overthrow of the throne of Charles X. by a revolution in the streets of Paris, four parties appeared, struggling for the crown. Charles, as he fled with his court in terror from France, threw back a decree of abdication in favor of his grandson, the Count de Chambord, then entitled the Duke de Bordeaux. This child, who still lives, was then about ten years old. The birth of this child, whom the Legitimists call Henry V., and whom they regard as the legitimate heir to the ancient throne of the Bourbons, was hailed with rejoicing throughout France.

It is recorded that quite a dramatic scene occurred at his birth. His grandfather, Charles X., hastened to the chamber, and, seizing the new-born babe in his arms, exclaimed, with delight, "Here is a fine Duke de Bordeaux! He is born for us all!" He then gave the child a few drops of the wine of Pau, with which tradition says that the aged father of Jeanne d'Albret anointed the lips of her child, Henry IV., before the babe was allowed to place his mouth to his mother's breast.

The heroic mother of the young duke, the Duchess de Berri, whose subsequent fate was so deplorable, said to the king, the father of her departed husband, "Sire, I wish I knew the song of Jeanne d'Albret, that every thing might be done here as at the birth of Henry IV."

The advocates of the ancient regime, the Legitimist party, many of them illustrious in rank and intellect, rallied around the banner of young Henry, the Duke of Bordeaux. They probably had the sympathies of those European dynasties which, by force of arms, had replaced the Bourbons upon that throne of France from which the Revolution of 1789 had expelled them. In accordance with the decree of abdication which Charles X. had issued, the Legitimists wished the young Duke of Bordeaux to be recognized as sovereign, with the title of Henry V,; and the Duke of Orleans, Louis Philippe, to be accepted as regent, during the minority of the child.

Next came the Republican party, formidable in physical strength, in Paris and in other cities. The Republicans had roused the masses, filling the streets with a hundred thousand armed workmen; they had inspired the conflict, demolished the throne, achieved the revolution; but they had no leader capable of organizing and controlling the tumultuous populace. The moneyed men, remembering the Reign of Terror, were afraid of them. All through the rural districts, the peasantry, influenced by the priests, could not endure the idea of a republic.

The bankers in Paris, the moneyed class, men of large resources and influence, were the leaders of the third, or Orleans party, so called. These men were opposed to the aristocracy of rank, but were in favor of the aristocracy of wealth. They had ample means and very able leaders. They wished for a constitutional monarchy, modelled after the aristocratic institutions of England. They would place upon the throne the Duke of Orleans, a Bourbon, one of the richest nobles in Europe. He would be the legitimate heir to the throne should the young Duke of Bordeaux die. The Duke of Orleans, with his vast wealth, would be the fitting representative of the moneyed class. The Orleanists could very effectually appeal to the moderate men of the Legitimist and Republican parties in favor of a compromise in the interest of the Duke of Orleans. To the first they said:

"Unless you accept the Duke of Orleans, there is danger that the Republicans will gain the ascendency, and then our time-honored monarchy will be overthrown." To the Republicans they said: "Unless you consent to this compromise, which gives us a constitutional monarchy, under a citizen king, there is danger that another coalition of the powers of Europe will inundate France, and, after years of blood and woe, the old regime of the Bourbons will be again forced upon us."

In speaking to the Republicans, they emphasized the declaration that Louis Philippe would be a citizen king. When speaking to the Legitimists, they laid stress upon the fact that the Duke of Orleans would be the legitimate sovereign, should the frail child die who alone stood between him and the throne.

There was a fourth party—the Imperial or Napoleonist. It existed then in rather a latent state, though in a condition to be roused, as subsequent events proved, to marvellous life by an electric touch. The renown of the great emperor filled the land. The memorials of his reign were everywhere. He was enthroned in the hearts of the French people, as monarch was never enthroned before. But the Bourbons had taken especial care to banish from France every one who bore his name, and to obliterate, as far as possible, every memorial of his wonderful reign. The revolution had burst upon Paris with almost the suddenness of the lightning's flash. There was no one there who could speak in behalf of the descendants of him who had so lately filled the world with his renown, and who was still enshrined, with almost idolatrous worship, in so many hearts.

From the above it will be perceived that the chances were greatly in favor of the Orleans party. Louis Philippe was placed in perhaps as embarrassing and painful a position as man ever occupied. He was far advanced in life, with property amounting, it is said, to about one hundred millions of dollars. Revolutionary storms had, at one time, driven him into the extreme of poverty. He had experienced the severest sufferings of persecution and exile. Now, in his declining years, happy amidst the splendors of the Palais Royal, and in his magnificent retreat at Neuilly, he was anxious for repose.

Should he allow himself to be placed at the head of the obnoxious, utterly-defeated Legitimist party, as regent during the minority of the Duke of Bordeaux? It was scarcely possible that he could maintain his position. Republicans, Orleanists, and Imperialists, all would combine against him. The army could not be relied upon to sustain him. Ruin seemed inevitable—not only the confiscation of his property, but probably also the loss of his head.

Should he allow himself to be made king by the bankers in Paris? He would be an usurper; false to his own principles of legitimacy, to those principles which had brought him into sympathy with the allied dynasties of Europe in those long and bloody wars by which they had forced rejected legitimacy back upon France.

The little Duke of Bordeaux and his grandfather, Charles X., were his near blood relatives. He had received from the royal family great favors—the restoration of his vast domains. He would be morally guilty of the greatest ingratitude in assuming the attitude of their antagonist, interposing himself between the lawful heir and the crown. Should he stand aloof from these agitations, and take no part in the movement of affairs, then anarchy or a Republic seemed the inevitable result. In either case, he, as a rich Bourbon, with an amount of wealth which endangered the state, would be driven from France and his property confiscated.

But affairs pressed. Scarcely a moment could be allowed for deliberation. The crisis demanded prompt and decisive action. The embarrassment of the duke is painfully conspicuous in the interviews which ensued. Anxiously he paced the floor of his library at Neuilly, bewildered and vacillating.

There was a rich banker at Paris by the name of Lafitte. He called a meeting at his house, of Guizot, Thiers, and other leading journalists. There they decided to unite upon the Duke of Orleans, and to combine immediately, without a moment's delay, all possible influences in Paris, to place the sceptre of power in his hands, before the dreaded Republicans should have the opportunity to grasp it. It was the 30th of July, the last of the three days' conflict. The thunders of the battle had scarcely ceased to echo through the streets of the metropolis.

Baron Glandeves, governor of the Tuileries, and of course a warm partisan of Charles X., who had probably heard a rumor of this meeting, called upon M. Lafitte, and the following conversation is reported as having taken place between them:

"Sir," said the baron to the banker, "you have now been master of Paris for twenty-four hours. Do you wish to save the monarchy?"

"Which monarchy?" inquired Lafitte, "the monarchy of 1789, or the constitutional monarchy of 1814?"

"The constitutional monarchy," the baron replied.

"To save it," rejoined Lafitte, "only one course remains; and that is to crown the Duke of Orleans."

"The Duke of Orleans!" exclaimed the baron, "what are his titles to the crown? That boy, the son of Napoleon, whom Vienna has educated, can at least invoke the memory of his father's glory. It must be admitted that Napoleon has written his annals in characters of fire upon the minds of men. But the Duke of Orleans—what prestige surrounds him? What has he done? How many of the people know his history, or have even heard his name?"

"In the fact of his want of renown," replied the banker, "I see a recommendation. Having no influence over the imagination, he will be the less able to break away from the restraints of a constitutional monarch. His private life is irreproachable. He has respected himself in his wife, and has caused himself to be revered and loved by his children."

"Mere domestic virtues," rejoined M. Glandeves, "are not to be recompensed by a crown. Are you ignorant that he is accused of approving of the vote of his father for the death of Louis XVI.; that in our dark days he associated himself with projects to exclude forever from the throne the legitimate heirs; that during the Hundred Days he preserved a mysterious inaction; that, since 1815, while pretending to be the humble servant of the court, he has been the secret fomenter of all intrigues? Louis XVIII. restored to him his vast estates. Charles X., by a personal request to the Chambers, secured them to him, by legal and irrefragable rights, and conferred upon him the title of royal highness, which he so long coveted. How can he now, thus burdened with kindnesses from the elder branch of the Bourbons, seize upon their inheritance?"

"It is not for the personal interest of the duke," replied M. Lafitte, "that we wish to place him upon the throne, but for the salvation of the country. This alone can save us from anarchy, which otherwise seems inevitable. I do not ask whether the situation of the Duke of Orleans is painful to his feelings, but simply whether his accession to the throne is desirable for France. What prince is more liberal in his political sentiments, or more free from those prejudices which have ruined Charles X.? And where can we find any candidate for the throne who combines so many advantages? And what course can you propose preferable to that of placing the crown on his head?"

"If you believe Charles X. guilty," rejoined the baron, "at least you will admit that the Duke de Bordeaux is innocent. Let us preserve the crown for him. He will be trained up in good principles. Does Lafayette very sincerely desire a Republic?"

"He would wish for it," Lafitte replied, "if he were not afraid of too searching a convulsion."

"Well, then," said the baron, "let a council of regency be established. You would take part in it with Lafayette."

M. Lafitte replied, "Yesterday that might have been possible; and, had the Duchess de Berri—separating her cause from that of the old king—presented herself, with her young son, holding a tri-color in her hand—"

"A tri-color!" exclaimed the baron, in astonishment, interrupting him—"A tri-color! Why, it is, in their eyes, the symbol of every crime. Rather than adopt it, they would suffer themselves to be brayed in a mortar."

"Under these circumstances," inquired Lafitte, "what is it you have to propose to me?"

The prompt reply was, "Respect the divine right of the Duke of Bordeaux—proclaim him sovereign, as Henry V.—intrust the regency, during his minority, to the Duke of Orleans."

This was the plan of the Legitimists. Talleyrand also cherished the same view. The Republicans were by no means inclined to enthrone another Bourbon in the place of Charles X. When M. Thiers and M. Mignet, with others from the office of the Nationale, appeared among the crowd distributing printed slips of paper eulogizing the Duke of Orleans, they were received with hisses. When it was announced to the combatants of the Passage Dauphin that there was a plot concocting to raise the Duke of Orleans to the throne, there was one unanimous burst of rage, with the simultaneous exclamation, "If that be the case, the battle is to be begun again, and we will go and cast fresh balls. No more Bourbons: we will have none of them." M. Leroux, who had witnessed this scene, hurried to the Hotel de Ville to warn Lafayette of the danger. He assured Lafayette that the Republican spirit which Lafayette had evoked now menaced Paris and France with anarchy, and that the attempt to place another Bourbon on the throne would be the signal of a new and terrible conflict.

Lafayette—who was seated in a large armchair—seemed, for a moment, stunned and speechless. A messenger came in to inform him that the Duke of Chartres—the eldest son of the Duke of Orleans—had been taken captive, and that a riotous band was surging through the streets shouting, "A prince is taken! Let us go and shoot him!" Almost by miracle the young duke escaped death.

The peril of anarchy was hourly increasing. There was not a moment to be lost in organizing, if possible, some stable government. The millions in the rural districts would not accept a Republic organized by the populace in Paris. The men of property, and the friends of order generally, thought that their only chance of averting confusion and ruin was to rally in support of the Orleans dynasty. Thus the Orleans party rapidly increased among the more wealthy and reputable portion of the citizens. The leading journals espoused their cause. Nearly all the journals, trembling in view of the threatening anarchy, earnestly rallied around that banner. Beranger, the most popular poet in France—notwithstanding his profound admiration of Napoleon, which was breathed forth in so many of his soul-stirring songs—gave the Orleanists the aid of his all-powerful pen.

The following proclamation in favor of the Duke of Orleans was issued:

"Charles X. can never return to Paris; he has shed the blood of the people. A Republic would expose us to horrible divisions; it would involve us in hostilities with Europe. The Duke of Orleans is a prince devoted to the cause of the Revolution. The Duke of Orleans has never fought against us. The Duke of Orleans was at Jemappes. The Duke of Orleans is a citizen king. The Duke of Orleans has carried the tri-color flag under the enemy's fire. The Duke of Orleans can alone carry it again. We will have no other flag. The Duke of Orleans does not declare himself. He waits for the expression of our wishes. Let us proclaim those wishes and he will accept the charter, as we have always understood and desired it. It is from the French people he will hold the crown."

"This proclamation," says Louis Blanc, "was drawn up with great art. It repeated the name of the Duke of Orleans again and again, in order that this name, little known to the people, might nevertheless be deeply imprinted on its memory. By talking of the tri-color flag and Jemappes to a multitude who troubled themselves little about political forms, it engaged, on behalf of the elect of the bourgeoisie, that national feeling that had been exalted to so high a pitch by the victories of the Republic and the Empire, Lastly, it invoked the sovereignty of the people, the better to destroy it—an old trick of courage-lacking ambition."

The above proclamation was placarded throughout Paris, and was simultaneously published in the three leading journals, the Nationale, the Courier Francais, and the Commerce, which were severally edited by the distinguished journalists, Thiers, Mignet, and Larequy. Another renowned editor, M. Carrel, was dispatched to Rouen, to gain that important city to the Orleans cause.

In the mean time, the Legitimists, headed by Chateaubriand and Talleyrand, were not idle. These men were not merely ambitious partisans. It can not be doubted that they believed that the interests of France would be best promoted by respecting the rights of the Duke of Bordeaux, under the lieutenant-generalship of the Duke of Orleans.

The successful insurrectionists, composed mainly of the Republican and Democratic parties in Paris, had their head-quarters at the Hotel de Ville. Here they hastily organized what they called a Provisional Government. General Lafayette presided over their deliberations. The embarrassment of affairs was such, that the illustrious marquis was in a state of cruel anxiety. In principle he was a Republican. And yet he could see no possibility of evolving a stable Republic from the chaos into which the political world was then plunged. After much deliberation, the Republican leaders at the Hotel de Ville sent General Dubourg, as a commissioner, to the Orleanists assembled at M. Lafitte's, to confer respecting a compromise and union of parties. But already the Orleanists felt so strong that they refused even to admit him to their presence.

The Orleanists were very anxious, from fear that the Duke of Orleans might accede to the proposition of the Legitimists, and proclaim the Duke of Bordeaux king, and himself, in accordance with the decree of Charles X., lieutenant-general of France, and regent during the minority of the duke. This would be in accordance with the forms of law, and the only legal course. Such a step would give the Legitimists immense vantage-ground, from which they could only be driven by another bloody conflict.

To guard against this peril, it was decided to send a delegation, consisting of M. Thiers, M. Scheffer, and M. Sebastiani, to the rural chateau of Louis Philippe, at Neuilly, which was but a short distance from Paris, to offer to him the crown. Should he refuse it, they were directed to arrest him and convey him to a place of safety, and hold him in close custody. Louis Blanc, in his "Dix Ans de Louis Philippe," has given a minute account of this interview. It would seem that Louis Philippe, in an agony of suspense, though informed of the approach of the delegation, was not prepared to meet them. To avoid the interview, he fled to Rancy, leaving his wife and sister behind him.

The Duchess of Orleans received the gentlemen. Pale and trembling, she listened to the offer of a crown to her husband. Then with extreme emotion she replied to M. Scheffer, the speaker of the party:

"How could you undertake such a mission? That M. Thiers should have charged himself with it, I can understand. He little knew us. But that you, who have been admitted to our intimacy—who knew us so well—ah! we can never forgive it."

Just then Louis Philippe's sister, Madame Adelaide, followed by Madame de Montjoie, entered the room. Fully comprehending the object of the mission, and the dangers which surrounded them, Madame Adelaide said,

"Let them make my brother a president, a commander of the National Guard, any thing, so that they do not make him a proscribed."

"Madame," responded M. Thiers, "it is a throne which we come to offer him."

"But what," rejoined the princess, "will Europe think? Shall he seat himself on the throne from which Louis XVI. descended to mount the scaffold? What a panic will it strike in all royal houses! The peace of the world will be endangered."

"These apprehensions, madame," M. Thiers replied, "are natural, but they are not well-founded. England, full of the recollection of the banished Stuarts, will applaud an event of which her history furnishes an example and a model. As to the absolute monarchies, far from reproaching the Duke of Orleans for fixing on his head a crown floating on the storm, they will approve a step which will render his elevation a barrier against the unchained passions of the multitude. There is something great and worth saving in France. And if it be too late for legitimacy, it is not for a constitutional throne. After all, there remains to the Duke of Orleans only a choice of danger. In the present posture of affairs, to fly from the possible dangers of royalty is to face a Republic and its inevitable tempests."

These forcible words of the sagacious statesman produced a deep impression upon the strong and well-balanced mind of Madame Adelaide. She was fully capable of appreciating all their import. She gave virtual assent to them by saying, "I am a child of Paris: I am willing to intrust myself to the Parisians." It was decided to send immediately for the duke. A messenger soon reached him, and he set out on horseback, accompanied by M. Montesquiou, for Paris. Still his irresolution, timidity, and bewilderment were so great that, before reaching the city, his heart misgave him, and, turning his horse, he galloped with the utmost speed back to Rancy. Alison, in depicting these scenes, says, with a severity which our readers will probably think that the recorded facts scarcely warrant,

"He had neither courage enough to seize the crown which was offered to him, nor virtue enough to refuse it. He would gladly have declined the crown if he had been sure of retaining his estates. The most powerful argument for accepting it was, that by so doing he could save his property."

The strange crisis of affairs was such that, while the population of France was over thirty millions, a few bankers in Paris, without consulting the voice of the people, were about to impose upon them a government and a king; and it must be admitted that the peril of the nation was such that many of the purest and noblest men approved of these measures. The majority of the members of the Chamber of Deputies were gained over to this cause; and even the members of the House of Peers were so overawed by the menacing aspect of the excited populace, that they were disposed to fall in with the movement.

The deputies were assembled at the Hotel Bourbon, waiting to receive the report of the delegation which had been sent to offer the crown to Louis Philippe. It is said that there was but one man, M. Hyde de Neuville, who occupied the benches reserved for the advocates of the old royalty. There were probably, however, others in favor of the Duke of Bordeaux, who absented themselves. While thus in session, the rumor came that a body of royalist troops from Rouen were marching upon Paris, and that their cannon were already planted upon the heights of Montmartre, which commanded the city. In the midst of the consternation which this communication created, the deputies returned from Neuilly, with a report of their favorable reception by the family of Louis Philippe.

Immediately, though with some dissenting voices, the following resolution was adopted, and transmitted to the Duke of Orleans:

"The deputies in Paris deem it essential to implore his royal highness the Duke of Orleans to repair immediately to Paris, to exercise the functions of lieutenant-general of the kingdom, and also to resume, in accordance with the universal wish, the tri-color flag."

Meanwhile the peers had met in their hall, in the palace of the Luxembourg. Chateaubriand was then in the plenitude of his renown as a writer, an orator, a statesman. Crowds of young men, in admiration of his genius, were ready enthusiastically to follow his leading. This distinguished man fully realized the true state of affairs—the difficulties involved in whatever course they should attempt to pursue. For some time he sat apart, silent and melancholy, apparently in gloomy thought. Suddenly he rose, and, in deliberate, solemn tones, said:

"Let us protest in favor of the ancient monarchy. If needs be, let us leave Paris. But wherever we may be driven, let us save the king, and surrender ourselves to the trust of a courageous fidelity. If the question come to the salvation of legitimacy, give me a pen and two months, and I will restore the throne."

Scarcely had he concluded these bold, proud words, when a delegation presented itself from the Chamber of Deputies, soliciting the co-operation of the peers in placing the crown upon the brow of the Duke of Orleans. It was soon manifest that but few of the peers were prepared to surrender themselves to martyrdom by following the courageous but desperate councils of Chateaubriand.

The ultra democratic party, dissatisfied with the moderate tone assumed by Lafayette and his associates at the Hotel de Ville, formed a new organization at a hall in the Rue St. Honore. They were bold, determined men, ready to adopt the most audacious resolutions, and to shed their blood like water, in street fights, to maintain them. They were numerous, and with nervous gripe held the arms they had seized; but they had no commander. There was not a man in their ranks who could secure the support of a respectable party throughout France. They had no pecuniary resources—they consisted merely of a tumultuous band of successful insurrectionists, with no one of sufficient character and prominence upon whom even they could unite to recognize as their leader. The eloquent and universally popular Beranger, advocating in all his glowing verse the rights of the people, with other agents of the Orleans cause, repaired to this democratic gathering, to win them over, if possible, to their side. Angrily the Democrats rejected all such propositions. A ferocious debate ensued, which was terminated by a pistol-shot from an enraged opponent, which wounded an Orleanist orator severely in the cheek. It was no longer safe, in that presence, to urge the claims of Louis Philippe. His advocates, as speedily as possible, left the hall.

The Democrats, as this wing of the Republican party may be called, who had broken from their more moderate brethren, who were assembled, under the presidency of Lafayette, at the Hotel de Ville, thus left to themselves, sent a deputation to that body, with the following well-expressed remonstrance against organizing a government without consulting the voice of the French people:

"The people yesterday reconquered their rights at the expense of their blood. The most precious of their rights is that of choosing their form of government. Till this is done, no proclamation should be issued announcing any form of government as adopted. A provisional representation of the nation exists: let it continue till the wishes of the majority of Frenchmen are known."

The spacious Place de Greve, in front of the Hotel de Ville, was crowded with an excited, surging, tumultuous mass, anxiously awaiting the issues of each passing hour. The democratic delegation elbowed their way through the crowd, and were courteously received by Lafayette, in behalf of the Provisional Government. As Lafayette was addressing them, a gentleman entered, M. Sussy, a commissioner from the fugitive king, Charles X., with a proclamation which Charles had issued, hoping to conciliate the enraged people by revoking the ordinances which had roused them to insurrection, dismissing the obnoxious ministers who had recommended those ordinances, and appointing a new cabinet of more popular men.

It was too late for compromise. The same proclamation had been sent to the deputies, but they refused to receive it. Upon the announcement of the mission of M. Sussy, the indignant cry arose from the Republicans, "No! no! away with him: we will have nothing more to do with the Bourbons." So great was the fury excited that it was with difficulty that a brawny Republican, M. Bastide, was prevented from throwing M. Sussy out of the window. By the interposition of Lafayette, he was withdrawn, in the midst of a frightful tumult, to another room. Under the influence of the hostile feelings thus aroused, a series of resolutions were passed, declaring that France would have no more of royalty—that the representatives of the people alone should make the laws, to be executed only by a temporary president.

It will be seen that these resolutions were in direct opposition to the views of those who wished to re-erect the monarchy and to place Louis Philippe upon the throne. But these resolutions were passionately adopted, by the most radical portion of the party, in the midst of a scene of the wildest tumult. They were by no means unanimously accepted. The more moderate of the Republicans, with Lafayette at their head, in view of the agitation hourly augmenting in the streets, in view of the insuperable difficulties, obvious to every well-informed man, of establishing a stable Republic in a realm where a large majority of the population were opposed to a Republic, and trembling in view of the anarchy with which all France was menaced, and conscious that a Republic would excite the hostility of every surrounding throne—were already strongly inclined to effect a union with the Orleans party, under a constitutional monarchy.

In various parts of the city there were excited gatherings, adopting all sorts of revolutionary resolutions, and sending delegations to the Hotel de Ville with instructions, petitions, and threats. The students of the Polytechnic School—who had distinguished themselves in the bloodiest scenes of the street-fight with the troops of Charles X.—sent a committee to the Hotel de Ville with a military order, to which they demanded an official signature. The appropriate officer, M. Lobau, refused to sign it. "You recoil, do you?" said the determined young man who presented the ordinance. "Nothing is so dangerous, in revolutions, as to recoil: I will order you to be shot!"

"To be shot!" was the indignant reply. "Shoot a member of the Provisional Government!"

The young man drew him to the window, pointed to a well-armed band of a hundred men, who had fought desperately the day before: "There," said he, "are men who would shoot God Almighty, were I to order them to do so." The order was signed in silence.

Such occurrences gave new impulse to the inclinations of Lafayette and the more moderate of the Republican party towards the Orleanists, who were deliberating in the salons of M. Lafitte. Charles X., who had fled from St. Cloud with his family and with some of the most devoted of his followers, while these scenes were transpiring, was still in France, at but a few leagues from Paris, at the head of twelve thousand veteran troops. Should the Duke of Orleans escape and join him, and rally the rural portion of the people in defense of Legitimacy, and in support of the Duke of Bordeaux, results might ensue appalling to the boldest imagination. As hour after hour passed away, and the duke did not appear in Paris, the anxiety in the crowded salons of M. Lafitte was terrible. Orleanists and Republicans were alike imperilled. The re-establishment of the old regime would inevitably consign the leaders of both these parties, as traitors, to the scaffold. Democratic cries were resounding, more and more loudly, through the streets. Power was fast passing into the hands of the mob. Should the Duke of Orleans fail his party, there was no one else around whom they could rally, and their disastrous defeat was inevitable.