27th.—On returning from a late drive last night we passed near the hotel of the Minister des Finances, around which some fifty or sixty persons, chiefly youths, were assembled, crying out "Vive la charte!" "A bas les ministres!" A patrol passed close to these persons, but made no attempt to disperse them, which I think was rather unwise, for, encouraged by this impunity, their numbers, I am told, increased rapidly.

I have just heard that the post of gendarmes was tripled this morning, and that a crowd of persons have assembled around the hotel of the Prince Polignac, where a cabinet council was held. It is said that the ministers were insulted as they entered. This looks ill; nevertheless, I trust that it is nothing more than a demonstration of the spirit that is rife in the people, and that no more violent ones will be resorted to. The visitors I have seen to-day seem much alarmed.

The Duc de Guiche set off for St.-Cloud yesterday morning, the moment he had read the ordonnances. Had his counsel been listened to, they would never have been promulgated; for he is one of the few who, with a freedom from prejudice that enables him to judge dispassionately of the actual state of public opinion, has the moral courage to declare the truth to his sovereign, however unpalatable that truth might be, or however prejudicial to his own interests.

I have this moment returned from a drive through the streets, and, though far from being an alarmist, I begin to think that affairs wear a more serious aspect than I dreaded. Already has a collision taken place between the populace and the soldiers, who attempted to disperse them near the Palais-Royal; and it required the assistance of a charge of cavalry to secure the dangerous victory to themselves.

Crowds were hurrying through the streets, many of the shops were closed, and not above three or four carriages were to be seen. Never did so great a change take place in the aspect of a city in so few hours! Yesterday the business of life flowed on in its usual current. The bees and the drones of this vast hive were buzzing about, and the butterflies of fashion were expanding their gay wings in the sunshine. To-day the industrious and orderly seem frightened from their usual occupations, and scarcely a person of those termed fashionable is to be seen. Where are all the household of Charles the Tenth, that vast and well-paid crowd who were wont to fill the anterooms of the Tuileries on gala days, obsequiously watching to catch a nod from the monarch, whose slightest wish was to them as the laws of the Modes and Persians? Can it be that they have disappeared at the first cloud that has darkened the horizon of their sovereign, and increased the danger that menaces him by shewing that they have not courage to meet it? Heaven send, for the honour of France, that the noblesse of the court of Charles the Tenth may not follow the disgraceful example furnished by that of his unfortunate brother, Louis the Sixteenth! In England how different would it be if danger menaced the sovereign!

—— has just been here, and, in answer to my question of where are the men on whose fidelity the king could count, and in whose military experience he might confide in such a crisis as the present, he told me that for the purposes of election interests all the general officers who could be trusted had unfortunately been sent from the court.

The sound of firing has announced that order, far from being restored, seems less likely than ever to be so. People are rushing wildly through the streets proclaiming that several persons have been killed by the military. All is confusion and alarm, and every one appears to dread what the coming night may produce.

Intelligence has just reached us that the mob are demolishing the lanterns, and that they have broken into the shops of the gunsmiths, and seized all the arms they could find. The Duc de Raguse commands the troops, and already several charges have taken place. This selection, under present circumstances, is not considered to be a good one.

The people are forming barricades in various parts of the town, and some of our servants, who have been out to collect intelligence, assert that no hinderance seems to be opposed to this mischievous measure. Where are the civil authorities during all this commotion? is the natural question that suggests itself to one who knows how in London, under any disturbance, they would oppose themselves to check such proceedings. And why, if the civil authorities are too weak to resist the torrent, is there not a sufficient military force to stem it? is the next question that presents itself. No one seems to know where the blame lies, but every one foretells a dangerous result from this unaccountable state of things.

The promulgation of the ordonnances which had led to this tumult, ought to have been accompanied by a display of force sufficient to maintain their enactment. If a government will try the hazardous measure of a coup d'etat, it ought to be well prepared to meet the probable consequences.

I feel so little disposed to sleep that, instead of seeking my pillow, I occupy myself by noting down my impressions, occasionally looking out of my window to catch the sounds that break the stillness of the night. The heat is intense, but the sky is as pure and cloudless as if it canopied a calm and slumbering multitude instead of a waking and turbulent one, filled with the most angry emotions.

Comtes d'Orsay and Valeski have just returned, and state that they have been as far as the Place de la Bourse, where they saw a scene of the utmost confusion. The populace had assembled there in great force, armed with every kind of weapon they could obtain, their arms bared up to the shoulders, and the whole of them presenting the most wild and motley appearance imaginable. They had set fire to the Corps-de-Garde, the flames of which spread a light around as bright as day. Strange to say, the populace evinced a perfect good-humour, and more resembled a mob met to celebrate a saturnalia than to subvert a monarchy.

Comtes d'O—— and V—— were recognised by some of the people, who seemed pleased at seeing them. On returning, they passed through the Rue de Richelieu, which they found in total darkness, all the lanterns having been broken. Comte d'O—— luckily found his cabriolet in the Rue de Menars, where he had left it, not being able to take it farther, owing to a portion of the pavement being broken up, and had only time to reach the club-house in the Rue de Gramont, in the court of which he placed his cab, before the populace rushed by, destroying every thing they met, among which was the carriage of the Prince Tufiakin. A considerable number of the members of the club were assembled, a few of whom witnessed, from the balcony on the Boulevart, the burning of the chairs placed there, the breaking of the lamps, and other depredations.

Some gentlemen went to the battalion of the guards stationed in front of the Prince Polignac's, and suggested to the officer in command the propriety of sending a few men to arrest the progress of the insurgents, a thing then easily to be accomplished; but the officer, having no orders, declined to take any step, and the populace continued their depredations within three hundred yards of so imposing a force as a battalion of the guards!

What may not to-morrow's sun witness, ere it goes down? But conjecture is vain in a crisis in which every thing appears to go on in a mode so wholly unaccountable. The exhibition of a powerful force might and would, I am persuaded, have precluded the collision that has occurred between the populace and the military. Blood has been shed on both sides, and this has rendered the breach between people and sovereign too wide to be repaired except by something almost miraculous, and alas! the time of miracles is past.

I cannot help wondering at the calmness I feel on this occasion. I experience no personal alarm; but I am apprehensive for my friends, some of whom are deeply interested in this struggle. How may their destinies, lately so brilliant, be overclouded by the change that menaces to take place!

Well may Monsieur Salvandy have observed at the ball so recently given by the Duc of Orleans to the royal families of France and Naples, "This may be termed a Neapolitan fete, for they are dancing over a volcano."



CHAPTER XXIII.

All now seems quiet, so I will go to bed. Heaven only knows if to-morrow night we may be allowed to seek our pillows in safety.

28th.—My femme-de-chambre undrew my curtains this morning, "with such a face—so faint, so spiritless, so dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone"—proclaiming that barricades had been erected during the night, and that the bodies of those killed in the encounter yesterday have been paraded through the streets in order to excite still more the angry feelings of the people. This last measure reminds one of the appalling exhibitions in the fearful and memorable Revolution of former days; and the reminiscences it awakens are not calculated to tranquillize the mind.

She states that the shops are all closed, and that no provisions can be obtained; the cook complains that his stockpots want replenishing; and the femme de charge hints that the larder is not so well supplied as it would have been had she known what was to occur. Each and all of these functionaries seem wholly occupied by the dread of not being able to furnish us with as copious repasts as usual, unmindful that a mighty throne is tottering to its foundation, and that a struggle is going on in which many lives may be sacrificed.

The Duc de Raguse has incurred great blame for his intercourse with the supposed leaders of the Revolution. This conduct has had the effect of destroying the confidence of the troops in their chief, and of weakening their attachment to the cause they were to support. The Marechal was the Commandant appointed by the King, and as such, bound to treat as rebels those who opposed themselves to his government; instead of which, he seemed more like the confident of a party who, it is alleged, owe their victory to his supineness.

The Duc de Guiche has not left his post, near the royal family, since the 26th, except to pass and repass with instructions from the King to the Duc de Raguse, twice or thrice a-day. He has been repeatedly recognised by the people, though in plain clothes, and experienced at their hands the respect so well merited by his honourable conduct and devotion to his sovereign. How often have I heard this noble-minded man censured for encouraging the liberal sentiments of the Dauphin; and heard this, too, from some of those who are now the first to desert Charles the Tenth in the emergency which is the result of the system they advocated!

—— has been here; he tells me that to Marshal Marmont the king has confided unlimited power, and that Paris has been declared in a state of siege.

He says that the military dispositions are so defective, that there is not a young officer in the army capable of committing a similar mistake. The regiments are crowded into narrow streets, in which even children may become dangerous enemies, by throwing from the windows every missile within their reach on the heads of the soldiers. He is of opinion that, in twenty-four hours, the populace will be in possession of Paris. The tri-coloured flag is now floating from the towers of Notre-Dame; while the white flag of the luckless Bourbons, as often stained by the faithlessness of its followers, as by the blood of its foes, still waves from the column of the Place Vendome,—that column erected to commemorate the glory of the great chief now calmly sleeping in his ocean-washed grave.

The civil authorities seem paralyzed: the troops have been twelve hours on duly without any refreshment, except that afforded by the humanity of the people, who have brought them wine and bread; can it be hoped that these same soldiers will turn their arms against those who have supplied their necessities?

The royal emblems are destroyed wherever they are found, and the bust of the king has been trampled on. The disgusting exhibition of the dead bodies has had the bad effect calculated upon, and all is tumult and disorder. Every one wonders where are the authorities, and why a sufficient military force does not appear, for there has been ample time, since the disposition to insurrection manifested by the people, to assemble the troops.

Every visitor, and, notwithstanding the disturbed state of Paris, we have already had several to-day, announces some fresh disaster, each representing it according to the political creed to which he adheres. The Royalists assert that the outbreak is the result of a long and grave conspiracy, fomented by those who expect to derive advantage from it; while the Liberals maintain that it has arisen spontaneously and simultaneously from the wounded spirit of liberty, lashed into a frenzied resistance by the ordonnances. I pretend not to know which of these statements is the most correct; but I believe that the favourite opinion of the worthy Sir Roger de Coverley, that "much could be said on both sides of the question," might now fairly be urged; for, according to the march of events, it is but too probable that the melodrama now enacting before our eyes has not been an impromptu; and it is quite clear that the ordonnances have furnished the occasion, and the excuse (if such were required), for the performance.

Well might a great Italian writer pronounce revolutions to be the carnivals of history. This one seems to be not only a carnival but Saturnalia, for the ebriety of the slaves of liberty is well calculated to disgust the friends; and those who witness this intoxication are reminded of the observation of Voltaire, that "Les Francais goutent de la liberte comme des liqueurs fortes avec lesquelles ils s'enivrent." A revolution affected by physical instead of moral force, is a grave wound inflicted on social order and civilization—a wound which it takes ages to heal.

When on the point of sitting down to our dejeuner a la fourchette (for people will eat while thrones are crumbling), repeated knockings, at the porte-cochere induced us to look from the window in order to see who the persons were who thus loudly demanded admittance, when it was discovered that they were Doctors Pasquier and De Guise. They had been dressing the wounded at the hospital in the Faubourg du Roule, and finding on their return that the Champs-Elysees and Rue St.-Honore were the scenes of combat, had bethought themselves of our vicinity, and sought shelter. When our unexpected visitants, deeming themselves fortunate in having found a refuge, prepared to join our repast, it was ludicrous to observe the lengthened faces of our servants at this addition to our party. They, having previously lamented the paucity of provisions in the larder, and being aware of the difficulty, if not impossibility, of procuring a further supply, looked on the new-comers as interlopers, who would inevitably diminish the already too limited stock.

We had not been seated above five minutes at table, when the report of fire-arms announced that hostilities were renewed, and we hurried to the drawing-room to observe what was going on. The servants looked as if they rather enjoyed the interruption to the morning's meal, thinking no doubt that it would preserve the provisions, now so precious in their eyes, and they prepared to remove the viands with unusual alacrity; but their visages lengthened when told to let them remain on the table, and became still longer when we shortly after resumed our places at the board.

An Englishwoman, in the kitchen establishment, has just performed a feat that has elevated her into a heroine in the eyes of the rest of the servants. Finding the larder not sufficiently supplied, she sallied forth into the street, passed through the Rue St.-Honore, while the fighting was going on, and returned bearing a basket of meat, obtained certainly at the risk of her life, as shots were flying around her. As none of the men offered to undertake this action, she is now considered little less than an amazon, and her amour-propre being excited by the commendations bestowed on her courage, she declares that she will go forth for all that may be required, as she despises fear.

We have now entrenched ourselves in the front drawing-rooms, with the external shutters, which are stuffed to exclude noise, closed, but which we open occasionally, in order to see what is going on. Sitting in darkness, with the sound of firing, and the shouts of the people, continually in our ears, I can hardly bring myself to think that all that is now passing is not a dream.

The populace, ten minutes ago, rushed from the Rue St.-Honore towards the Champs-Elysees, assailing the troops stationed in the latter place; and were in turn assailed by these last, and forced to retreat to the Rue St.-Honore. The scene was one of the utmost confusion.

The firing is going on; stragglers are rushing to and fro; a body of troops are stationed at the bottom of this street, and some pieces of cannon have been placed. A thousand rumours are afloat, each more improbable than the other. One moment it is announced that several regiments have fraternized with the people; another, that the royal family have fled to Belgium; the next, that Paris is to be fired by the insurgents; but it would be impossible to repeat one-half the wild rumours in circulation.

There is a mixture of the sublime and of the ridiculous in the scenes now passing before my eyes that is quite extraordinary. Looking from my window, twenty minutes ago, I saw a troop of boys, amounting to about fifty, the eldest of whom could not be more than ten or eleven years old, and some who appeared under that age, march through our streets, with wooden swords, and lances pointed with sharp nails, flags flying, and crying, "Vive la charte! Vive la liberte!" The gravity and intrepidity of these gamins de Paris would, at any other period, have elicited a smile; but now, this demonstration on the part of mere children creates the reflection of how profound and general must be the sympathy enlisted against the government and the sovereign in the hearts of the people.

Many are those who, like their children, shout "Vive la charte!" and "Vive, la liberte!" who are as ignorant of the true sense and value of both as they are. Well might the victim, when being led to execution in the days of the past revolution in France, exclaim, "O Liberty, what crimes are committed in thy name!"

One of our servants has this moment informal me that the children, whose warlike demeanour I was disposed to smile at an hour ago, have rendered (not the state, but the popular cause) some service. The troops, more amused than surprised at the appearance of these mimic soldiers, suffered them to approach closer than prudence warranted, and the urchins, rushing among the horses, wounded several of the poor animals severely, and effected their retreat before the soldiers were aware of what had occurred.

A fatality seems to prevail in the preset crisis that is little less than marvellous. A want of provisions for the troops is now added to the catalogue of excitements against the cause of royalty. Harassed by the repeated attacks of the populace, and exhausted by long exposure to the intense heat of a burning sun, they are little prone to consider as enemies those who approach them with food to allay the pangs of hunger, and drink to cool their scorching thirst. ——, and others who have mingled with the crowd, tell me that they have beheld repeated examples of soldiers throwing down their arms, to embrace those who came to seduce them with the most irresistible of all seductions—refreshment, when they were nearly exhausted by the want of it.

I shall begin to consider myself half a heroine, after an exploit I performed this evening. The men who shared our dinner having gone out to observe what was passing, I determined, coute que coute, to pay a visit to my friend Madame Craufurd. I attired myself as simply as possible, and, attended by a valet de pied, sallied forth. Having traversed the short distance that separates this house from the Rue St.-Honore, I arrived at the barricade erected in front of the entrance to the Rue Verte, and I confess this obstacle seemed to me, for the first minute or two that I contemplated it, insurmountable. My servant, too, expressed his belief of the difficulty, if not impossibility, of climbing over this mountain of loose stones, that I felt half disposed to retrace my steps.

The shouts of a mob approaching along the Rue St.-Honore quickly decided me on the course to pursue; I clambered up as best I could, not without considerable risk; nor was the danger and difficulty of the descent on the other side of this rude pyramid less imminent. The evening was more sultry than I ever experienced an evening to be, even in Italy; the houses were all closed, the streets deserted, except when a few occasional stragglers rushed along, glancing at me with surprise, and uttering their comments on my courage. Now and then a dog ran by, with a terrified air and drooping tail, keeping close to the houses as if for protection. One might have fancied oneself in some city ravaged by the plague, and the burning heat of the atmosphere, and lurid red of the clouds, might have strengthened the notion.

It more than once occurred to me how singular it was for me, a woman and a stranger, to find myself with only one attendant in the streets, on foot, in a city declared to be in a state of siege, and with the noise of firing in the distance, and the shouts of the populace, continually breaking on my ears.

Having passed the Rue de la Ville-l'Eveque, and entered the Rue d'Anjou, I soon reached the porte-cochere of my friend. My servant knocked, and very loudly, but before the Swiss porter would open the door, he reconnoitred from the window in the entresol of his lodge. He could hardly credit his eyes when he saw me; and while he unbolted and unchained the door, an operation which took him more time than I thought necessary, I could hear him muttering that, "Les dames Anglaises n'ont peur de rien, positivement rien." I was not sorry when I heard the massive door closed after me, with its bolts and chains again secured; but, as I crossed the courtyard, the different aspect of the house, with its closed windows, reminded me so forcibly of the change that had occurred since my last visit, only three days previously, that I felt more agitated than while traversing the streets.

When I entered the drawing-room, in which a large circle were assembled, Madame Craufurd, though the servants announced my name, could hardly believe I was indeed come. She wept bitterly while embracing me, and observed on the hardship of a person so aged as herself being called on to witness two revolutions. All the horrors of the first are recalled vividly to her mind, and her terror of what may occur is proportioned to what she remembers to have formerly taken place. Nothing seemed to pacify her terror so much as the fact of my having been permitted to pass unmolested to her house, though she considered me little less than insane to have undertaken the task.

"For myself," said Madame C——, "I have little fear (though her blanched cheek and trembling hand told another story); but for those dearer to me than life, what have I not to dread? You who know the chivalrous sentiments of the Duc de Guiche, and the attachment entertained by him and my granddaughter for the royal family, will understand how much I have to dread for them from the vengeance which their devotion to their sovereign may draw on their heads. They are not, as you are aware, time-servers, like so many others, who will desert their king in his hour of need. No; they will brave death, I am assured, rather than forsake in adversity those whose prosperity they shared."

The marquis d'Aligre, one of, it not the, richest landed proprietors in France, was among the circle at Madame Craufurd's, and evinced no little composure and courage in the circumstances in which we found ourselves. He joined me in endeavouring to soothe her fears; and probably the fact of his having so immense a stake to risk in the crisis now taking place, added not a little weight to the arguments he urged to quiet her alarms. When people have so much to lose, their calmness has an imposing effect; and the rhetoric of the most accomplished orator would have probably been less successful than was the composed manner of the marquis d'Aligre, in restoring the wonted courage of our amiable hostess.

When I rose to take leave, Madame C—— tried all her efforts to persuade me to remain to sleep at her house, and I had no little difficulty to escape from her importunity. She would fain send all her men servants to escort me home, and the Marquis d'Aligre also pressingly offered his services; but I was obstinate in my refusal to allow anyone to accompany me, being convinced that there was even less danger in proceeding with a single servant than more numerously attended. I tore myself from the embraces of Madame C——, whose tears flowed afresh, and bedewed my cheeks, and I once more passed through the court-yard, followed to the porter's lodge by the dames de compagnie, femmes de chambre, and valets de chambre, wondering at my courage, offering up their prayers for my safety, and proclaiming that only an Englishwoman would have faced such danger. The old Swiss porter would not risk opening the gate until he had assured himself, from the window, that the coast was clear, and closed it so rapidly when I had passed it as almost to have endangered my heels.

On returning, I found a cord drawn across the street in front of the barrack in the Rue Verte, and some forty or fifty ill-dressed and riotous men assembled, half-a-dozen of whom held the cord. Having approached close to it, I paused, and, looking calmly at those who held it, I appealed by looks to their politeness. Some of them laughed aloud, and asked me if I could not leap over the barrier that impeded my progress, drawing the rope still higher while they spoke. I answered, though I trembled at being exposed to their rude mirth, and still more rude gaze, "That I felt sure Frenchmen would not compel me to such an unfeminine exertion, or give me cause to tell my compatriots when I returned to England that deference to women no longer existed in France."

"Let her pass! let her pass!" exclaimed nearly all the voices of the group; "she is courageous, and she speaks rightly, Vivent les Anglaises! Vivent les Anglaises!" and the cord was instantly lowered to the ground, and I hastily stepped over it, glad to get out of hearing of the rough compliments bestowed on me.

My servant had attempted to address them before I spoke, but they one and all assailed him with a torrent of reproach, demanding if he was not ashamed to wear a livery, the badge of servitude, when all his countrymen were fighting for their liberty. I had again to clamber over the barricade, assisted by my servant, and, before I could cross the Rue St.-Honore, encountered various groups of men rushing along, all of whom uttered such invectives against my footman that I determined not again to go out attended by this symbol of aristocracy.

On reaching my home, the porter observed, with a self-complacency his prudence could not conceal, that he "knew Madame la Comtesse had nothing to dread from the people, they were brave and bons enfans, and would not injure a lady;"—a commendation that clearly indicated the state of his feelings.



CHAPTER XXIV.

I have observed a striking change in the manners of the servants during the last three days. They are more familiar, without, however, evincing the least insolence; their spirits seem unusually exhilarated, and they betray an interest in the struggle in which the people are engaged that leaves no doubt as to the side that excites their sympathy. Every rumour of the success of the insurgents is repeated by them with ill-suppressed animation and pleasure, and the power of the people is exaggerated far beyond the bounds of truth. I confess this folly on their part annoys me, and the more especially as the class to which they belong, are totally incapacitated by ignorance from being able to comprehend even the causes alleged for this popular outbreak.

Misguided men! can they hope that servitude will be lightened by their being employed by some parvenus, elevated from the dregs of the people by a revolution which sets floating to the top the worst ingredients of the reeking caldron from which it is formed, instead of owning the more gentle and infinitely less degrading sway of those born to, and accustomed to rule?

Comte —— and —— have just come in, and report that the last story current is, that fifty thousand men from Rouen are marching to Paris to espouse the cause of the people. They say there is no end to the desertions among the troops.

The people—the people! I hear of nothing but the people; but those who speak of them as all and every thing, seem to me to mistake the populace for the people, yet surely the words are not synonymous. The people, according to my acceptation of the word, are the sober and respectable portion of the community of all countries, including the husbandmen who till the earth, and the artisans who fabricate the objects applicable to our positive wants, and superfluous luxuries. How different are these from the populace who fill the streets shouting for liberty, by which they mean license; fighting for a charter of the real meaning of which they are ignorant; and rendering themselves the blind instruments by which a revolution is to be accomplished, that will leave them rather worse off than it found them; for when did those who profit by such events remember with gratitude the tools by which it was effected?

Thursday.—Repeated knocking at the gate drew me to the window ten minutes ago. The intruder presented a strange mixture of the terrible and the ridiculous, the former predominating. Wearing only his shirt and trousers, both stained with gore, and the sleeves of the former turned up nearly to the shoulder, a crimson handkerchief was bound round his head, and another encircled his waist. He brandished a huge sword with a black leather string wound round his wrist, with one hand, while with the other he assailed the knocker. Hearing the window opened, he looked up, and exclaimed, "Ah! madame, order the gate to be opened, that I may lay at the feet of my generous master the trophies I have won with this trusty sword," waving the said sword over his head, and pointing to a pair of silver-mounted pistols and a sabre that he had placed on the ground while he knocked at the gate.

I recognised in this man a helper in the stables of Comte A. d'Orsay, of whom it had a short time previously been reported to us, that when a party of the populace had attempted to force the gate of the stable offices, which are situated in the Rue Verte, and the English grooms and coachman were in excessive alarm, this man presented himself at the window, sword in hand, declaring that he, though engaged in the same cause as themselves, would defend, to the last moment of his life, the horses of his master, and the Englishmen whom he considered to be under his protection. This speech elicited thunders of applause from the crowd who retreated, leaving the alarmed servants, whose protector he had avowed himself, impressed with the conviction that he is little short of a hero.

This man—these same servants, only a few days ago, looked on as the stable drudge, who was to perform all the dirty work, while they, attired in smart liveries, and receiving triple the wages given to him, were far more ornamental than useful in the establishment of their employer. They offered him money as a reward for his spirited conduct (the English of all classes, but more especially of that to which they appertain, think that money pays all manner of debts), but he indignantly refused the proffered gift. This revolutionary hero had been fighting for several hours to-day, and is said to have evinced a courage and enthusiasm that remind one of all we read of the spirit of the old Imperial Guard, when animated by the presence of their mighty chief.

—— has just brought the intelligence, that the Tuileries and the Louvre are taken by the people! Comte A. d'O—— sent two of his servants (Brement, formerly drill-serjeant in the Guards, and now his porter, and Charles who was an hussar, and a brave soldier) to the Tuileries to endeavour to save the portrait of the Dauphin by Sir Thomas Lawrence—an admirable picture. His instructions as to its emplacement were so correct, that the servants found it instantly, but torn in pieces, and the fragments strewed on the floor.

These men report that even in this feat a strange mixture of the terrible and the comic was exhibited, for while a dead body was placed on the throne of Charles the Tenth, some men appeared in the windows of the palace attired in the gold and silver tissue dresses of the Duchesse de Berri, with feathers and flowers in their heads, and fans in their hands, which they waved to the multitude beneath, with all the coquettish airs and graces of would-be-fine ladies.

The busts of Charles the Tenth were broken and trampled upon; the wardrobes of the royal family were scattered, torn, and thrown among the people, who seemed to regard them only as trophies of the victory they had achieved, and not for their intrinsic value.

The palace of the Archbishop of Paris has been sacked, and every object in it demolished. —— told me that the ribaldry and coarse jests of the mob on this occasion were disgusting beyond measure; and that they ceased not to utter the most obscene falsehoods, while they wreaked their vengeance on the property of this venerable prelate, against whom they can bring no charge, except the suspicion of jesuitical principles, and of having encouraged the king to issue the ordonnances.

—— and —— have just been here. They state that Charles the Tenth sent a deputation to the provisional government offering to withdraw the ordonnances, and to form a new ministry. The offer came too late, and was rejected. Concessions from the vanquished are seldom valued; and to offer terms to those who are now in the position to dictate them is as unavailing as it is undignified. —— and —— say that the general opinion is, that if the Duchesse de Berri was now to present herself, with her son, to the people, her popularity, and his youth and innocence, would accomplish an event that would satisfy most parties; namely, the calling of the Duc de Bordeaux to the throne. The Duchesse de Berri has courage enough to take this step; what a pity it is that she has not wisdom enough to adopt it!

While the fighting was going on in the streets, —— and —— met our ambassador, Lord Stuart de Rothesay, walking along as usual. The secretaries and attaches, too, of the English embassy have been continually seen in places where their presence evinced more courage and curiosity than caution; but fear is, I firmly believe, an unknown guest in the breast of English gentlemen.

Comte —— has just been here; he has been to the College of Ste.-Barbe to take charge of the sons of the Duc de Guiche, in order to conduct them to the country; a service of no little danger, as all connected with the court, and known to be faithful to the royal family are liable to be maltreated. How painful and trying a part is the Duc de Guiche now called on to act: compelled to leave his wife and family in a town in a state of siege, or to desert the monarch to whom he has sworn fealty! But he will perform it nobly; and if Charles the Tenth had many such men to rally round him in the present hour, his throne might still be preserved.

The Duchesse de Guiche, in the trying situation in which she finds herself, has displayed a courage worthy of olden times. The devotion of her husband and self to the royal family is so well known that their house has been a marked one during the last three days, the mob repeatedly stopping before the gate uttering cries and menaces. All her friends have urged her to leave Paris, and to remove with her children to the country, for she would not consent to seek an asylum with her grandmother or brother; urging, as a reason, that, in the absence of the Duc, she felt it her duty to remain, that her presence might induce the household to a more strict discharge of theirs, in protecting the property of the Dauphin.

—— and —— have been here, and have told us that the provisional government were installed in the Hotel-de-Ville, General La Fayette at its head, and my old acquaintance Monsieur Alexandra de Laborde taking an active part. How all this is to end I cannot imagine; the cry for a republic, though strongly echoed, will, I think, be unavailing; and the reasonable part of the community cannot desire that it should be otherwise, inasmuch as the tyranny of the many must ever be more insupportable than that of one, admitting that even a despotic monarchy could in our day exercise a tyranny, which I am not disposed to admit.

The tri-coloured flag now floats on many of the churches, while that of the Fleur-de-lis still waves from the column in the Place Vendome, on other public buildings, and the Tuileries. What a strange state of things! but every thing is strange in this eventful crisis.

—— has just been here, and reports that yesterday a meeting of the Deputies took place at the house of M. Casimir Perier, in order to consult on what measures they ought to pursue in the present state of affairs. He says, that pusillanimity, and want of decision consequent on it, marked the conduct of the assembly. They lost the time, so precious in a crisis like the actual one, in disputing about words, when deeds ought to have been had recourse to. They are accused of being influenced by a dread of offending the now tottering power, lest it should once more be solidly reinstated, and yet of being anxious to remain well with those opposed to it; and they are said to have temporised with both, allowing the time for serving either to have passed away.

A bitter feeling towards the royal family seems to pervade the minds of the populace; and this has been fomented by the most gross and disgusting falsehoods dispensed around by the medium of obscene brochures, and songs which are sung and distributed through the streets. Even now beneath my window two men are offering, and crying aloud, the Amours of the Duchesse d'Angouleme and the Archbishop of Paris. The most spotless woman in France and the most devout man! The same hand that would pull down the throne would raze the altar!

—— and —— have been among the fighting, and report wonders of the bravery of the populace. They fight with an enthusiasm and courage worthy of a better cause, and have evinced a humanity to their wounded adversaries that elicits admiration even from those who are the most opposed to the cause they have espoused. The citizens, and the women too, have come forth from the sanctuaries of their dwellings to dress the wounds, and administer refreshment to the combatants, without distinction with regard to the side on which they were engaged.

This amalgamation of soldiers and people has been destructive to the cause of royalty, for the humanity experienced has induced the former to throw down their arms rather than use them against generous foes, and cries of "Vive la Ligne!" are often heard from those so lately opposed to it. All parties agree in stating that not a single example of pillage, except in the instances of the gunsmiths' shops, has occurred. Various houses have been entered by the people for the purpose of firing from the windows; and, having effected their object, they have retired without taking a single article of the many tempting ones scattered around in these dwellings.

This revolution, if indeed the result should prove it to be such, will offer a striking contrast to that fearful one that has ever since left so black a stain on France, and Frenchmen. Heroic courage, great humanity, and a perfect freedom from cupidity, are the peculiar attributes that mark those who are now subverting the throne of the Bourbons; what a pity it is that such qualities should not have found a better cause for developing themselves!

29th.—The subject now circulated and believed is, that Lafayette and his followers have placed themselves at the head of the people. This rumour has quieted the fears of many, for his name exercises a great influence. The fighting is still going on, and the report of the guns comes booming on the ear continually.

Hearing a noise in the street, ten minutes ago, I looked forth, and beheld some four or five men covered with stains of blood, their faces blackened by gunpowder, and streaming with perspiration, endeavouring to draw away a piece of cannon, of which they had taken possession in the Champs-Elysees. Hearing the opening of my window, they entreated me, if there were any men in the house, to send them to their assistance, in order to draw away the gun from the reach of the enemy. "And if there are no men," continued the speaker, "let the women come out and help us in the good cause." While they yet spoke, a party of soldiers were seen rushing to the rescue of the gun, and its temporary conquerors were compelled to make a rapid retreat towards the Rue St.-Honore.

The name of M. Laffitte is now mixed with that of Lafayette among the crowds in the streets, and has a great effect on them. His vast wealth, and the frequent and extensive aid it has afforded to the working classes, have rendered him one of, if not the most popular man in Paris: so that those most conversant with the actual state of affairs, pronounce that with Lafayette and Laffitte now rest the destiny of France. How strange is the alteration which has occurred within so short a space of time! Five days ago, Charles the Tenth reigned in the Tuileries; at present, on Lafayette and Laffitte it depends whether he ever enters his palace again! The tocsin is now sounding! How strangely, how awfully it strikes on the ear! All this appears like a dream.

The formation of a provisional government is to-day spoken of. The cry of "Vive Napoleon!" has been heard repeatedly shouted from one mass of people, while "Vive la republique!" has been as loudly vociferated by another. Various persons connected with both the royalist and popular party, have been here to-day, so that I hear the opinions entertained by the adherents of both sides of the question. Which to credit I know not: there is but one point on which both agree, and that is in praising the bravery and forbearance of the people.

When I look around on the precious objects that cover the tables, consoles, and cabinets in the salon where I am now writing, and reflect that these same people are not only in arms, but I may say masters of the town, I cannot help wondering at their total avoidance of pillage when such rich booties might be so easily acquired. Perhaps there is no European city in which so many and such splendid collections of rare and precious articles are to be found, as at Paris. In England, our nobility possess equal treasures, but they are contained in their country seats; whereas it is in the Parisian dwellings of the French noblesse, that their valuable possessions of rare objects are to be found, and at the present crisis, how soon could an armed mass seize them!

28th.—The Duchesse de Guiche was exposed to considerable danger to day, and evinced a courage nearly allied to temerity in speaking her sentiments on the occasion. Alarmed for the safety of her eldest son, she was proceeding to his college in search of him, when she was stopped by a vast crowd of people assembled around the house of one of the tradespeople of the royal family, over whose door were the arms of France.

The frightened tradesman was in the act of removing this badge, of which only a few days previously he had been so proud, when the duchesse, seeing him so employed, remarked aloud, that "after having so often solicited permission to place the royal arms over his door, he ought to have had the courage to defend them." The populace, enraged at this reproof, hissed and yelled; but seeing that she remained unmoved, the greater number cheered her, exclaiming "that young woman is as courageous as she is beautiful; let us shew her that we know how lo value courage, and protect her to her home," They placed themselves around her, and with every mark of respect, escorted her, to the gate of her dwelling.

A person among the crowd who witnessed this incident, told me that never had he seen the Duchesse de Guiche look so dazzlingly beautiful, as when she was reproving the tradesman—her tall and majestic figure elevated even above its usual height by the indignation she experienced at the insult offered to the royal family, to whom in these their days of trial, she is even more chivalrously devoted than when they reigned with undisputed sway, and thousands of those who now desert, professed to worship them.

Before the duchesse regained her abode, she encountered several skirmishing parlies in the streets who were absolutely fighting, and probably owed her safety lo the protection afforded her by those whom her courage had won to be her champions.

The intelligence reached us two hours ago, that the populace had attacked the hotel of the Duc de Guiche, and placed two pieces of cannon before the gate. My terror may more easily be imagined than described, for the duchesse and her youngest children are in the house, and the duc is with the royal family. I hardly knew whether to be thankful or sorry, that her brother Count Alfred d'Orsay was not at home when this news reached us, for he would certainly have proceeded to her house, and would probably have, by his presence and interference, rendered her danger still greater.

Fearful of compromising the safety of her children, the duchesse left the hotel by another gate, opening into the Rue de Montaigne, and is, I trust, ere this, safe on her route to St.-Germain, where her father-in-law, the Duc de Gramont, has a residence.

How like a troubled dream all this appears! Would that it were but a dream, and that those whom I so much love, were not exposed to pay dearly for their fidelity to a sovereign, whose measures their enlightened minds are the last to approve, but whose misfortunes, if they cannot ameliorate, they will at least share!

I know not a more painful position than that of the Duc and Duchesse de Guiche, at the present moment. With highly cultivated minds and liberal opinions, possessing a knowledge of the world, and of the actual state of public opinion in France, they must be aware of the utter hopelessness of the cause in which they find themselves embarked, yet such is their chivalrous sentiments of honour, that they will sacrifice every thing rather than abandon those whose prosperity they have partaken, and thus incur all the penalty of the acts of a government whose policy they did not approve. Had Charles the Tenth many such devoted adherents, he would not find himself deserted in his hour of need.



CHAPTER XXV.

I have but just returned from the Rue d'Anjou, and now that I find myself once more within the sanctuary of my home, I am surprised at my own courage in having ventured to pass through the streets, and alone, too, at such a moment. I do not think I should have risked it, had I not known how much my excellent friend Madame C—— stood in need of consolation, after having seen her grandchildren and great grandchildren driven from their late peaceful and happy dwelling, uncertain when she may behold them again, as they have determined on not forsaking the royal family.

I had ascended nearly to the top of the barricade at the entrance to the Rue Verte when a head and shoulders rose from the opposite side so suddenly as to alarm me not a little. My trepidation was infinitely increased when I discovered that the individual to whom the said head and shoulders appertained, was in a state of extreme intoxication, and when with rolling eyes, flushed checks, and thick articulation he addressed me with a familiarity, yet good nature, that I would most willingly have dispensed with.

"Give me your hand, ma belle, fear nothing, I am one of the bons enfans of the revolution, take my arm and no one will molest you. We, les braves des braves, wage no war against women; au contraire, we love the pretty creatures. Here take my hand, and I will assist you over the barricades."

Suiting his action to the word, he extended his hand towards me, and reaching forward lost his equilibrium and rolled over; at which moment, the proprietor of a wine shop at the corner of the Rue Verte came to my assistance, and leading me through his house, opened a door on the other side of the barricade, through which I hastily passed, he civilly offering to open the same door when I returned if I would knock at it. And here, en passant, let me render justice to the politeness I have invariably experienced from all classes of men, and on all occasions, in France—a politeness so general that I should be ungrateful if I did not record it.

When I passed the barrack in the Rue Verte, it was in the possession of the people, who had seized it by the right of conquest an hour or two previously. Proud of the achievement, they were looking out of the windows, shouting, singing the Marseillaise, embracing each other, and proclaiming that they were les bons enfans, etc. They paid me many homely compliments as I passed, but not a single indelicate allusion escaped their lips; and I hurried on, not meeting a human being until I entered the courtyard of Madame C——'s hotel, into which I found considerable difficulty to penetrate, owing to the extreme caution of her Swiss porter who seemed to think it very dangerous to open even the little door to admit me.

I found dear, good Madame C—— depressed and agitated. I rejoiced to find that she was ignorant of the scene that took place between her grand-daughter and the populace, for a knowledge of it would have served to increase her alarm. She was surrounded by the usual circle of habitues who endeavoured in vain to calm her fears, but my presence re-assured her a little, and Count Valeski, who came in soon after, succeeded in mitigating her terror. Having witnessed the horrors of the former revolution, it is no wonder she should tremble at the thoughts of another, and she looks on my calmness and courage as little short of heroism.

I remained a couple of hours with her, and having resisted all her persuasions to induce me to stay all night, I left the Rue d'Anjou, and had reached the Rue Verte, when I heard the report of guns, and saw a party of soldiers attacking the barracks, out of the windows of which the people, who had taken forcible possession of it some hours before, were firing on their assailants. I retraced my steps as hastily as possible, fear lending swiftness to my feet, and returned to the Rue de Matignon by the Faubourg du Roule and the Rue St.-Honore. Our trusty porter, having heard the shots, and knowing they proceeded from the quartier through which my route lay, was much alarmed for my safety, and evinced great pleasure when he saw me safe again within the portal under his charge, while I congratulated myself on having once more proved my friendship to my dear old friend, by a personal exertion entailing no more disagreeable consequences than a temporary alarm.

—— and —— have just been here: they say that it is reported that a negotiation has been opened between the king and the provisional government, and that even still a reconciliation may be effected. I do not believe it, though I wish it were true. The blood that has flowed during the last days has, I fear, created an impassable gulf between the sovereign and the people. Each party has made discoveries fatal to the good understanding necessary to subsist between both: one having proved his want of power to carry his wishes into effect, and the other having but too well evinced its power of resistance.

While the negotiations are pending, the royal cause becomes every hour more hopeless. Success has rendered the people less tractable; and the concession implied by the king's holding out terms to them, has less chance of producing a favourable result.

The populace attempted to force an entrance into the Hotel des Pages, and, having fired through the iron gate, killed a fine youth, the son of General Jacquinot, one of the royal pages, and a protege of the Duc de Guiche. It was of this general that the Emperor Napoleon said—"Celui-la est brave tous les jours, en mon absence comme sous mes yeux." It is not more than ten days ago, since I met the mother and sister of this promising youth with him at the Duchesse de Guiche's. They came to return thanks to her and the duc for the generous protection they had afforded to him; they were elate with joy at his promotion, looked forward to his further advancement, and now—. My heart bleeds for the poor mother who doted on her son!

Count Alfred d'Orsay, having heard that he had no relations in Paris at this moment, has gone to arrange for the interment of this poor youth, who yet scarcely more than a child, has lost his life at but a short distance from the threshold of that door where he had been so often received with kindness. How glad I am that the duchesse was spared the horror of being so near the scene of this murder, and that she and her children are safe from the reach of personal violence!

The interesting countenance of this fine youth, as I lately saw it, haunts me. Beaming with affection towards his mother and sister, and with gratitude towards his friends, it was pleasant to behold it; and now,—how fearful is the change produced in so brief a space! That bereaved mother and fond sister will never more look on that face so dear;—before the fatal intelligence can have reached them, he will have been consigned to the grave, and will owe to a stranger those last rites which they little dream are now performing.

The number of persons killed during the last three days has excited much less interest in my feelings than the death of this poor youth. I cannot picture to my mind's eye any other distinct image among the slain. They present only a ghastly mass, with all the revolting accompaniments of gaping wounds and blood-stained garments, I never saw them in life,—knew not the faces that will be steeped in tears, or convulsed in agony at their deaths; but this poor boy, so young, so fair, and so beloved, and his fond mother and gentle sister seem ever to stand before me!

I remember reading, long years ago, the example given of a person recounting all the details of a great battle, in which hundreds were slain, and the listeners hearing the account unmoved, until the relater described one individual who had been killed, and drew a vivid picture, when those who had heard of the death of hundreds without any deeper emotion than general pity, were melted to tears. This is my case, with regard to the poor young page, cut off in the morning of his life; for, having his image present to my mind, his death seems more grievous to me than that of hundreds whom I have never seen.

30th.—The last news is, that the Dauphin has been named Generalissimo, that he has placed himself at the head of the vast body of troops that still adhere to their allegiance, and that he is to advance on Paris. This determination has been adopted too late, and can now, in my opinion, avail but little.

Comte d'O—— has just returned from seeing the last sad duties paid to the remains of the poor young page. He brings the intelligence that the royal family left St.-Cloud last night, and are now at Versailles. This step proves that they consider their case hopeless. Unhappy Bourbons! a fatality seems to impend over the race; and Charles the Tenth appears doomed to die, as he has lived the greater portion of his life, in exile. The absence of the Dauphine at this eventful period has been peculiarly unfortunate for her family; for, with her firmness of character and promptitude of decision, her counsel might have served, while her presence would have given an impetus to, their cause.

I have just seen ——, who told me, that on the King's departure for Versailles he left the Dauphin in command of the troops that still adhered to their allegiance, and that the Prince placed himself at the head of a battalion of the garde royale, charged the enemy on the Pont de Sevres, and took possession of it; but the troops, with the exception of a few officers, refused to follow, and left him to receive the fire of the insurgents, which it is wonderful that he escaped. With what feelings must he have bent his course to Versailles, deserted by troops on whom he had bestowed so many favours and acts of munificence, to meet his sovereign and father, with the sad news of their revolt!

I have just had the gratifying intelligence that the Duchesse de Guiche and her children reached St.-Germain's in safety. This is a great relief to my mind. The royal arms on the carriage, and the liveries, were recognised at the Barriere, and the populace crowded around, many of them expressing their dissatisfaction at beholding these memorials of a family so lately respected, if not beloved. It had been represented to the Duchesse, previously to her leaving Paris, that she ran no inconsiderable risk in venturing out with the royal arms on her carriage;[9] but she declared that she would not consent to their being effaced. She courageously, and with a calm dignity, addressed the angry crowd, explained her sentiments and feelings to them in a few brief words, and they, won by her beauty and noble bearing, even perhaps still more than by her courage (though intrepidity has always a peculiar charm for Frenchmen), cheered her, and suffered the carriage to proceed unmolested.

July 30th.—I am again alarmed for the safety of the Duchesse de Guiche. The populace having yesterday assembled at the Place St.-Germain, in which is the residence of her father-in-law, the Duc de Gramont, they evinced so hostile a feeling towards all attached to the royal family, that a friend, becoming apprehensive of violence, scaled the wall of the garden, and entering the house, implored the Duchesse, ere it was yet too late, to seek safety by flight.

Alarmed for her children—for this noble-minded woman is a stranger to personal fear—she sought refuge with them in the Forest of St.-Germain, in the Chateau du Val, the abode of the Princesse de Poix, where she experiences all the kindness and hospitality which her amiable hostess can practise, in order to soothe the anxiety of her guest.

What a change in the position of the Duchesse, and in so brief a space! A fugitive in that forest where, every year during the Fete des Loges, she dispensed kindness to the poor, and amiability to all, doing the honours of the Duc de Gramont's house, where her condescension and goodness were the themes of every tongue! And now, harassed in mind and body, terrified for the safety of her husband, who is with the royal family, and for her two eldest sons, who are in their college, in the Rue St.-Marceau, which is rendered inaccessible, owing to the barricades.

31st.—Lafayette is now said to be the oracle of the provisional government, and the idol of the populace. Advanced far in the vale of life, his energies and vigour are gone, and his name serves the party more than his counsel can; for with the republicans, at least, it is a guarantee for honest motives. What a strange destiny has his been—called on to perform so conspicuous a part in two revolutions!

—— has just been here, and announced that the Duc d'Orleans is named Lieutenant-general of France. It is asserted, that this appointment has been effected by the influence of General Lafayette over the provisional government; but how little in accordance is this measure with the well-known Utopian scheme of a republic, which has for years been the favourite dream of this venerable visionary?

August 1st. —— now has brought the intelligence that Charles the Tenth has nominated the Duc d'Orleans Lieutenant-general, so that his Royal Highness has been chosen by both sides—a flattering proof of the confidence reposed in him by each. Were he ambitious, here is an opportunity of indulging this "infirmity of noble minds," though at the expense of the elder branch of his family; but he will not, I am sure, betray the trust they have confided to him. Order seems now to be in a great measure restored; the people appear in good-humour; but there is a consciousness of power evident in their hilarity that too forcibly reminds one of their victory.

The Duc of Orleans has been to the Hotel-de-Ville, where he presented himself to the people from the balcony; embraced General Lafayette, who stood by his side; and was applauded with enthusiasm by the immense multitude who witnessed the accolade.

2nd.—The news of the day is, that Charles the Tenth has abdicated the crown in favour of the Duc de Bordeaux, who is now styled Henri V. This act might, four or five days ago, have produced some salutary effect; but it now comes too late—at least, so think those who profess to know more on the subject than I do. The position of the Lieutenant-general, in this case, reminds me of that of a confidante in a quarrel between lovers, in which the interest of the absent is too often sacrificed, owing to the dangerous opportunity furnished for forwarding that of the supposed friend.

3d.—Again, considerable excitement has prevailed in the town, produced by the proclamation, that the dethroned sovereign had determined to take up his position, with the strong military force that still adheres to him, at Rambouillet. The publicity given to this news was a very injudicious measure, if conciliation, or even forbearance to the deposed family, was desired.

The populace, that many-headed monster, only seen abroad when evil passions dictate violence, again rush through the streets, breathing vengeance against the poor old man, whose grey hairs, more exposed by the absence of the crown his ci-devant subjects have wrested from his head, should have claimed more respect at their hands. Truly has the poet said,

"He who has worn crown, When less than king is less than other men,— A fallen star, extinguish'd, leaving blank Its place in heaven."

This fickle people, or, at least, the dregs of them, for it would be unjust to confound all in their enormities, will efface the credit they have gained by the forbearance from crime that has as yet characterised this revolution, by some act of brutality towards the royal family. But even the very dregs of the people have not appeared desirous to adopt any such course, until excited into it by the wicked rumours set afloat, that Charles the Tenth had carried off all the crown jewels—a rumour peculiarly calculated to excite their ire and meet a ready credence, each individual of the motley train looking on himself as having an interest in these national riches, and judging from self, of the possibility—nay, more, probability, of so vile an action. How little can such minds identify themselves with the feelings of those who, sated with the gewgaws and trappings of grandeur, forget them in the deep, the powerful excitement of beholding a throne crumbling into ruin beneath them—a diadem rudely torn from their brows—the power they wielded, even that of doing good, wrested violently, with the sceptre, from their hands; and more than all, behold the loved, the trusted—those on whom they had showered benefits with prodigality, turn from them in their hour of need and join their foes!

"If thou canst hate, as, oh! that soul must hate Which loves the virtuous and reveres the great; If thou canst loathe and execrate with me That gallic garbage of philosophy,— That nauseous slaver of these frantic times, With which false liberty dilutes her crimes; If thou hast got within thy free-born breast One pulse that beats more proudly than the rest With honest scorn for that inglorious soul Which creeps and winds beneath a mob's control. Which courts the rabble's smile, the rabble's nod, And makes, like Egypt, every beast its God!"

August 4th.—The King has left Rambouillot, alarmed by the report of the approach of the vast multitude who had left, or were leaving, Paris, with hostile intentions towards the royal family. The scenes that took place then, previously to his departure, are represented as being most affecting.

An old man, overpowered by mental and bodily sufferings, remembering the terrible days of a former revolution, brought with a fearful vividness to his mind by the appalling change effected within the last few eventful days, he had lost all presence of mind, and with it his confidence in those whom he might have safely trusted, while he yielded it to those whose interests were wholly opposed to his. Nor is the deplorable effect produced on his mind by recent events to be wondered at.

Adversity is the only school in which monarchs can acquire wisdom, and it almost always comes too late to enable them to profit by its bitter lessons. The defection of those hitherto supposed to be devoted friends, the altered looks of faces never before beheld without being dressed in smiles, the unceremoniousness of courtiers who never previously had dared to have an opinion before royalty had decided what it should be, might well have shook firmer nerves, and touched a sterner heart, than belonged to the old, grey-headed monarch, who saw himself betrayed without comprehending by whom, and who used his authority as sovereign and father, over his religiously obedient son, to extort an abdication of his right, as well as an approval of the resignation of his own.

Like another Lear, this poor old man has been driven forth "to bide the pelting of the pitiless storm" of a revolution, followed by his widowed daughter-in-law and her helpless son, that child orphaned ere yet he saw the light, and by Frenchmen who now condemn him to exile!

They have taken the route to Cherbourg, there to embark; and of those who lately bent the knee before them, how few have followed their now gloomy fortunes! One, at least, has not left, and will not forsake them. The Duc de Guiche, the kindest husband and father perhaps in France, sacrifices his feelings of domestic affection to his sense of duty, and accompanies the exiled family!



CHAPTER XXVI.

August 5th.—There are rumours today that the son of the Emperor Napoleon will be called to fill the vacant throne. This seems to me to be very improbable, when I reflect that General Lafayette, whose influence is omnipotent at present, appears wholly devoted to the Duc d'Orleans. The minds of the people are as yet wholly unsettled; a dread of how their late exploits may be looked on by the foreign powers allied to the deposed sovereign, pervades the multitude, and the republicans begin to discover that their Utopian schemes are little likely to be advanced by the revolution effected.

I was forcibly struck this morning on reading, in an Italian writer, the following passage, which is strongly applicable to the present time:

"When a revolution is ripe, men are always found who are ready to commence it, and make their bodies the steps to the throne of him who is to profit by their labours, without having shared their dangers."

I have a presentiment that the truth of this axiom will be verified in France.

August 6th.—Reports are now afloat that the crown of France has been offered to the Duke of Orleans, but that the offer was not unanimous, and that consequently he has not accepted it. Other rumours state, that if he should be induced to do so, it will only be to hold it as a sacred deposit to be restored to the rightful owner when, with safety to both parties, it can be transferred. Should this be the case, then will the Duke of Orleans deserve well of the elder branch of his family who have behaved so kindly towards him, but I confess I am not one of those who believe in the likelihood of such an abnegation of self, as this voluntary abdication would display.

Rich possessions are seldom if ever willingly resigned, and a crown is one said to have such irresistible charms to the person who has once worn it, that history furnishes but few examples like that of Charles the Fifth, or Christina of Sweden. Time will prove whether Louis-Philippe d'Orleans will offer a pendant!

I walked with Comte d'O—— this evening into the Champs-Elysees, and great was the change effected there within the last few days. It looks ruined and desolate, the ground cut up by the pieces of cannon, and troops as well as the mobs that have made it a thoroughfare, and many of the trees greatly injured, if not destroyed.

A crowd was assembled around a man who was reading aloud for their edification a proclamation nailed to one of the trees. We paused for a moment to hear it, when some of the persons recognising my companion, shouted aloud, "Vive le Comte d'Orsay! Vive le Comte d'Orsay!" and the cry being taken up by the mass, the reader was deserted, the fickle multitude directing ail their attention and enthusiasm to tho new comer. We had some difficulty in escaping from these troublesome and unexpected demonstrations of good will; and, while hurrying from the scene of this impromptu ovation to the unsought popularity of my companion, I made him smile by hinting at the danger in which he stood of being raised to the vacant throne by those who seem not to know or care who is to fill it.

Comte d'O—— was as much puzzled as I was how to account for this burst of enthusiasm, for, taking no part in politics, and all his family being attached to the legitimate cause, this demonstration of regard appears more inexplicable. It seems, however, to establish one fact, and that is, that though the monarch has fallen into disrepute with the people, the aristocracy have not, and this alone proves how totally different are the feelings of those who have effected the present revolution with those of the persons who were engaged in the former one, a difference, perhaps, not more to be attributed to the change produced in the people by the extension of education, than in the noblesse by the same cause, aided by the habits and feelings it engenders. Whatever may be the cause, the effect is salutary, for the good understanding evident between the two classes tends greatly to the amelioration and advantage of both. There is something very contagious in popular feeling. It resembles an epidemic from which few of the class more peculiarly exposed to it escape.

Walked into the streets to-day, for a carriage cannot yet pass through them. Never did any town, not actually sacked, present a more changed aspect. Houses damaged by shots, windows smashed, pavements destroyed, and trees cut down or mutilated, meet the eye along the Boulevards. The destruction of the trees excited more regret in my mind than that of the houses. There, many of them lay on the ground shorn of their leafy honours, offering obstructions on the spots which they so lately ornamented, while others stood bare and desolate, their giant limbs lopped off, their trunks shattered by bullets, and retaining only a few slight branches oh high, to which still adhered the parched, discoloured, and withered leaves, sole remnants of their lately luxuriant foliage.

The houses may be rebuilt and the streets newly paved, but how many years will it take before these trees can be replaced! Those who loved to repose beneath their shade, or who, pent in a city, were solaced by beholding them and thinking of the country of which they brought pleasant recollections, will grieve to miss them, and, like me, own with a sigh, while contemplating the ravages occasioned by the events of the last few days, that if good ever is effected by that most dangerous of all experiments, a revolution, it is too dearly bought.

The people seem as proud and pleased as possible with the accomplishment of the task they took in hand. How long will they continue so? They are like a too-spirited horse who, having mastered his rider, requires a bolder and more expert hand to subjugate him again to obedience, and the training will be all the more painful from the previous insubordination. Of one thing the people may be proud, and that is, their having not stained this revolution with any of the crimes that have left so indelible a blot on the former one.

How soon does the mind habituate itself to an unnatural state of excitement! My femme de chambre positively looked blank and disappointed this morning, when, on entering my chambre a coucher, she answered in reply to my question, whether any thing new had occurred during the night, "Non, miladi, positivement rien." Strange to say, I too felt desoeuvre by the want of having something to be alarmed or to hope about,—I, who meddle not with politics, and wish all the world to be as quiet and as calm as myself. Every one I see appears to experience this same flatness, just like the reaction produced on the spirits the first day or two after the Italian Carnival, when the cessation of gaiety, though felt to be a relief to the frame, leaves the mind unfitted for repose.

I find this feeling is generally experienced, for several of the shop-keepers, whose profit,—nay, whose very bread, depends on the restoration of social order, confess it. One person, the wife of a jeweller, owned to me to-day that Paris was now beginning to be very triste.

"To be sure they were no longer afraid to open their shops, and commerce they hoped would soon become active again, but there was no more the same interest continually awakened, as when every hour,—nay, every minute brought some new event, and she and her neighbours looked out to behold the fighting in the streets, the wounded and the dying dropping around, and trembled for their own lives, and for the safety of those dear to them." In short, as she admitted, the want of excitement was experienced by all those who had lately become accustomed to it, as much as it is felt by the habitual gamester who cannot live without play.

This is a dangerous state for the people of a great city to find themselves in. Vastly more dangerous than if subdued by a long-continued excess of excitement, their moral as well as their physical force required repose, and they gladly resigned themselves to it.

To a sober-minded denizen of England, the ungovernable pride, insatiable vanity, and love of fighting, inherent in the French, appear really little short of insanity, to so great an excess do they push these manias. This will always render them so difficult to be governed, that it will require no ordinary abilities and firmness in him who undertakes the arduous task of ruling them. Yet the very excess of these passions renders the French the most able, as they decidedly are the most willing, instruments to be employed in achieving the aims of the wildest ambition, or the most glorious enterprises. He will the longest and most securely govern them, who calls these passions into action, provided always that they meet no check, for the French not only bear adversity impatiently, but soon turn against him who has exposed them to it: witness their conduct to the Emperor Napoleon, who, while success frowned his banner, was their idol.

Playing at soldiers is the favourite game of Frenchmen of every class and description, and every opportunity afforded them of indulging it is gladly seized. When I compare the reluctance with which the yeomanry of Ireland, or the local militia of England, leave their homes and their business to "assume the spear and shield," with the enthusiasm evinced by the Garde Nationale when they are called to leave their boutiques and don their uniforms, I am more than ever struck with the remarkable difference existing between two nations separated by so short a distance. The English local militia man will fight when occasion requires, and with determined courage, too, because he believes it to be his duty, but the French National Guard will combat for the mere love of combating, and forget home and interest in the pleasure of the excitement.

The Duchesse de Guiche has returned to Paris, while her amiable and noble-minded husband has accompanied the royal family to Cherbourg, where they are to embark for England. Nothing can exceed the courage and dignity with which she supports her altered fortunes. She thinks only of those to whom the Duc and herself have been so long and so truly devoted; and in her chagrin for their sufferings forgets her own.

The Duc has such a perfect confidence in her good sense and tact, that he has sent her his procuration to act for him in his absence. No sooner had she arrived at her abode, than she sent to demand the protection of General Gerard[10] for the house and stables of the Dauphin, and ho immediately ordered a guard to be placed there. Heaven grant that she may not be exposed to any annoyance during the absence of her husband!

The Duchesse de Guiche gave a new proof of her courage and presence of mind yesterday. Early in the morning, having heard a noise in the courtyard of her dwelling, she beheld from the window of her chamber an officer gesticulating with violence, and menacing the grooms of the Dauphin. The upper servant entered at the moment, and announced that the officer insisted on seizing six of the finest horses in the stable, by order of General Lafayette.

The Duchesse descended to the courtyard, informed the officer that the whole establishment was under the protection of General Gerard, without whose orders no horse should leave the stables. He attempted to enforce his pretensions; but the Duchesse desired the head groom to call out his assistants, about thirty in number, who, armed with pitchforks and other implements of their calling, soon came forth; and the Duchesse assured the intruder that, unless he immediately retired, he should be forcibly expelled.

Seeing the courage and determination of this high-spirited and beautiful woman, the officer withdrew, and the horses were saved. It has since been ascertained, as the Duchesse anticipated, that General Lafayette had never given any orders to the officer who had used his name.

7th.—The Duke of Orleans has at length accepted the crown; and various are the conjectures and reports to which his doing so has given rise. Many of them, as may be easily imagined, are not creditable to him; but on this occasion, as on most others, the least charitable motives are generally assigned to those whose conduct is judged by the mass often wholly ignorant of the reasons on which it is based. The vast wealth of the Duke of Orleans has a powerful influence; and those who a few days ago exclaimed against royalty, and vaunted the superior advantages of a government without a king, are now reconciled to having one whose immense private fortune will exempt the nation from the necessity of furnishing funds for a civil list. Should the new sovereign hereafter demand one, his popularity will be endangered; and the King of the French, as he is styled, will be likely to find as little favour in the eyes of his subjects as the King of France experienced.

Popularity, always, and in all countries, an unstable possession, is in France infinitely more so; and Louis-Philippe must have more luck, as well as more wisdom, than falls to the lot of mankind, to retain this fleeting good when the novelty of his reign has worn away. That he is a man of great ability no one seems to entertain a doubt; but his wisdom would, in my opinion at least, have been more surely manifested had he declined instead of accepting the crown.

Those who profess to be best acquainted with his sentiments declare, that he only acceded to the wishes of the people in ascending the vacant throne, in order to preserve the charter, and to preclude the dangerous theoretical experiments into which the republican party was so desirous to plunge. It remains to be proved whether, in a few years hence, those who have subverted one monarchy by violence may not be tempted to have recourse to a similar measure in order to free themselves from the successor they have chosen; for even already it appears clear to me, that the expectations entertained, not only by the partisans of Louis-Philippe, but by the generality of the people, are such as he never can fulfil. He may be their idol for a brief space, but, like all other idols, he will be expected to perform miracles; and not having the sanctity with which time invests even false gods, he may be thrown from the pedestal to which he has been elevated as unceremoniously as he was raised to it.

I saw General Lafayette to-day, and never felt more disappointed, as his appearance does not at all correspond with what I had imagined it to be. The "Lafayette aux cheveux blancs," as the popular song describes him to be, is, au contraire, a plain old man, with a dark brown scratch wig, that conceals his forehead, and, consequently, gives a very common and, to my thinking, a disagreeable expression to his countenance. The cheveux blancs would be a great improvement; for, independently of the song thus describing him, one looks for the venerable mark of age in this Nestor of revolutions, who in his youth has seen his idol, Liberty, commit fearful crimes in France as well as great deeds in America, and who now, when on the threshold of the grave, in which ere long he must repose, beholds her regeneration in his native land, redeemed from the cruelty that formerly stained her course.

"Voila le grand Lafayette!" exclaimed one of the people as he passed to-day; "Oui, la ganache des deux mondes," replied the other. Such is popular favour!

I walked in the Palais-Royal to-day; and felt much more disposed to pity than envy the King of the French, as Louis-Philippe is styled, when I beheld a crowd of idle miscreants, assembled in front of his dwelling, rudely and boisterously vociferating his name, and in a tone much more resembling command than entreaty, desiring his presence. He at length came forward, bowed repeatedly, pressed his hand to his heart, and then withdrew, looking, as I thought, rather ashamed of the role he was called on to enact, while his riotous audience seemed elated at exhibiting his docility.

The Queen was then called for, and, after some delay, was handed forward by Louis-Philippe. It made me sad to look on the altered countenance of this amiable woman, whom all parties allow to be a most faultless wife and mother. She is hardly to be recognised as the same being who only a very few months ago looked the personification of happiness. Already have deep care and anxiety left their furrows on her brow, proving that

A diadem, howe'er so bright it be, Brings cares that frighten gentle sleep away, E'en when from buried ancestors it comes, Who bless'd when they bequeath it to their heir; For great is the responsibility Of those who wear the symbol of a king, In regular succession handed down From sire to son through long antiquity. But when th' anointed head that wore it once Sleeps not in death—but exiled, worse than death— And scions legitimate live to claim Their birthright, oh! how heavy is that crown (Though loose it fits), which well the wearer knows, A people's breath may blow from of his brow, Sear'd by the burning weight, it yet would guard, E'n though it crush him.

I am told that no day passes in which a crowd does not assemble beneath the windows of Louis-Philippe and loudly vociferate for his presence. M. Laffitte is not unfrequently seen with the king on these occasions, and when they embrace the crowd applauds.

I cannot imagine a more painful position than that of the Queen of the French. Devotedly attached to her husband and family, she will have often to tremble for their safety, exposed, as it must be, to the inconstancy and evil passions soi-disant subjects, who may, ere long, be disposed to pull down the throne they have erected for Louis-Philippe as rapidly as they raised the barricades for its elevation.

Had the King of the French succeeded to the throne by the natural demise of those who stood between him and it, how different would be his position; for it is agreed by all who know him, that he has many qualities that eminently fit him to fill it with credit to himself and advantage to the people; but as it is, I foresee nothing but trouble and anxiety for him,—a melancholy change from the domestic happiness he formerly enjoyed. Any attempt to check the turbulence of the people will be resented as an act of the utmost ingratitude to those who placed the crown on his head; and if he suffers it with impunity, he will not only lose his empire over them, but incur the contempt of the more elevated of his subjects.

I saw the King of the French walking through the Place Vendome to-day, attended only by one person. He was recognised, and cheered, and returned the salutation very graciously. And there stood the column erected to commemorate the victories of one now sleeping in a foreign grave; one whose very name was once the talisman that excited all Parisian hearts into the wildest enthusiasm!

Louis-Philippe passed near the base of the column, which seemed to return a sullen echo to the voices that cheered him; did he, or those around him, remember their vicinity to this striking memorial of the inconstancy of the nation? The scene awakened more reflections in my mind than I dare say it did in that of those whose voices rent the air; but though it might be only fancy, I thought the King of the French looked very grave.

Monsieur Mignet spent last evening here; his conversation is full of interest, being the overflowing of a rich mind, free from prejudices, and his ideas, though methodically arranged and subjected to the ordeal of a sober judgment, bear the warm tint of a brilliant imagination, that might have rendered him a poet, had he not chosen to be a historian. The Revolution has produced no visible change in this clever and agreeable man, who, filling the office of Keeper of the Archives, devotes his time to studies and researches in harmony with the pursuits to which he has many years been accustomed, and hears the success of the popular cause, to which he has long been attached, with a moderation and equanimity highly indicative of a philosophical mind, allied to an amiable disposition. There is something so striking in the appearance of Monsieur Mignet, that all strangers, who meet him here, remark the fine character of his head and the expression of his countenance.

The celebrated General Peppe dined here yesterday, and is very unlike the revolutionary hero I had pictured him to be. Mild, well-bred, and amiable in his manner, he seems much more suited to command a regiment in support of a legitimate monarchy, than to subvert one. Although liberty appears to be with him a monomania, the warmth with which he advocates it in conversation never urges him beyond the bounds of good breeding.

It is a strange infatuation to suppose that as civilisation extends its influence, men will have faith in the Utopian schemes of well-meaning visionaries, and risk evils they know not, in exchange for a state which, if not quite faultless, has at least much of good. How many brave and honourable men become the dupes of heated imaginations and erroneous opinions, which, urging them to effect an amelioration of some grievances, incur the penalty of imparting greater ones! General Peppe is liked by all who know him, though all lament the monomania that has gained such an ascendency over his mind. His brother, General Florestan Peppe at Naples, whom we esteem so much, is one of the most excellent men I ever knew.