Louis Philippe - John S. C. Abbott

Death of Louis XVIII. and Reign of Charles X


We have alluded to the Duke de Berri, the second son of Count d'Artois. As he became the father of Count de Chambord, the present Legitimist claimant of the throne of France, his career calls for more minute mention.

On the 28th of March, 1816, the French people were informed, by an announcement to both of the Chambers, that the young Duke de Berri was about to enter into a matrimonial alliance with Caroline Mary, eldest daughter of the heir to the crown of Naples. Caroline Mary was the niece of the Duchess of Orleans, being the child of her brother. The Chambers, in token of their satisfaction, voted the Duke de Berri a nuptial gift amounting to three hundred thousand dollars. The duke manifested his generous character, and won great popularity, by accepting the gift only upon condition that he might be allowed to distribute the sum among the poor in the provinces, who were then suffering severely from famine.

The marriage proved a happy one, until death sundered the tie. Caroline Mary, who thus became the Duchess de Berri, was of sylph-like grace of figure, beautiful in features, and by her affable manners and unaffected amiability won all hearts. Four years glided swiftly away. Two children were born, a son and a daughter; both died in infancy. A third child proved to be a daughter. As, by an ancient law of the realm, daughters were not eligible to the throne of France, there was great anxiety felt throughout the kingdom. Unless a prince were born, there would be a failure in the direct line of succession, and civil war might be the result. On the 13th of February, the duke and duchess attended the opera. The duchess was expecting soon again to be a mother. By the sudden opening of a door, she was unexpectedly struck in the side with violence, which caused her some alarm, and she expressed the wish to return home.

The duke led her to her carriage. She took her seat in it, saying to him with a smile, "Adieu; we shall soon meet again." As the duke was returning to the opera, an assassin, by the name of Louvel, who had been lying in wait for him, sprang from the darkness of a projecting wall, and seizing the duke by the shoulder with one hand, with the other plunged a dagger to the hilt in his side. It was the deed of an instant, and the assassin, in the darkness, fled, leaving the dagger in the side of the victim.

The footman was just closing the door of the carriage of the duchess when she heard her husband cry out, "I am assassinated! I am dead! I have the poniard! That man has killed me!" With a shriek, the duchess sprang from her carriage and clasped her husband in her arms, as the gushing blood followed the dagger which he drew from the wound.

"I am dead!" exclaimed the duke. "Send for a priest. Come, dearest, let me die in your arms!"

[Illustration] from Louis Philippe by John S. C. Abbott


The dying man was conveyed to an adjoining room, and medical attendance was summoned. Nothing could staunch the gushing blood, and life was rapidly ebbing away. The duke was informed that the assassin was arrested. "Alas!" he said, "how cruel it is to die by the hands of a Frenchman!" Overhearing some one say to the almost distracted duchess that he hoped the wound would not prove fatal, the duke replied, "No; I am not deceived; the poniard has entered to the hilt." His sight became dim, and he inquired, "Caroline, are you there?" "Yes," she answered, "and I will never leave you."

His father's confessor, the Bishop of Chartres, entered, and the dying man had a few moments of private conversation with the ecclesiastic. He then called for his infant daughter. She was brought to him, asleep, for it was near midnight. Placing his hand upon her head, he said, "Poor child! may you be less unfortunate than the rest of your family."

The wound ceased to bleed externally, and its inward flow threatened suffocation. The duke's physician, M. Boujou, endeavored to restore circulation by sucking the wound. "What are you doing?" exclaimed the duke. "For God's sake stop! Perhaps the poniard was poisoned." Respiration was now very difficult, and the hand of the duke was clammy with the damp of death. As a last resort, the surgeon, with his knife, opened and enlarged the wound. The duke, grasping the hand of the duchess, patiently bore the painful operation, and then said, "Spare me further pain."

Turning to his wife, whom he tenderly loved, he said, "Caroline, take care of yourself for the sake of our infant, which you bear in your bosom."

The duke and the duchess of Orleans, being immediately summoned, were the first of the relatives to arrive in this chamber of death. They were speedily followed by the Count d'Artois, the father of the sufferer, and by the Duke d'Angouleme, his elder brother. Other members of the royal family soon arrived. In the feeble accents of approaching death, the duke inquired,

"Who is the man who has killed me? I wish I could see him, to inquire into his motives. Perhaps it is some one whom I have unconsciously offended. Would that I might live long enough to ask the king to pardon him. Promise me, my father, promise me, my brother, to ask of the king the life of that man."

Another touching scene, of a very delicate nature, which I can not refrain from recording occurred in this solemn hour. It was manifest to the duke, as well as to all of his friends, that before the hour should expire the spirit of the dying would pass to the tribunal of that God in whose presence both prince and peasant are alike. The memory of all past sins, in such an hour, often crowds the soul with its tumultuous array. In whispering tones, inaudible to others, a few words were interchanged between the dying man and his wife. Then two illegitimate children, who were born to the duke when he was an exile in London, were brought in. It seems that he had ever recognized them as his own, and that they had been protected and fostered by both himself and his lawful wife.

As these children entered the chamber, and knelt, sobbing convulsively, at their father's dying bed, the duke embraced them tenderly, and, turning his fading eye to his wife, said,

"I know you sufficiently, Caroline, to be assured that, after me, you will take care of these orphans."

The duchess responded in an action far more impressive than words. Taking her own babe into her arms from its nurse, she drew the unfortunate children to her bosom, and said, "Kiss your sister." It was a noble deed. All eyes were suffused in tears. Few can read the simple record without emotion.

The duke then received, from the bishop, absolution, repeatedly attempting the prayer, "My God, pardon me, pardon me; and pardon the man who has taken my life!"

Just then the king, Louis XVIII., who was very infirm, arrived. "My uncle," said the dying man, "give me your hand, that I may kiss it for the last time. I entreat you, in the name of my death, to spare the life of that man."

The king replied, "You are not so ill as you suppose. We will speak of this again."

"Ah!" exclaimed the duke, "you do not say yes. The pardon of that man would have softened my last moments, if I could die with the assurance that his blood would not flow after my death."

These were his last words. There was a slight gasping, a convulsive shuddering passed over his frame, and the spirit of the duke took its flight to the judgment-seat of Christ. The remains were conveyed, with much funereal pageantry, to the vaults of St. Denis, the ancient mausoleum of the kings of France. Louvel, a miserable fanatic, who sought notoriety by the murder of a prince, expiated his crime upon the scaffold.

Seven months after this assassination, on the 20th of September, 1820, the Duchess de Berri gave birth to a son. He was christened Henry, duke of Bordeaux. He is now known as the Count de Chambord, the Legitimist candidate for the throne of France. Indeed the Legitimists regard him as their lawful sovereign, though in exile, and give him the title of Henry V.

Louis XVIII. retained the throne, upon which the Allies had placed him, for eight years, until his death. He was a good-natured, kind-hearted old man, but so infirm from gout and excessive obesity, that he could with difficulty walk, and he was wheeled around his saloons in a chair. Lamartine, whose poetic nature ever bowed almost with adoration before hereditary royalty, gives the following pleasing account of his character:

"His natural talent, cultivated, reflective, and quick, full of recollections, rich in anecdotes, nourished by philosophy, enriched by quotations, never deformed by pedantry, rendered him equal, in conversation to the most renowned literary characters of his age. M. De Chateaubriand had not more elegance, M. De Talleyrand more wit, Madame De Stael more brilliancy. Since the suppers of Potsdam, where the genius of Voltaire met the capacity of Frederick the Great, never had the cabinet of a prince been the sanctuary of more philosophy, literature, talent, and taste."

To this it should be added that he was devoted to the interests of the aristocracy; that his mind was almost exclusively occupied in making happy hits in conversation, and in writing graceful billet-doux; that the priests and the nobles controlled him through the all-persuasive influence of the fascinating Madame Du Cayla. He died on the 16th of September, 1824. As his last hour approached, and his extremities became cold, and it was manifest that he had but a few moments to live, his mind remained clear and composed. Assuming a cheerful air, he said to his family, gathered around his bed:

"A king of France may die, but he is never ill. Love each other, and thus console yourselves for the disasters of our house. Providence has replaced us upon the throne."

He then received extreme unction, bade adieu to all, and, ordering the curtains of his bed to be closed, composed himself as for ordinary sleep. With the earliest dawn of the morning the chief physician opened the curtains, and found that his pulse was just ceasing to beat. In a few moments he breathed his last. In accordance with court etiquette the physician said, solemnly, "The king is dead." Then, turning to the king's brother, Charles, previously known as the Count d'Artois, he bowed and said, "Long live the king."

Charles X., into whose hands the sceptre thus passed, was then in the sixty-seventh year of his age—having been born in Versailles, October 9, 1757. This unfortunate monarch is represented, by his friends, as having been one of the most accomplished of men. His horsemanship attracted universal admiration. In all social circles he charmed every one who approached him by his grace and courtesy. He was warm-hearted and generous. Though in early life a man of pleasure, he had become quite a devotee; and, to an extraordinary degree, was under the influence of the priesthood. Leaving the affairs of State in the hands of others, he gave his time, his thoughts, his energies, to the pleasures of the chase. This pursuit became, not his recreation, but the serious occupation of his life.

Charles was the father of two sons. The eldest, and consequently the heir to the crown, was the Duke d'Angouleme. He had married the daughter of Louis XVI., whose sufferings, with her brother, the dauphin, in the Temple, have moved the sympathies of the whole civilized world. The duke and duchess were childless, and with no hope of offspring.

His second son, the Duke de Berri, had been assassinated, as we have mentioned, about four years before, as he was coming from the opera, leaving his wife enciente. In the course of a few months she gave birth to a son—the Duke of Bordeaux. This child—now called Count de Chambord—was the legitimate heir to the throne, next to his uncle, the Duke d'Angouleme.

Six years of the reign of Charles X. passed away, during which the discontent of the people was continually making itself increasingly manifest. They regarded the Government as false to the claims of the masses, and devoted only to the interests of the aristocracy.

The spirit of discontent which had long been brooding now rose in loud and angry clamor everywhere around the throne. The court was blind to its peril; but thoughtful men perceived that the elements for a moral earthquake were fast accumulating. In the midst of these hourly increasing perils, the Duke of Orleans, on the 31st of May, 1830, gave a ball at the Palais Royal in honor of his father-in-law, the King of Naples. This festival was of such splendor as to astonish even splendor-loving Paris, and was long remembered as one of the most brilliant entertainments the metropolis had ever witnessed. The immense fortune of the duke, his refined taste, and the grandeur of the saloons of his ancestral palace, enabled him almost to outvie royalty itself in the brilliance of the fete.

Vast amphitheatres bloomed with flowers in Eden-like profusion. The immense colonnades of the Palais Royal were crowded with orange-trees, whose opening buds filled the air with fragrance, and whose clusters of golden fruit enhanced the beauty of the scene. The spacious roofs and rotundas of glass sparkled with thousands of wax-lights, creating a spectacle so gorgeous and glittering that even those who were accustomed to royal splendor were reminded of the enchanter's palace in Oriental fable.

The marriage of the Duke de Berri, the son of Charles X. with Caroline Mary, niece of the Duchess of Orleans, had produced some reconciliation between the Bourbon and the Orleans branches of the royal family. The king and his family this evening, for the first time, in regal state visited the Palais Royal. As the duke was receiving the congratulations of his guests upon the marvellous splendor which the palace presented, thronged with courtiers sparkling with jewels and decorated with all the costly and glittering costumes of the old regime, one of the guests, M. Salvandy, shrewdly observed to the duke,

"It is, indeed, quite a Neapolitan fete, your highness, for we dance upon a volcano."

The duke with some emotion replied, "That there is a volcano here I believe as firmly as you do. But I know that the fault is not mine. I shall not have any occasion, hereafter, to reproach myself for not having endeavored to open the eyes of the king. But what could be expected when nothing is listened to? God only knows where all this will end—I certainly do not foresee what is about to happen. I can not tell where all those who are producing this state of things will be in six months hence; but one thing I do know, which is, where I shall be myself.

"Under all circumstances or changes which may occur, my family and myself will remain in this palace. This is our throne. Whatever may be the peril of so doing, I shall not move from the home of my fathers. I shall never again consent to separate the fate and fortune of myself and children from those of my country. This is my unchangeable determination."

One of the saloons contained two very fine paintings of Montmiral and Champ-Aubert, two towns in France in which Napoleon, heroically struggling against dynastic Europe combined in arms against him, signally defeated and drove back the Allies. The duke, being asked why he allowed paintings commemorative of the victories of the Empire to hang upon his walls, replied, "Because I like every thing French."

Soon after this the popular complaints against the crown became so general, so bitter, and the excitement so great, that the king, by the advice of the ministers who governed him, issued several ordinances which were regarded by the people as so despotic, as so subversive of all popular rights, as to call for resistance by insurrection and the force of arms.

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.

"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.