Victor Hugo S Works 22 Things Seen Essays

Pi1i\tit of Victor Hugo (1861).
Photogravure hy Goupil el Cie. From Photograph.

Colonial Edition

Things Seen

j ^ ^ j j by Victor Hugo

New York and Boston jft
The Colonial Press Co.
ji j> ji ji j> Publishers

CONTENTS.

THINGS SEEN.

PA

1838. TALLETBAND 1

1839. DIART OF A PASSER-BY DURING THE RIOT OF THE

TWELFTH OF MAT 4

1840. FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON. NOTES TAKEN ON THE SPOT 14

1841. ORIGIN OF FANTINE 42

1842. FIBBCHI 48

THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF ORLEANS 51

A DREAM 57

1843. JlOYER-COLLARD 61

1844. KINO LOUIS-PHILIPPE 66

SAINT-CLOUD 70

1845. VlLLEMAIN 73

1846. ATTEMPT OF LECOMTE 81

ATTEMPT OF JOSEPH HENRI 93

VlSIT TO THE CONCIERGERXK 103

COUNT MORTIER 137

SOIRXB AT M. GUIZOT'S 141

1847. LORD NORMANBT 144

DINNER AT M. DE SALTANDY'S 145

FUNERAL OF MLLE. MARS 148

FETE AT THE DUKE OF MONTPRNSHER'S 150

THE TESTE AND CUBIERES TRIAL 156

iv VICTOR HUGO'S POJBMa

1847. THE CONDEMNED CONVICTS' PRISON 175

THE DUKE OF PRASLIN 186

BiRANGER 197

THE DEATH OF MME. ADELAIDE 200

1848. THE FLIGHT OF LOUIS-PHILIPPE 202

THE FIFTEENTH OF MAY 209

THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY 211

1849. THE CHANCELLOR PASQUIER 221

MLLE. GEORGES 224

1850. AT THE ACADEMIE 227

THE DEATH OF BALZAC 228

1853. HUBERT, THE SPY 233

1858. TAPNEK 266

1871. THIERS AND HOCUKFORT 290

1875. A RETROSPECT 293

ESSAYS.

VOLTAIRE 297

SIR WALTER SCOTT . 309

LORD BYRON 320

MlRABBAU 830

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAOI
PORTRAIT OF VICTOR HUGO (1861) Fronfapwc*

THE FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON 22

THE ATTEMPT OF FIESCHI on TEE LIFE OF Louis PHILIPPE . 50

PORTRAIT OF Loins PHILIPPE 202

PORTRAIT OF VOLTAIRE 297

PORTRAIT OF MIRABEAU 330

THINGS SEEN.

THINGS SEEK

1838.
TALLEYRAND.

Hay 19.

IN the Rue Saint-Florentin there are a palace and
a sewer.

The palace, which is of a rich, handsome, and gloomy
style of architecture, was long called H6tel de 1'Infan-
tado ; nowadays may be seen on the frontal of its prin-
cipal doorway Hotel Talleyrand. During the forty years
that he resided in this street, the last tenant of this palace
never, perhaps, cast his eyes upon this sewer.

He was a strange, redoubtable, and important person-
age ; his name was Charles Maurice de Prigord ; he was
of noble descent, like Machiavelli, a priest like Gondi, un-
frocked like Fouch, witty like Voltaire, and lame like
the devil. It might be averred that everything in him
was lame like himself, the nobility which he had placed
at the service of the Republic, the priesthood which he
had dragged through the parade-ground, then cast into
the gutter, the marriage which he had broken off through
a score of exposures and a voluntary separation, the un-
derstanding which he disgraced by acts of baseness.

This man, nevertheless, had grandeur ; the splendours
of the two regimes were united in him : he was Prince
de Vaux in the Kingdom of France, and a Prince of the
French Empire. During thirty years, from the interior

VOL. XXIY. 1

2 THINGS SEEN.

of his palace, from the interior of his thoughts, he had
almost controlled Europe. He had permitted himself to
be on terms of familiarity with the Revolution, and had
smiled upon it, ironically, it is true, but the Revolution
had not perceived this. He had come in contact with,
known, observed, penetrated, influenced, set in motion,
fathomed, bantered, inspired all the men of his time, all
the ideas of his time ; and there had been moments in his
life, when, holding in his hand the four or five great
threads which moved the civilized universe, he had for
his puppet Napoleon I., Emperor of the French, King of
Italy, Protector of the Confederation of the Rhine, Medi-
ator of the Swiss Confederation. That is the game which
was played by this man.

After the Revolution of July, the old race, of which he
was the high chamberlain, having fallen, he found him-
self once more on his feet, and said to the people of 1830,
seated bare-armed upon a heap of paving-stones, " Make
me your ambassador!"

He received the confession of Mirabeau and the first
confidence of Thiers. He said of himself that he was a
great poet, and that he had composed a trilogy in three
dynasties : Act I., the Empire of Bonaparte ; Act II., the
House of Bourbon ; Act III., the Hovse of Orleans.

He did all this in his palace ; and in this palace, like a
spider in his web, he allured and caught in succession
heroes, thinkers, great men, conquerors, kings, princes,
emperors, Bonaparte, Sieyfes, Madame de Stael, Chateau-
briand, Benjamin Constant, Alexander of Russia, William
of Prussia, Francis of Austria, Louis XVIII., Louis Phi-
lippe, all the gilded and glittering flies who buzz through
the history of the last forty years. All this glistening
throng, fascinated by the penetrating eye of this man,
passed in. turn under that gloomy entrance bearing upon
the architrave the inscription HOTEL TALLEYRAND.

TALLEYRAND. 8

Well, the day before yesterday, May 17, 1838, this man
died. Doctors came and embalmed the body. To do this
they, like the Egyptians, removed the bowels from the
stomach and the brain from the skull The work done,
after having transformed the Prince de Talleyrand
into a mummy, and nailed down this mummy in a
coffin lined with white satin, they retired, leaving upon
a table the brain, that brain which had thought so many
things, inspired so many men, erected so many buildings,
led two revolutions, duped twenty kings, held the world.
The doctors being gone, a servant entered ; he saw what
they had left: " Hulloa ! they have forgotten this." What
was to be done with it ? It occurred to him that there
was a sewer in the street ; he went there, and threw the
brain into this sewer.

Finis rerum.

1839.

DIAEY OF A PASSER-BY.

DURING THE RIOT OF THE ITH OF MAT.

SUNDAY, May IS.

MDE TOGORES has just left my house. We have
been talking of Spain. To my mind, geographi-
cally, since the formation of the continents, historically
since the conquest of the Gauls, politically since the Duke
d'Anjou, Spain forms an integral part of France. Jose
primero is the same fact as Felipe quinto ; the idea of
Louis XIV. was continued by Napoleon. We cannot,
therefore, without grave imprudence, neglect Spain. In
illness she weighs upon us ; well and strong she supports
us. It is one of our members ; we cannot amputate it,
it must be tended and cured. Civil war is a gangrene.
Woe betide us if we let it grow worse ; it will spread
upon us. French blood is largely mixed with Spanish
blood through Rousillon, Navarre, and Barn. The Pyre-
nees are simply a ligature, efficacious only for a time.

M. de Togores was of my opinion. It was also, he said,
the opinion of his uncle, the Duke de Frias, when he was
President of the Council to Queen Christina.

We also spoke of Mile. Rachel, whom he considered
mediocre as Eriphila, and whom I had not yet seen.

At three o'clock I return to my study.

My little daughter, in a state of excitement, opens my
door and says, " Papa, do you know what is going on f
There is fighting at the Pont Saint-Michel"

DIARY OF A PASSER-BY. 5

I do not believe a word of it Fresh details. A cook
in our house and a neighbouring wine-shop keeper have
seen the occurrence. I ask the cook to come up. It is
true ; while passing along the Quai des Orfevres he saw
a throng of young men firing musket-shots at the Prefec-
ture of Police. A bullet struck the parapet near him.
From there the assailants ran to the Place du Ch&telet
and to the Hotel de Ville, still firing. They set out
from the Morgue, which the good fellow calls the Morne.

Poor young fools ! In less than twenty-four hours a
large number of those who set out from there will have
returned there.

Firing is heard. The houses are in turmoil Doors and
casements open and shut violently. The women-servants
chat and laugh at the windows. It is said that the in-
surrection has spread to the Porte Saint-Martin. I go
out and follow the line of the boulevards. The weather
is fine ; there are crowds of promenaders in their Sunday
dress. Drums beat to arms.

'At the beginning of the Hue du Pont-aux-Choux are
some groups of people looking in the direction of the
Rue de TOseille. There are a great crowd and a great
uproar close to an old fountain which can be seen from
the boulevard, and which forms the angle of an open
space in the old Rue du Temple. In the midst of this
hubbub three or four little tricoloured flags are seen to
pass. Comments. It is perceived that these flags are
simply the ornamentation of a little barrow in which
some trifle or other is being hawked about

At the beginning of the Rue des Filles-du-Oalvaire
groups of people look in the same direction. Some work-
men in blouses pass near to me. I hear one of them say,
" What does that matter to me ? I have neither wife,
child, nor mistress."

Upon the Boulevard du Temple the cafis are closing.

6 THINGS SEEN.

The Cirque Olympique is also closing. The Gatt holds
out, and will give a performance.

The crowd of promenaders becomes greater at each
step. Many women and children. Three drummers of
the National Guard old soldiers, with solemn mien
pass by, beating to arms. The fountain of the Chateau
d'Eau suddenly throws up its grand holiday streams.
At the back, in the low-lying street, the great railings
and doorway of the Town Hall of the 5th Arrondisse-
ment are closed one inside the other. I notice in the
door little loop-holes for muskets.

Nothing at the Porte Saint-Martin, but a large crowd
peacefully moving about across regiments of infantry and
cavalry stationed between the two gate-ways. The Porte
Saint-Martin Theatre closes its box-office. The bills are
being taken down, on which I see the words Marie Tudor.
The omnibuses are running.

Throughout this journey I have not heard any firing,
but the crowd and vehicles make a great noise.

I return to the Marais. In the old Rue du Temple the
women, in a state of excitement, gossip at the doorways.
Here are the details. The riot spread throughout the
neighbourhood. Towards three o'clock two or three hun-
dred young men, poorly armed, suddenly broke into
the Town Hall of the 7th Arrondissement, disarmed the
guard, and took the muskets. Thence they ran to the
Hotel de Ville and performed the same freak. As they
entered the guard-room they gaily embraced the officer.
When they had the Hotel de Ville, what was to be done
with it? They went away and left it If they had
France, would they be less embarrassed with it than
they were with the Hotel de Ville ? There are among
them many boys, fourteen or fifteen years old. Some do
not know how to load their muskets ; others cannot carry
them. One of those who fired in the Rue de Paradis fell

DIARY OF A PASSER-BY. 7

upon his hind-quarters after the shot Two drummers
killed at the head of their columns, are placed in the
Royal Printing Establishment, of which the principal
doorway is shut. At this moment barricades are being
made in the Rue des Quatre Fils, at the corner of all the
little Rues de Bretagne, de Poitou, de Touraine, and there
are groups of persons listening. A grenadier of the
National Guard passes by in uniform, his musket upon
his back, looking about him with an uneasy look. It is
seven o'clock ; from my balcony in the Place Boyale
platoon-firing is heard.

Eight P.M. I follow the boulevards as far as the Made-
leine. They are covered with troops. National Guards
march at the head of all the patrols. The Sunday prome-
naders intermingle with all this infantry, all this cavalry.
At intervals a cordon of soldiers quietly empty the crowd
from one side of the boulevard to the other. There is a
performance at the Vaudeville.

One A.M. The boulevards are deserted. There remain
only the regiments, who bivouac at short distances apart.
Coming back, I passed through the little streets of the
Marais. All is quiet and gloomy. The old Rue du
Temple is as black as a furnace. The lanterns there
have been smashed.

The Place Roy ale is a -camp. There are four great fires
before the Town Hall, round which the soldiers chat and
laugh, seated upon their knapsacks. The flames carve a
black silhouette of some, and cast a glow upon the faces
of the others. The green, fresh leaves of the spring trees
rustle merrily above the braziers.

I had a letter to post I took some precautions in the
matter, for everything looks suspicious in the eyes of
these worthy National Guards. I recollect that at the pe-

8 THINGS SEEN.

riod of the riots of April, 1834, 1 passed by a guard-house
of the National Guard with a volume of the works of
the Duke de Saint-Simon. I was pointed out as a
Saint-Simonian, and narrowly escaped being murdered.

Just as I was going in-doors again, a squadron of
hussars, held in reserve all day in the courtyard of the
Town Hall, suddenly issued forth and filed past me at a
gallop, going in the direction of the Rue Saint- Antoine.
As I went upstairs I heard the horses' foot-falls retreat-
ing in the distance.

MONDAY, May IS, 8 A.M.

Several companies of the National Guard have come
and joined the Line regiments encamped in the Place
Royale.

A number of men in blouses walk about among the
National Guard, observed and observing with an anxious
look. An omnibus comes out upon the Hue du Pas-de-
la-Mule. It is made to go back. Just now my floor-
polisher, leaning upon his broom, said, " Whose side shall
I be on ? " He added a moment afterwards, " What a
filthy government this is ! I have thirty francs owing to
me, and cannot get anything out of the people 1 "

The drums beat to arms.

I breakfast as I read the papers. M. Duflot arrives.
He was yesterday at the Tuileries. It was at the Sunday
reception: the king appeared fatigued, the queen was
low-spirited. Then he went for a walk about Paris. He
saw in the Rue du Grand-Hurleur a man who had been
killed a workman stretched upon the ground in his
Sunday clothing, his forehead pierced by a bullet It
was evening. By his side was a lighted candle. The
dead man had rings on his fingers and his watch
in his fob-pocket, from which issued a great bunch of
trinkets.

DIARY OF A PASSEB-BY. 9

Yesterday, at half-past three o'clock, at the first
musket-shots, the king sent for Marshal Soult, and said
to him, " Marshal, the waters become troubled. Some
ministers must be fished up."

An hour afterwards the marshal came to the king,
and said, as he rubbed his hands, in his Southern accent,
" This time, Sire, I think we shall manage the business/*

There is, in fact, a ministry this morning in the
"Moniteur."

Midday. I go out Firing can be heard in the Rue
Saint-Louis. The men in blouses have been turned out
of the Place Eoyale, and now only those persons who
live there are allowed to enter the street The rioting is
in the Eue Saint-Louis. It is feared that the insurgents
will penetrate one by one to the Place Royale, and fire
upon the troops from behind the pillars of the arcades.

Two hundred and twelve years, two months and two
days ago to-day, Beuvron, Bussy d' Amboise, and Buquet,
on the one hand, and Boutteville, Deschapelles, and
Laberthe, on the other, fought to the death with swords
and daggers, in broad daylight, at this same time and in
this same Place Royale. Pierre Corneille was then
twenty-one years of age. I hear a National Guard ex-
press regret at the disappearance of the railing which
has just been foolishly pulled down, and of which the
fragments are still at this moment lying upon the
pavement

Another National Guard says, " I myself am a Repub-
lican, as is natural, for I am a Swiss."

The approaches to the Place Royale are deserted. The
firing continues, very sustained, and very close at hand.

In the Rue Saint-Gilles, before the door of the house
occupied in 1784 by the famous Countess Lamothe-Valois,
of the Diamond Necklace affair, a Municipal Guard bars
my passage.

10 THINGS SEEN.

I reach the Rue Saint-Louis by the Eue des Douze-
Fortes. The Rue Saint-Louis has a singular appearance.
At one of the ends can be seen a company of soldiers,
who block up the whole street and advance slowly,
pointing their muskets. I am hemmed in by people run-
ning away in every direction. A young man has just
been killed at the corner of the Rue des Douze-Portes.

It is impossible to go any farther. I return in the di-
rection of the boulevard.

At the corner of the Rue du Harlay there is a cordon
of National Guards. One of them, who wears the blue
ribbon of July, stops me suddenly. " You cannot pass ! "
And then his voice suddenly became milder : " Really, I
do not advise you to go that way, sir." I raise my eyes ;
it is my floor-polisher.

I proceed farther.

I arrive in the Rue Saint-Claude. I have only gone
forward a few steps when I see all the foot-passengers
hurrying. A company of infantry has just appeared at
the end of the street, near the church. Two old women,
one of whom carries a mattress, utter exclamations of
terror. I continue to make my way towards the soldiers,
who bar the end of the street. Some young scamps in
blouses are bolting in every direction near me. Suddenly
the soldiers bring down their muskets and present them.
I have only just time to jump behind a street-post, which
protects, at all events, my legs. I am fired upon. No
one falls in the streets. I make towards the soldiers,
waving my hat, that they may not fire again. As I come
close up to them they open their ranks for me, I pass,
and not a word is exchanged between us.

The Rue Saint-Louis is deserted. It has the appear-
ance which it presents at four o'clock in the morning in
summer : shops shut, windows shut, no one about, broad
daylight In the Rue du Roi-Dord the neighbours chat
at their doorways. Two horses, unharnessed from some

DIARY OP A PAS8EB-BT. H

cart, of which a barricade has been made, pass up the
Rue Saint-Jean-Saint-FranQois, followed by a bewildered
carter. A large body of National Guards and troops of the
Line appear to be in ambush at the end of the Rue Saint-
Anastase. I make inquiries. About half an hour ago
seven or eight young workmen came there, dragging mus-
kets, which they hardly knew how to load. They were
youths of fourteen or fifteen years of age. They silently
prepared their arms in the midst of the people of the
neighbourhood and the passers-by, who looked on as they
did so, then they broke into a house where there were
only an old woman and a little child. There they sus-
tained a siege of a few moments. The firing in my direc-
tion was aimed at some of them who were running away
up the Rue Saint-Claude.

All the shops are closed, except the wine-shop where
the insurgents drank, and where the National Guard are
drinking.

Three o'clock. I have just explored the boulevards.
They are covered with people and soldiers. Platoon-firing
is heard in the Rue Saint-Martin. Before the windows
of Fieschi I saw a lieutenant-general, in full uniform,
pass by, surrounded by officers and followed by a squad-
ron of very fine dragoons, sabre in hand. There is a sort
of camp at the Chateau d'Eau ; the actresses of the Am-
bigu are on the balcony of their greenroom, looking on.
No theatre on the boulevards will give a performance
this evening.

All signs of disorder have disappeared in the Rue Saint-
Louis. The rioting is concentrated in the great central
markets, A National Guard said to me just now, " There
are in the barricades over there more than four thousand
of them." I said nothing in reply to the worthy fellow.
In moments like this all eyes are overflowing vessels.

12 THINGS SEEN.

In a house in course of erection in the Hue der; Cou-
tures-Saint-Gervais the builder's men have resumed work.
A man has just been killed in the Rue de la Perle. In
the Rue des Trois-Pavillons I see some little girls play-
ing at battledore and shuttlecock. In the Rue de
1'Echarpe there is a laundryman in a fright, who says
he has seen cannon go by. He counted eight

Eight P.M. The Marais remains tolerably quiet I
am informed that there are cannon in the Place de la
Bastille. I proceed there, but cannot make out anything ;
the twilight is too deep. Several regiments stand in si-
lent readiness, infantry and cavalry. A crowd assembles
at the sight of the wagons from which supplies are dis-
tributed to the men. The soldiers make ready to
bivouac. The unloading of the wood for the night-fires
is heard.

Midnight. Complete battalions go the rounds upon
the boulevards. The bivouacs are lighted up in all direc-
tions, and throw reflections as of a conflagration on the
fronts of the houses. A man dressed as a woman has
just passed rapidly by me, with a white hat and a very
thick black veil, which completely hides his face. As
the church clocks were striking twelve, I distinctly heard,
ainid the silence of the city, two very long and sustained
reports of platoon-firing.

I listen as a long file of carts, making a heavy iron
clatter, pass in the direction of the Rue du Temple. Are
these cannon ?

Nine A.M. I return home. I notice from a distance
that the great bivouac fire lighted at the corner of the Rue
Saint-Louis and the Rue de 1'Echarpe has disappeared. As
I approach I see a man stooping before the fountain and

DIABY OF A PASSER-BY. 13

holding something under the water of the spout I look.
The man looks uneasy. I see that he is extinguishing at
the fountain some half-burned logs of wood; then he
loads them upon his shoulders and makes off. They are
the last brands which the soldiers have left on the pave-
ment on quitting their bivouacs. In fact, there is noth-
ing left now but a few heaps of red ashes. The soldiers
have returned to their barracks. The riot is at an end.
It will at least have served to give warmth to a poor
wretch in winter-time.

1840.
FTTKEEAL OF NAPOLEON.

NOTES TAKEN ON THE SPOT.

December 15.

I HAVE heard the drums beat to arms in the streets
since half-past six o'clock in the morning. I go
out at eleven. The streets are deserted, the shops shut;
no passer-by is to be seen, save, perhaps, an old woman
here and there. It is evident that all Paris has poured
forth towards one side of the city like fluid in a slanting
vessel It is very cold ; a bright sun, slight mists over-
head. The gutters are frozen. As I reach the Louis-
Philippe bridge a cloud descends, and a few snow-flakes,
driven by the northerly wind, lash me in the face. Pass-
ing near Notre-Dame I notice that the great bell does
not ring.

In the Rue Saint-Andr-des-Aits the fevered commo-
tion of the fete begins to manifest itself. Ay, it is &fete,
the/ete of an exiled coffin returning in triumph. Three
men of the lower classes, of those poor workmen in rags
who are cold and hungry the whole winter-time, walk in
front of me rejoicing. One of them jumps about, dances,
and goes through a thousand absurd antics, crying, " Vive
1'Empereur ! " Pretty grwettes, smartly dressed, pass by,
led by their student companions. Hired carriages are
making rapidly in the direction of the Invalided. In the
Rue du Four the snow thickens. The sky becomes black.
The snow-flakes are interspersed with white tear-drops.

FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON. 15

Heaven itself seems to wish to hang out signs of
mourning.

The storm, however, lasts but a short time. A pale
streak of light illumines the angle of the Rue de Grenelle
and the Rue du Bac, and there the Municipal Guards stop
the vehicles. I pass by. Two great empty wagons con-
ducted by artillerymen come from behind me, and return
to their quarters at the end of the Eue de Grenelle just
as I come out on the Place des Invalides. Here I fear at
first that all is over, and that the Emperor has passed by,
so many are the passers-by coming towards me who ap-
pear to be returning. It is only the crowd flowing back,
driven by a cordon of Municipal Guards on foot. I show
my ticket for the first platform on the left, and pass the
barrier.

These platforms are immense wooden structures, cov-
ering, from the quay to the dome-shaped building, all the
grass-plots of the Esplanade. There are three of these
on each side.

At the moment of my arrival the side of the platforms
on the right as yet hides the square from my view. I
hear a formidable and dismal noise. It seems like innu-
merable hammers beating time upon the boarding. It is
the hundred thousand spectators crowded upon the plat-
forms, who, being frozen by the northerly wind, are
stamping to keep themselves warm until such time as
the procession shall arrive. I climb up on the platform.
The spectacle is no less strange. The women, nearly all
of them wearing heavy boots, and veiled like the female
ballad-singers of the Pont-Neuf, are hidden beneath great
heaps of furs and cloaks ; the men display neckerchiefs
of extraordinary size.

The decoration of the square, good and bad. Shabbi-
ness surmounting magnificence. On the two sides of the
avenue two rows of figures, heroic, colossal, pale in this

16 THINGS SEEN.

cold sunlight, producing rather a fine impression. They
appear to be of white marble ; but this marble is of plas-
ter. At the extremity opposite the building, the statue
of the Emperor in bronze ; this bronze is also of plaster.
In each gap between the statues a pillar of painted cloth,
and gilded in rather bad taste, surmounted by a brazier,
just now filled with snow. Behind the statues the plat-
forms and the crowd ; between the statues a straggling
file of the National Guard ; above the platforms masts,
on top of which grandly fluttered sixty long tricoloured
pennants.

It appears that there has been no time to finish the
decoration of the principal entrance to the building.
Above the railings has been roughly constructed a sort
of funeral triumphal arch of painted cloth and crape,
with which the wind plays as with old linen clothes
hung out from the garret of a hovel. A row of poles,
plain and bare, rise above the cannon, and from a dis-
tance look like those small sticks which little children
plant in the sand. Clothes and rags, which are supposed
to be black drapery with silver spangles, flutter and flap
together feebly between these poles. At the end the
Dome, with its flag and mourning drapery, sparkling
with a metallic lustre, subdued by the mist in a brilliant
sky, has a sombre and splendid appearance.

It is midday.

The cannon at the building is fired at quarter-hour in-
tervals. The crowd stamp their* feet. Gendarmes dis-
guised in plain clothes, but betraying themselves by
their spurs and the stocks of their uniforms, walk hither
and thither. In front of me a ray of light shows up
vividly a rather poor statue of Joan of Arc, who holds in
her hand a palm-branch, which she appears to use as a
shade, as though the sun affected her eyes.

At a few steps from the statue a fire, at which a num-

OF NAPOLEON. 17

ber of men of the National Guard warm their feet, is
alight in a heap of sand.

From time to time military bandsmen invade an or-
chestra, raised between the two platforms on the opposite
side, perform a funeral flourish, then come down again
hastily and disappear in the crowd, only to reappear the
moment after. They leave the music for the wine-shop.

A hawker passes along the platform selling dirges at a
half-penny each, and accounts of the ceremony. I buy
two of these documents.

All eyes are fixed upon the corner of the Quai d'Orsay,
whence the procession is to come out The cold adds to
the feeling of impatience. Black and white lines of vapour
ascend here and there through the thick mist of the
Champs-Elystes, and detonations are heard in the dis-
tance.

Of a sudden the National Guards hasten to arms. An
orderly officer crosses the avenue at a gallop. A line is
formed. Workmen place ladders against the pillars and
begin to light the braziers. A salvo of heavy artillery
explodes loudly at the east corner of the Invalides ; a
dense yellow smoke, mingled with golden flashes, fills this
whole corner. From the position in which I am placed
the firing of the guns can be seen. They are two fine old
engraved cannon of the seventeenth century, which one
hears from the noise are of bronze. The procession
approaches.

It is half-past twelve.

At the f ai>end of the esplanade, near the river, a double
row of mounted grenadiers, with yellow shoulder-belts,
solemnly debouch. This is the Gendarmerie of the Seine.
It is the head of the procession. At this moment the sun
does its duty, and appears in its glory* It is the month
of Austerlitz.

After the bear-skins of the Gendarmerie of the Seine,

TOL.XXlY.-~2

IB THINGS SEEN.

the brass helmets of the Paris Municipal Guard, then the
tricoloured pennants of the lancers, fluttering in the air
in charming fashion. Flourishes of trumpets and beating
of drums.

A man in a blue blouse climbs over the outside wood-
work, at the risk of breaking his neck, on the platform in
front of me. No one assists him. A spectator in white
gloves looks at him as he does so, and does not hold out a
hand to him. The man, however, reaches his destination.

The procession, including generals and marshals, has
an admirable effect The sun, striking the cuirasses of
the carabineers, lights up the breast of each of them with
a dazzling star. The three military schools pass by with
erect and solemn bearing, then the artillery and infantry,
as though going into action. The ammunition wagons
have the spare wheel at the rear, the soldiers carry their
knapsacks upon their backs. A short distance off, a great
statue of Louis XIV., of ample dimensions and tolerably
good design, gilded by the sun, seems to view with
amazement all this splendour.

The mounted National Guard appear. Uproar in the
crowd. It is sufficiently well disciplined notwithstand-
ing, but it is an inglorious regiment, and this detracts
from the effect of a procession of this kind. People laugh.
I hear this conversation : " Just look at that fat colonel I
How strangely he holds his sword ! " " Who is that fel-
low ?" " That is Montalivet"

Interminable legions of the infantry of the National
Guard now march past, with arms reversed, like the
Line regiments, beneath the shadow of this grey sky. A
mounted National Guard who lets fall his shako, and so
gallops bareheaded for some time, although successful in
catching it, causes much amusement to the gallery! that
is to say, to a hundred thousand people.

From time to time the procession halts, then continues

FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON. 19

on its way The lighting of the braziers is completed, and
they smoke between the statues like great bowls of punch.

Expectation rises higher. Here is the black carriage
with silver ornamentation of the chaplain of the Belle-
Poule, in the inside of which is seen a priest in mourn-
ing ; then the great black velvet coach with mirror panels
of the St. Helena Commission : four horses to each of these
two carriages.

Suddenly the cannon are discharged simultaneously
from three different points on the horizon. This triple
sound hems in the ear in a sort of triangle, formidable
and superb. Drums beat a salute in the distance. The
funeral carriage of the Emperor appears. The sun, ob-
scured until this moment, reappears at the same time.
The effect is prodigious.

In the distance is seen, in the mist and sunlight,
against the grey and russet background of the trees in
the Champs-lSlys&s, beyond the great white phantom-
like statues, a kind of golden mountain slowly moving.
All that can be distinguished of it as yet is a sort of lu-
minous glistening, which makes now stars, now lightning
sparkle over the whole surface of the car. A mighty
roar follows this apparition. It would seem as though
this car draws after it the acclamation of the whole city,
as a torch draws after it its smoke.

As it turns in the avenue of the esplanade it remains
for a few moments at a stand-still, through some contin-
gency, before a statue which stands at the corner of the
avenue and of the quay. I have since ascertained that
this statue was that of Marshal Ney.

At the moment when the funeral car appeared it was
half-past one. *

The procession resumes its progress. The car advances
slowly. The shape begins to display itself.

Here are the saddle-horses of the marshals and gener-

20 THINGS SEEN,

als who hold the cords of the Imperial pall. Here are
the eighty-six subaltern legionaries bearing the banners of
the eighty-six departments. Nothing prettier to be con-
ceived than this square, above which flutters a forest of
flags. It might be supposed that a gigantic field of dah-
lias is on the march.

Here comes a white horse covered from head to foot
with a violet pall, accompanied by a chamberlain in pale
blue, embroidered with silver, and led by two footmen,
dressed in green, with gold lace. It is the Emperor's
livery. A shudder goes through the crowd. It is Napo-
leon's charger! The majority firmly believed it. Had
the horse been ridden only for two years by the Em-
peror, he would be thirty years old, which is a good age
for a horse.

The fact is that this palfrey is a good old supernumerary
horse, who has filled for some ten years the office of char-
ger in all the military burials over which the Funeral
Administration presides. This charger of straw carries
on his back the genuine saddle of Bonaparte at Marengo ;
a crimson velvet saddle, with a double row of gold lace,
tolerably well worn.

After the horse come, in close and regular formation,
the five hundred sailors of the Belle-Poule, youthful faces
for the most part, dressed for action, with round jackets,
round varnished hats, each with his pistol in his belt, his
boarding-axe in hand, and at his side a sword, a cutlass
with a large handle of polished iron.

The salvoes continue. At this moment the story goes
the round of the crowd that the first discharge of cannon
at the Invalides has cut off the legs of a Municipal Guard
at the thighs. By an oversight the gun had not been
unloaded. It is added that a man has fallen down in the
Place Louis XV. under the wheels of the cars, and has
been crushed to death.

FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON. 21

The car is now very near. It is almost immediately
preceded by the officers of the Belle-Poule, under the
command of the Prince de Joinville, on horseback. The
Prince de Joinville's face is covered with a beard (fair),
which appears to me contrary to the rules of the naval
forces. He wears for the first time the grand ribbon of
the Legion of Honour. Hitherto he figured upon the
roll of the Legion only as a plain knight

Arriving immediately in front of me, a slightly mo-
mentary interruption, I know not from what cause, takes
place; the car halts. It remains stationary for a few
minutes between the statue of Joan of Arc and the statue
of Charles V.

I can survey it at leisure. The effect, as a whole, is
not wanting in grandeur. It is an enormous mass, gilt
all over, of which the tiers rise pyramid-like above the
four great gilt wheels which bear it Under the violet
pall, studded with bees, which covers it from top to bot-
tom, some tolerably fine details may be observed ; the
wild-looking eagles of the base, the fourteen Victories of
the top-piece bearing upon a golden support the represen-
tation of a coffin. The real coffin is invisible. It has
been deposited inside the basement, which detracts from
the sensational effect That is the grave defect of this
car. It conceals what one would wish to see, what
France has demanded, what the people expect, what
every eye seeks, the coffin of Napoleon.

Upon the sham sarcophagus have been deposited the
insignia of the Emperor, the crown, the sword, the scep-
tre, and the robe. In the gilded orifice which divides the
Victories on the summit from the eagles at the base can
be distinctly seen, in spite of the gilding already partly
chipped off, the joins in the deal planks. Another defect
This gold is merely imitation. Deal and pasteboard, that
is the reality. I could have wished for the Emperor's
funeral car a splendour of a genuine character*

22 THINGS SEEN.

Nevertheless, the greater part of this sculptural compo-
sition has some boldness and artistic merit, although the
conception of the design and the ornamentation hesitate
between the Renaissance and the Rococo.

Two immense bundles of flags, conquered from all the
nations of Europe, rise in glorious splendour from the
front and rear of the car.

The car, with all its load, weighs twenty-six thousand
pounds. The coffin alone weighs five thousand pounds.

Nothing more surprising and more superb could be im-
agined than the set of sixteen horses which draw the car.
They are terrific creatures, adorned with white plumes
flowing down to the haunches, and covered from head to
foot with a splendid caparison of gold cloth, leaving only
their eyes visible, which gives them an indescribable air
of phantom steeds.

Valets in the Imperial livery lead this imposing cav-
alcade.

On the other hand, the worthy and venerable generals
who hold the cords of the pall have an appearance as
far removed from the fantastic as could well be con-
ceived. At the head two marshals, the Duke of
Beggio, 1 diminutive and blind in one eye, to the right ; to

1 The Dnke of Beggio is not really blind in one eye. A few yean
ago, as the result of a cold, the marshal had an attack of local paralysis
which affected the right cheek and pupil Since that time he cannot open
the one eye. However, throughout this ceremony he displayed wonderful
courage. Covered with wounds, and seventy-five years of age, he remained
in the open air, in a temperature of fourteen degrees, from eight o'clock
in the morning until two o'clock in the afternoon, in fall uniform, and
without a cloak, out of respect for his general. Be made the journey
from Conrbevoie to the Invalides on foot, on Ait three broken Ug, as the
Duchess of Beggio wittily said to me. The marshal, in fact, having suf-
fered two fractures of the right leg and one of the left, has really had
three legs broken.

After aft, it is remarkable that, out of so many veterans exposed for so
great a length of time to this severe cold, BO mishap should have hap-
pened to any one of then. Strange to say, this funeral did not bury
anybody.

7 be Funeral of Napoleon.
Photo-Etching. From Drawing by H. Lix.

FUNEBAL OF NAPOLEON. 28

the left Count Molitor; in the rear, on the right, an ad-
miral, Baron Duperre, a stout and jovial sailor ; on the
left a lieutenant-general, Count Bertrand, old, ex-
hausted, broken-down, a noble and illustrious figure.
All four wear the red ribbon.

The car, let it be said, by-the-way, was not intended to
be drawn by more than eight horses. Eight horses is a
symbolical number which has a significance in the cere-
monial. Seven horses, nine horses, are a wagoner's team ;
sixteen horses are for a stone-mason's dray; eight horses
are for an Emperor. 1

The spectators upon the platforms have continued
without intermission to stamp with the soles of their
boots, except at the moment when the catafalque passed
before them. Then only are the feet silent. One can
tell that a great thought flashes through the crowd.

The car has resumed its progress, the drums beat a
salute, the firing of the cannon is more rapid. Napoleon
is at the gates of the Invalides. It is ten minutes to two.

Behind the bier come in civilian dress all the survivors
of the Emperor's household, then all the survivors of the
soldiers of the Guard, clad in their glorious uniforms,
already unfamiliar to us.

* 29*A of December, 1 840. It has since been ascertained that the magni-
ficent saddle-cloths of gold brocade which caparisoned the sixteen horws
were of spun glass. An unworthy saving. An unseemly deception. This
singular announcement now appears in the newspapers :

" A large number of persons who came to the span-glass ware-house
at No. 97 Hue de Charonne, to see the mantle which adorned the
sides of the funeral car of Napoleon, wished to keep a souvenir of the
great ceremony by buying a few eagles from this mantle. The manager
of the establishment, who, iu obedience to the command of the Govern-
ment, was obliged to refuse them, is now in a position to accede to their
request/'

So we have a bronze statue in plaster, solid gold Victories in pasteboard,
an imperial mantle in spun glass, and a fortnight after the ceremony
aglet lot sale.

24 THINGS SEEN.

The remainder of the procession, made up of regiments
of the regular army and the National Guard, occupies, it
is said, the Quai d'Orsay, the Louis XVI. bridge, the Place
de la Concorde, and the Avenue des Champs-lSlysdes as
far as the Arc de 1'lStoile.

The c$r does not enter the courtyard of the Invalides ;
the railings planted by Louis XIV. are too low. It turns
off to the right ; sailors are seen to enter into the base-
ment and issue forth again with the coffin, then disappear
beneath the porch erected at the entrance to the enclo-
sure. They are in the courtyard.

All is over for the spectators outside. They descend
very noisily and hurriedly from the platforms. Knots of
people stop at short distances apart before some posters
stuck to the boards, and running thus : " Leroy, refresh-
ment contractor, Rue de la Serpe, near the Invalides.
Choice wines and hot pastry."

I can now examine the decoration of the avenue. Nearly
all these statues in plaster are bad. Some are ridiculous.
The Louis XIV., which at a distance had solidity, is gro-
tesque at near sight Macdonald is a good likeness.
Mortier the same. Ney would be so if he had not had
so high a forehead given to him. In fact, the sculptor
has made it exaggerated and ridiculous in the attempt to
be melancholy. The head is too large. In reference to
this, it is said that in the hurry of improvising the statues
the measurements have been given incorrectly. On the
day when they had to be delivered, the statuary sent in a
Marshal Ney a foot too tall. What did the people of the
Beaux-Arts department do ? They sawed out of the statue
a slice of the stomach twelve inches wide, and stuck the
two pieces together again as well as they were able.

The bronze-coloured plaster of the statue of the Em-
peror is stained and covered with spots, which make the
imperial robe look like a patchwork of old green baize.

FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON. 25

This reminds me, for the generation of ideas is a strange
mystery, that this summer, at the residence of M. Thiers,
I heard Marchand, the Emperor's valet-de-chambre, say
how Napoleon loved old coats and old hats. I under-
stand and share this taste. For a brain which works, the
pressure of a new hat is insupportable.

The Emperor, said Marchand, took away with him when
he quitted France, three coats, two surtouts, and two hats ;
he got through his six years at St. Helena with this ward-
robe ; he did not wear any uniform.

Marchand added other curious details. The Emperor, at
the Tuileries, often appeared to rapidly change his attire.
In reality, this was not so. The Emperor usually wore
civilian dress, that is to say, breeches of white kersey-
mere, white silk stockings, shoes with buckles. But
there was always in the next apartment a pair of riding-
boots, lined with white silk up to the knees. When any-
thing happened which made it necessary for the Emperor
to mount on horseback, he took off his slippers, put on his
boots, got into his uniform, and was transformed into a
soldier. Then he returned home, took off his boots, put
on his slippers again, and became once more a civilian.
The white breeches, the stockings, and the shoes were
never worn more than one day. On the morrow these
Imperial cast-off clothes belonged to the valet-de-chambre.

It is three o'clock. A salvo of artillery announces
that the ceremony at the Invalides is at an end. I meet

B . He has just come out The sight of the coffin

has produced an ineffable impression.

The words which were spoken were simple and grand.
The Prince de Joinville said to the king, " Sire, I present
to you the body of the Emperor Napoleon." The king
replied, " I receive it in the name of France." Then he
said to Bertrand, "General* place upon the coffin the

26 THINGS SEEK.

glorious sword of the Emperor." And to Gourgaud,
" General, place upon the coffin the hat of the Emperor."

Mozart's "Requiem" had but little effect. Beautiful
music already faded with age. Music too, alas, becomes
faded with age !

l*he catafalque was only finished one hour before the

arrival of the coffin. B was in the church at eight

o'clock in the morning. It was as yet only half draped,
and ladders, tools, and workmen encumbered it. The
crowd were coming in during this time. Large gilt
palms of five or six feet in height were tried on the four
corners of the catafalque ; but after being put in position
they were seen to produce but a poor effect. They were
removed. 1

The Prince de Joinville, who had not seen his family
for six months, went up and kissed the hand of the
queen, and heartily shook hands with his brothers and
sisters. The queen received him in stately fashion, with-
out demonstration, as a queen rather than as a mother.

During this time the archbishops, curds, and priests
sang the "Requiescat in pace" around the coffin of
Napoleon.

The procession was fine, but too exclusively military,
sufficing for Bonaparte, not for Napoleon. All the bodies
in the State should have figured in it, at least by deputy.
The fact is, the thoughtlessness of the Government has
been extreme. It was in haste to be done with the affair.
Philippe de S^gur, who followed the car as a former aide-

1 23d of December. Since the transfer of the coffin, the chnrch of the
Inraltdes is open to the crowd who visit it. There pass through it daily a
hundred thousand persons, from ten o'clock in the morning until four
o'clock in the evening. The lighting of the chapel costs the State three
hundred and fifty francs a day. M. Dnchatel, Minister of the Interior
(who, it may be stated, by-the-way, is said to he a son of the Emperor)
groans aloud at this expense.

FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON. 27

de-camp of the Emperor, told me how at Courbevoie, on
the banks of the river, in an atmosphere of fourteen <!e-
grees, this morning, there was not even a waiting-rooV
with a tire in it These two hundred veterans of the
Emperor's household had to wait for an hour and a half
in a kind of Greek temple, exposed to the wind from all
quarters of the compass.

The same neglect was shown with respect to the steam-
boats which took the body from Havre to Paris, a journey
remarkable, nevertheless, for the earnest and solemn de-
meanour of the riverside populations. None of these boats
was suitably fitted up. Victuals were wanting. No beds.
Orders given that no one should land* The Prince de
Joinville was obliged to sleep, one of a party of twenty,
in a common room upon a table Others slept under-
neath. Some slept on the ground, and the more for-
tunate upon benches or chairs. It seemed as though
those in authority were in ill-humor. The prince com-
plained openly of it, and said, "In this affair all that
emanates from the people is great, all that emanates
from the Government is paltry."

Wishing to reach the Champs-filys^es, I crossed the
suspension-bridge, where I paid my half-penny, a real
act of generosity, for the mob which crowds the bridge
neglects to pay.

The legions and regiments are in battle-array in the
Avenue de Neuilly. The avenue is decorated, or rather
dishonoured, along its entire length by fearful statues in
plaster representing figures of Fame, and triumphal col-
umns crowned with golden eagles and placed in a blank
space upon grey marble pedestals. The street-boys amuse
themselves by making holes in this marble, which is
made of cloth.

Upon each column are seen, between two bundles of

28 THINGS SEEN.

tri-coloured flags, the name and the date of one of the
victories of Bonaparte.

An inferior, theatrical-looking group occupies the top of
the Arc de Triomphe, the Emperor erect upon a car, sur-
rounded by figures of Fame, having on his right Glory,
and on his left Grandeur. What is the meaning of a
statue of grandeur ? How can grandeur be expressed by
means of a statue ? Is it in making it larger than the
others ? This is monumental nonsense.

This scenic effect, poorly gilt, is turned towards Paris.
By going to the other side of the Arc one can see the back
of it. It is a regular theatrical set-piece. On the side
looking towards Neuilly, the Emperor, the Glories, and
the Fames become simply pieces of framework clumsily
shaped.

With regard to this matter, the figures in the Avenue
des Invalides have been strangely chosen, be it said by-
the-way. The published list gives bold and singular con-
junctions of names. Here is one : " Lobau, Charlemagne,
Hugues Capet"

A few months ago I was taking a walk in these same
Champs-llyses with Thiers, then Prime Minister. He
would, without doubt, have managed the ceremony with
greater success. He would have put his heart into it.
He had ideas. He loves and appreciates Napoleon. He
told me some anecdotes of the Emperor. M. de IWmusat
allowed him to see the unpublished memoirs of his mother.
There are in them a hundred details. The Emperor was
good-natured, and loved to tease people. To tease is the
malice of good men. Caroline, his sister, wanted to be a
queen. He made her a queen, Queen of Naples. But
the poor woman had many troubles from the moment she
had a throne, and became, as she sat on it, somewhat care-
worn and faded. One day Talma was breakfasting with

FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON. 29

Napoleon, etiquette permitted Talma to come only to
breakfast Hereupon Queen Caroline, just arrived from
Naples, pale and fatigued, calls upon the Emperor. He
looks at her, then turns towards Talma, much embarrassed
between these two majesties. "My dear Talma," he said,
" they all want to be queens ; they lose their beauty in
consequence. Look at Caroline. She is a queen ; she is
ugly."

As I pass, the demolition is just being finished of the
innumerable stands draped with black, and ornamented
with rout seats, which have been erected by speculators
at the entrance to the Avenue de Neuilly. Upon one of
them, facing the Beaujon garden, I read this inscription :
"Seats to let. Austerlitz grand stand. Apply to M.
Berthellemot, confectioner."

On the other side of the Avenue, upon a showman's
booth adorned with frightful pictorial signs representing,
one of them the death of the Emperor, the other the en-
counter atMazagran, I read another inscription: "Napo-
leon in his coffin. Three half-pence."

Men of the lower classes pass by and sing, " Long live
my great Napoleon ! Long live old Napoleon ! " Hawkers
make their way through the crowd, shouting tobacco and
cigars ! Others offer to the passers-by some kind of hot
and steaming liquor out of a copper tea-urn covered with
a black cloth. An old woman at a stall coolly puts on an
undergarment in the midst of the hurly-burly. Towards
five o'clock the funeral car, now empty, returns by way of
the Avenue des Champs-filys^es, to be put up under the Arc
de Triomphe. This is a capital idea. But the magnificent
spectre-horses are tired. They walk with difficulty, and
slowly, notwithstanding all the efforts of the drivers.
Nothing stranger can be imagined than the shouts of
hu-ho and dia-hu lavished upon this imperial, but at the
same time, fantastic team.

30 THINGS SEEN.

I return home by the boulevards. The crowd there is
immense ; suddenly it falls back and looks round with a
certain air of respect. A man passes proudly by in its
midst He is an old hussar of the Imperial Guard, a
veteran of great height and lusty appearance. He is in
full uniform, with tight-fitting red trousers, a white
waistcoat with gold braid, a sky-blue pelisse, a busby
with a grenade and plaited loop, his sword at his side,
his sabretache beating upon his thighs, an eagle upon
his satchel. All round him the little children cry, " Vive
1'Empereur ! "

It is certain that all this ceremony has been curiously
like a juggle. The -Government appeared to fear the
phantom which it had raised. It seemed as though the
object was both to show and to hide Napoleon. Every-
thing which would have been too grand or too touching
was left out of sight. The real and the grandiose were
concealed beneath more or less splendid coverings, the
Imperial procession was juggled into the military pro-
cession, the army was juggled into the National Guard,
the Chambers were juggled into the Invalides, the coffin
was juggled into the cenotaph.

What was wanted, on the contrary, was that Napoleon
should be taken up frankly, honoured, treated royally
and popularly as Emperor, and then strength would have
been found just where a failure almost took place.

To-day, the 8th of May, I returned to the Invalides to
see the St. J4rtane chapel, where the Emperor is tempo-
rarily placed. All traces of the ceremony of the 15th of
December have disappeared from the esplanade. The
quincunxes have been cut out afresh ; the grass, however,
has not yet grown again. There was some sunshine,
accompanied now and then by clouds and rain. The
trees were green and lusty. The poor old pensioners
were talking quietly to a group of youngsters, and walk-

ffUNEBAL OF NAPOLEON. 31

ing in their little gardens full of bouquets. It is that
delightful period of the year when the late lilacs have
shed their petals, when the early laburnums are in bloom.
The great shadows of the clouds pass rapidly across the
forecourt, where stands under an archivault on the first
floor a plaster equestrian statue of Napoleon, a rather
pitiful counterpart to the equestrian Louis XIV., boldly
chiselled in stone over the great portal.

All round the court, below the eaves of the building,
are still stuck up, as the last vestiges of the funeral, the
long narrow strips of black cloth upon which had been
painted in golden letters, three by three, the names of
the generals of the Kevolution and the Empire. The
wind begins, however, to tear them down here and there.
On one of these strips, of which the torn end floated in
mid-air, I read these three names,

S AURET CHAMBURE HUG

The end of the third name had been torn and carried
off by the wind. Was it Hugo or Huguet ?

Some young soldiers were entering the church. I
followed these tourlourous, as the phrase goes nowadays.
For in time of war the soldier calls the citizen a pkin ;
in time of peace the citizen calls the soldier a tourlourou.

The church was bare and cold, almost deserted. At
the end a large grey cloth covering, stretched from top to
bottom, hid the enormous archivault of the dome. Be*
hind this covering could be heard the muffled and almost
funereal sound of hammers.

I walked about for an instant or two, reading upon the
pillars the names of all the warriors buried there.

All along the nave above our heads the flags conquered
from the enemy, that accumulation of splendid tatters,
were gently wafted near the roof. In the intervals be-
tween the blows of the hammers I heard a muttering in

82 THINGS SEEN.

a comer of the church. It was an old woman at con-
fession.

The soldiers went out, and myself behind them. They
turned to the right along the Metz corridor, and we
mixed with a tolerably large and very well-dressed crowd
going in that direction. The corridor leads to the inner
court in which the minor entrance to the dome is situated.

There I found three more statues, of lead, taken I
know not where from, which I remember to have seen
on this same spot as a little child in 1815, at the time of
the mutilation of buildings, dynasties, and nations, which
took place at that period. These three statues, in the
worst style of the Empire, cold as allegory, gloomy as
mediocrity, stand alongside the wall there, on the grass,
amid a mass of architectural capitals, with an indescrib-
able suggestion of tragedies which have been damned.
One of them leads a lion by a chain, and represents
Might. Nothing can appear so much out of place as a
statue standing upon the ground without a pedestal ; it
looks like a horse without a rider, or a king without a
throne. There are but two alternatives for the soldier,
battle or death ; there are but two for the king, empire
or the tomb ; there are but two for the statue, to stand
erect against the sky or to lie flat upon the ground. A
statue on foot puzzles the mind and bothers the eye.
One forgets that it is of plaster or bronze, and that bronze
does not walk any more than plaster; and one is tempted
to say to this poor creature with a human face so awk-
ward and wretched-looking in its ostentatious attitude :
"Now then, go on, be off with you, march, keep going,
move yourself ! The ground is beneath your feet What
stops you ? Who hinders you ? " The pedestal, at least,
explains the want of motion. For statues as for men a
pedestal is a small space, narrow and respectable, with
four precipices around it

FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON. 33

After having passed by the statues, I turned to the
right and entered the church by the great door at the
rear, facing the boulevard Several young women pass
through the doorway at the same time as myself, laugh-
ing and calling to each other. The sentry allowed us to
pass. He was a bent and melancholy-looking old soldier,
sword in hand, perhaps an old grenadier of the Imperial
Guard, silent and motionless in the shadow, and resting
the end of his worn wooden leg upon a marble fleur-de-
lis, half chipped out of the stone.

To get to the chapel where Napoleon is, one has to
walk over a pavement tesselated with fleurs-de-lis. The
crowd, women and soldiers, were in haste. I entered the
church with slow steps.

A light from above, wan and pale, the light of a work-
shop rather than of a church, illuminated the interior of
the dome. Immediately under the cupola, at the spot
where the altar was and the tomb will be, stood, covered
on the side of the aisle by the mass of black drapery, the
immense scaffolding used in pulling down the baldachin
erected under Louis XIV. No trace of this baldachin
remained save the shafts of six great wooden columns
supporting the head. These columns, destitute of capital
or abacus, were still supported vertically by six shaped
logs which had been put in place of the pedestals. The
gold foliage, the spirals of which gave them a certain ap-
pearance of twisted columns, had already disappeared,
leaving a black mark upon the six gilt shafts. The
workmen perched up here and there inside the scaffold-
ing looked like great birds in an enormous cage.

Others, below,, were tearing up the stone floor. Others
again passed up and down the church, carrying their
ladders, whistling and chatting.

On my right, the chapel of Saint- Augustin was full of

VOL. XXI Y. 8

84 THINGS SEEN.

dtbris. Huge blocks, broken and in heaps, of that splen-
did mosaic work in which Louis XIV. had set his fleurs-
de-lis and sunflowers concealed the feet of Saint Monica
and Saint Alipa, looking wonder-stricken and shocked in
their niches. The statue of Religion, by Girardon, erect
between the two windows, looked gravely down upon
this confusion.

Beyond the chapel of Saint* Augustin some large mar-
ble slabs which had formed the covering of the dome,
placed vertically against each other, half hid a white,
war-like, recumbent figure of a warrior beneath a rather
high pyramid of black marble fixed in the wall Under-
neath this figure, in a gap between the flagstones, could
be read the three letters

UBA

It was the tomb of

On the opposite side of the church, in front of the
tomb of Vauban, was the tomb of Turenne. The latter
had been treated with greater respect than the other.
No accumulation of ruins rested against that great sculp-
tural design, more pompous than funereal, made for the
stage rather than the church, in harmony with the frigid
and exalted etiquette which ruled the art of Louis XIV.
No palisade, no mound of rubbish prevented the passer-
by from seeing Turenne, attired as a Roman Emperor,
dying of an Austrian bullet above the bronze bass-relief
of the battle of Turckheim, or from deciphering this
memorable date, 1675, the year in which Turenne died,
the Duke de Saint-Simon was born, and Louis XIV. laid
the foundation-stone of the Hotel des Invalides.

On the right, against the scaffolding of the dome and
the tomb of Turenne, between the silence of this sepul-
chre and the noise of the workmen, in a little barricaded
and deserted chapel, I could discern behind a railing,

FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON. 86

through the opening of a white arch, a group of gilt
statues, placed there pell-mell, and doubtless torn from
the baldachin, conversing apparently in whispers on the
subject of all this devastation. There were six of them,
six winged and luminous angels, six golden phantoms,
gloomily illuminated by a pale stream of sunlight. One
of these statues indicated to the others with uplifted
finger the chapel of Saint-Jdr6me, gloomy, and in mourn-
ing drapery, and seemed to utter with consternation the
word Napoleon. Above these six spectres, upon the
cornice of the little roof of the chapel, a great angel in
gilt wood was playing upon a violoncello, with eyes up-
turned to heaven, almost in the attitude which Veronese
ascribes to Tintoretto in the Marriage at Cana.

By this time I had arrived at the threshold of the
chapel of Saint-J&dme.

A great archivault, with a lofty door-curtain of rather
paltry violet cloth, stamped with a fretwork pattern, and
with golden palm-leaves ; at the top of the door-curtain
the Imperial escutcheon in painted wood ; on the left two
bundles of tricoloured flags, surmounted with eagles look-
ing like cocks touched up for the occasion ; pensioners,
wearing the Legion of Honour, carrying pikes ; the crowd,
silent and reverential, entering under the arch-way ; at
the extremity, eight or ten paces distant, an iron gate-
way, bronzed ; upon the gate-way, which is of a heavy
and feeble style of ornamentation, lions' heads, gilt IPs
with a tinsel-like appearance, the arms of the Empire, the
main-de-justice 1 and sceptre, the latter surmounted by a
seated miniature of Charlemagne, crowned, and globe in
hand ; beyond the gate-way the interior of the chapel, a
something indescribably august, formidable, and striking ;

1 The moiii-cfo^tciftce was the sceptre, surmounted by a hand, which WM
uied at the coronation of the kings of France. T*.

36 THINGS SEEN.

a swinging lamp alight, a golden eagle with wide-spread
wings, the stomach glistening in the gloomy reflection of
the lamplight, and the wings in the reflection of the sun-
light; under the eagle, beneath a vast and dazzling
bundle of enemies* flags, the coffin, the ebony supports
and brass handles of which were visible ; upon the coffin
the great imperial crown, like that of Charlemagne, the
gold laurel diadem, like that of Caesar, the violet velvet
pall studded with bees; in front of the coffin, upon a
credence-table, the hat of St. Helena and the sword of
Eylau ; upon the wall, to the right of the coffin, in the
centre of a silver shield, the word Wagram ; on the left,
in the centre of another shield, another word, Auster-
litz; all round upon the wall a hanging of violet velvet,
embroidered with bees and eagles; at the top, on the
spandrel of the nave, above the lamp, the eagle, the
crown, the sword, and the coffin, a fresco, and in this
fresco the angel of judgment sounding the trumpet over
Saint-Jerome asleep, that is what I saw at a glance,
and that is what a minute sufficed to engrave upon my
memory for life.

The hat, low-crowned, wide-brimmed, but little worn,
trimmed with a black ribbon, out of which appeared a
small tricoloured cockade, was placed upon the sword, of
which the chased gold hilt was turned towards the en-
trance to the chapel and the point towards the coffin.

There was some admixture of meanness amid all this
grandeur. It was mean on account of the violet cloth,
which was stamped and not embroidered ; of the paste-
board painted to look like stone; of the hollow iron
made to look like bronze ; of that wooden escutcheon ; of
those JV's in tinsel; of that canvas Koman column,
painted to look like granite ; of those eagles almost like
cocks. The grandeur was in the spot, in the man, in the
reality, in the sword, in the hat, in that eagle, in those

FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON. 87

soldiers, in that assemblage of people, in that ebony
coffin, in that ray of sunlight.

The people were there as before an altar in which the
Supreme Being should be visible. But in leaving the
chapel, after having gone a hundred steps, they entered
to see the kitchen and the great saucepan. Such is the
nature of the people.

It was with profound emotion that I contemplated
that coffin. I remembered that, less than a twelvemonth

previously, in the month of July, a M presented

himself at my house, and after having told me that he
was in business as a cabinet-maker in the Rue des
Tourelles, and a neighbour of mine, begged me to give
him my advice respecting an important and precious
article which he was commissioned to make just then.
As I am greatly interested in the improvement of that
small internal architecture which is called furniture, I
responded favourably to the request, and accompanied

M to the Rue des Tourelles. There, after having

made me pass through several large, well-filled rooms,
and shown me an immense quantity of oak and mahog-
any furniture, Gothic chairs, writing-tables with carved
rails, tables with twisted legs, among which I admired a
genuine old sideboard of the Renaissance, inlaid with
mother-of-pearl and marble, very dilapidated and very
charming, the cabinet-maker showed me into a great
workshop full of activity, bustle, and noise, where some
twenty workmen were at work upon some kind or other
of pieces of black wood which they had in their hands.
I saw in a corner of the workshop a kind of large black
ebony box, about eight feet long and three feet wide,
ornamented at each end with big brass rings. I went
towards it "That is precisely," said the employer,
"what I wanted to show to you." This black box was

38 THINGS SEEN.

the coffin of the Emperor. I saw it then, I saw it again
to-day. I saw it empty, hollow, wide open. I saw it
once more full, tenanted by a great souvenir, forever
closed.

I remember that 1 contemplated the inside for a long
time. I looked especially at a long pale streak in the
ebony which formed the left-hand side, and I said to
myself, "In a few months the lid will be closed upon
this coffin, and my eyes will perhaps have been closed
for three or four thousand years before it will be given
to any other human eyes to see what I see at this mo-
ment, the inside of the coffin of Napoleon."

I then took all the pieces of the coffin which were not
yet fastened. I raised them and weighed them in my
hands. The ebony was very fine and very heavy. The
head of the establishment, in order to give me an idea of
the general effect, had the lid put on the coffin by six
men. I did not like the commonplace shape given to
the coffin, a shape given nowadays to all coffins, to all
altars, and to all wedding caskets. I should have pre-
ferred that Napoleon should have slept in an Egyptian
tomb like Sesostris, or in a Roman sarcophagus like
Merov^e. That which is simple is also imposing.

Upon the lid shone in tolerably large characters the
name Napoleon. "What metal are these letters made
of ? " I asked the man. He replied, " In copper, but they
will be gilded." " These letters," I rejoined, " must be in
gold. In less than a hundred years copper letters will
have become oxydized, and will have eaten into the
wood-work of the coffin. How much would gold letters
cost the State ? " " About twenty thousand francs, sir."
The same evening I called on M. Thiers, who was then
President of the Council, and I explained the matter to
him. w You are right," said M. Thiers, " the letters shall
be of gold; I will go and give the necessary order for

FUKBBAL OF NAPOLEON. 39

them." Three days afterwards the treaty of the 15th of
July burst upon us ; I do not know whether M. Thiers
gave the order, whether it was executed, or whether the
letters on the coffin are gold letters.

I left the chapel of Saint-J6r6me as four o'clock was
striking, and I said to myself as I left, " To all appear-
ance, here is a tinsel N which smashes, eclipses, and
supersedes the marble Z's, with their crowns and fleurs-
de-lis, of Louis XIV. ; but in reality it is not so. If this
dome is narrow, history is wide. A day will come when
Louis XIV. will have his dome restored to him, and a
sepulchre will be given to Napoleon. The great King
and the great Emperor will each be at home, in peace the
one with the other, both venerated, both illustrious,
the one because he personifies royalty in the eyes of
Europe, the other because he represents France in the
eyes of the world."

To-day, the llth of March, 1841, three months after-
wards, I saw once more the Esplanade of the Invalides.

I went to see an old officer who was ill. The weather
was the finest imaginable; the sun was warm and young;
it was a day for the end rather than the beginning of
spring.

The whole esplanade is in confusion. It is encumbered
with the ruins of the funeral The scaffolding of the
platforms has been removed. The squares of grass which
they covered have reappeared, hideously cut up by the
deep ruts of the builder's wagons. Of the statues which
lined the triumphal avenue, two only remain standing,
Marceau and Duguesclin. Here and there heaps of
stone, the remains of the pedestals. Soldiers, pensioners,
apple-women, wander about amid this fallen poetry.

A merry crowd was passing rapidly in front of the In-

40 THINGS SEEN.

valides, going to see the artesian well. In a silent corner
of the esplanade stood two omnibuses, painted a choco-
late colour (Btarnaises), bearing this inscription in large
letters,

PUTTS DE I/ABATTOIR DE GRENELLE.

Three months ago they bore this one :

FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON AT THE INVALIDES.

In the courtyard of the building the sun cheered and
warmed a crowd of youngsters and old men, the most
charming sight imaginable. It was public visiting-day.
The curious presented themselves in great numbers.
Gardeners were clipping the hedges. The lilacs were
bursting into bud in the little gardens of the pensioners.
A little boy of fourteen years of age was singing at the
top of his voice while sitting up on the carriage of the
last cannon on the right, the same one which killed a
gendarme in firing the first funeral salvo on the 15th of
December.

I may mention, by the way, that during the last three
months these excellent sixteenth arid seventeenth century
pieces have been perched upon hideous little cast-iron
carriages, producing a most mean and wretched effect.
The old wooden carriages, enormous, squat, massive,
worthily supported these gigantic and magnificent bronzes.
A bevy of children, languidly looked after by their
nurses, each of whom was leaning against her soldier,
were playing among the twenty-four great culverins
brought from Cons tan tine and Algiers.

These gigantic engines, at least, have been spared the
affront of uniform carriages. They lie flat on the ground
on the two sides of the gate-way. Time has painted the
bronze a light and pretty green colour, and they are

FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON. 41

covered with arabesques on large plates. Some of them,
the least handsome, it must be admitted, are of French
manufacture. Upon the breech is the inscription :
" Francois Durand, metal-founder to the King of France,
Algiers."

While I copied the inscription, a tiny little girl, pretty
and fresh-coloured, dressed all in white, amused herself
by filling with sand, with her ruddy little fingers, the
touchhole of one of these great Turkish cannon. A pen-
sioner, with bare sword, standing upon two wooden legs,
and no doubt guarding this artillery, looked at her as she
did so, and smiled.

Just as I was leaving the esplanade, towards three
o'clock, a little group walked slowly across it. It was
composed of a man dressed in black, with a band of crape
on his arm and hat, followed by three others, of whom
one, clad in a blue blouse, held a little boy by the hand.
The man with the crape had under his arm a kind of box
of a lightish colour, half hidden under a black cloth,
which he carried as a musician carries the case in which
his instrument is kept. I approached them. The black
man was an undertaker's mute; the box was a child's
coffin.

The course taken by the little procession, parallel with
the front of the Invalides, intersected at a right angle
that which, three months ago, had been followed by the
hearse of Napoleon.

1841.
OKIGIN OF FANTINE.

VH. was elected to the Acactemie one Tuesday.
Two days afterwards Madame de Girardin, who
lived at that time in the Eue Latfitte, invited him to
dinner.

At this dinner was Bugeaud, as yet only a general, who
had just been appointed governor-general of Algeria, and
who was just going out to his post.

Bugeaud was then a man of sixty-five years of age, vigor-
ous, with a very fresh complexion, and pitted with small-
pox. He had a certain abruptness of manner which was
never rudeness. He was a mixture of rustic and man
of the world, old-fashioned and easy-mannered, having
nothing of the heaviness of the old martinet, witty and
gallant.

Madame de Girardin placed the general on her right
and V. H. on her left A conversation sprang up be-
tween the poet and the soldier, Madame de Girardin
acting as interpreter.

The general was in very bad humour with Algeria.
He maintained that this conquest precluded France from
speaking firmly to Europe ; that nothing was easier to
conquer than Algeria, that the forces could easily be
blockaded there, that they would be taken like rats, and
that they would make but one mouthful ; moreover, that
it was very difficult to colonize Algeria, and that the soil
was unproductive; he had examined the land himself,

ORIGIN OF FANTINE. 43

and he found that there was a distance of a foot and a
half between each stalk of wheat.

"So then," said V. H., "that is what has become of
what was formerly called the granary of the Eomans!
But even supposing it were as you say, I think our new
conquest is a fortunate and grand affair. It is civiliza-
tion trampling upon barbarism. It is an enlightened
people which goes out to a people in darkness. We are
the Greeks of the world; it is for us to illumine the
world. Our mission is being accomplished, I only sing
Hosanna ! You differ from me, it is clear. You speak
as a soldier, as a man of action. I speak as a philosopher
and a thinker." l

V. H. left Madame de Girardin rather early. It was
on the 9th of January. It was snowing in large flakes.
He had on thin shoes, and when he was in the street he
saw that it was impossible to return home on foot. He
went along the Eue Taitbout, knowing that there was a
cab-rank on the boulevard at the corner of that street
There was no cab there. He waited for one to come.

He was thus waiting, like an orderly on duty, when he
saw a young man, well and stylishly dressed, stoop and
pick up a great handful of snow, and put it down the
back of a woman of the streets who stood at the corner
of the boulevard in a low-necked dress. The woman

1 In 1846 five years afterwards the opinion of Marshal Bugeand
had completely changed. He came to see Victor Hugo, then a Peer of
France, to beg him to speak on the subject of the Budget Bugeaud said,
experience had convinced him that the annexation of Algeria to France
had excellent points ; that he had discovered a suitable system of coloniza-
tion ; that he would people the Mitidja a great table-land in the interior
of Africa with civilian colonists ; that, side by side, he would establish
a colony of soldiers. He took a lance as a comparison : the handle would
be the civilians, the spear the troops ; so that the two colonies would join
without being intermingled, etc., etc. To sum up, General Bugeaud,
whom Africa had made a marshal and Duke d'Isly, had become very
favourable to Africa.

44 THINGS SEEN.

uttered a piercing shriek, fell upon the dandy, and struck
him. The young man returned the blow, the woman
responded, and the battle went on in a crescendo, so vig-
orously and to such extremities that the police hastened
to the spot.

They seized hold of the woman and did not touch the
man.

Seeing the police laying hands upon her, the unfortu-
nate woman struggled with them. But when she was
securely seized she manifested the deepest grief. While
two policemen were pushing her along, each holding one
of her arms, she shouted, " I have done no harm, I assure
you ! It is the gentleman who interfered with me. I am
not guilty ; I implore you leave me alone ! I have done
no harm, really, really ! "

" Come, move on ; you will have six months for this
business."

The poor woman at these words, " You will have six
months for this business," once more began to defend her
conduct, and redoubled her supplications and entreaties.
The policemen, not much moved by her tears, dragged
her to a police-station in the Hue Chauchat, at the back
of the Op^ra.

V. H., interested in spite of himself in the unhappy
woman, followed them, amid that crowd of people which
is never wanting on such an occasion.

Arriving near the station, V. H. conceived the idea of
going in and taking up the cause of the woman. But he
said to himself that he was well known, that just then the
newspapers had been full of his name for two days past,
and that to mix himself up in such an affair was to lay
himself open to all kinds of disagreeable banter. In
short, he did not go in.

The office into which the girl had been taken was on
the ground-floor, overlooking the street. He looked

ORIGIN OF FANTINE. 45

through the windows at what was going on. He saw
the poor woman lie down upon the floor in despair and
tear her hair ; he was moved to pity, he began to reflect,
and the result of his reflections was that he decided to
go in.

When he set foot in the office a man who was seated
before a table, lighted by a candle, writing, turned round
and said to him in a sharp, peremptory tone of voice,
"What do you want, sir?" "Sir, I was a witness of
what took place just now ; I come to make a deposition
as to what I saw, and to speak to you in this woman's
favour." At these words the woman looked at V. H. in
mute astonishment, and as though dazed. " Your depo-
sition, more or less interested, will be unavailing. This
woman has been guilty of an assault in a public thorough-
fare. She struck a gentleman. She will get six months 9
imprisonment for it"

The woman once more began to cry, scream, and roll
over and over. Other women, who had come and joined
her said to her, " We will come and see you. Never
mind. We will bring you some linen things. Take that
for the present." And at the same time they gave her
money and sweetmeats.

" When you know who I am," said V. H., "you will,
perhaps, change your manner and tone, and will listen to
me."

"Who are you, then?"

V. H. saw no reason for not giving his name.

He gave his name. The Commissary of Police, for he
was a Commissary of Police, was prolific of excuses, and
became as polite and deferential as he had before been
arrogant ; offered him a chair, and begged him to be good
enough to be seated.

V, H. told him that he had seen with his own eyes ft

46 THINGS SEEN.

gentleman pick up a snowball and throw it down the
back of the woman ; that the latter, who could not even
see the gentleman, had uttered a cry indicating sharp
pain ; that indeed she had attacked the gentleman, but
that she was within her right ; that apart from the rude-
ness of the act, the violent and sudden cold occasioned
by the snow might, in certain circumstances, do the wo-
man the most serious injury ; that so far from taking
away from this woman, who had possibly a mother or a
child to support, the bread so miserably earned, it should
rather be the man guilty of this assault upon her whom
he should condemn to pay a fine ; in fact, that it was not
the woman who should have been arrested, but the man.

During this defence, the woman, more and more sur-
prised, beamed with joy and emotion. " How good the
gentleman is ! " she said, " how good he is ! I never knew
so good a gentleman. But then I never saw him. I do
not know him at all/'

The Commissary of Police said to V. H. : "I believe
all that you allege, but the policemen have reported the
case, and there is a charge made out. Your deposition
will be entered in the charge-sheet, you may be sure.
But justice must take its course, and I cannot set the
woman at liberty."

" What ! After what I have just told you, and what
is the truth truth which you cannot and do not doubt
you are going to detain this woman ? Then this jus-
tice is a horrible injustice I "

11 There is only one condition on which I could end the
matter, and that is that you would sign your deposition.
Will you do so ?"

" If the liberty of this woman depends on my signa-
ture, here it is."

V. H. signed

ORIGIN OF FANTINE. 47

The woman continually repeated, " How good the gen-
tleman is ! How good he is ! "

These unhappy women are astonished and grateful not
only when they are treated with sympathy, they are none
the less so when they are treated with justice.

1843.
FIESCHI.

April 14.

IN the Boulevard du Temple just now the house of
Fieschi is being pulled down. The rafters of the
roof are destitute of tiles. The windows, without glass
or frames, lay bare the interior of the rooms. Inside,
through the windows at the corner of the yard, can be
seen the staircase which Fieschi, Pepin, and Morey went
up and down so many times with their hideous project
in their heads. The yard is crowded with ladders and
carpenter's work, and the ground-floor is surrounded by
a timber hoarding.

What can be seen of Fieschi's room appears to have
been embellished and decorated by the different lodgers
who have inhabited it since. The walls and ceiling are cov-
ered with a paper sprinkled with a small pattern of green-
ish hue ; and upon the ceiling an ornamental beading, also
papered, makes the outline of a Y. This ceiling is, how-
ever, already broken in and much cracked by the builder's
pickaxe.

Upon the subject of the Fieschi trial I have from the
chancellor himself, M. Pasquier, several details which
are not known.

As long as Fieschi, after his arrest, thought that his
accomplices were in sympathy with him he remained
silent. One day he learned through his mistress, Nmi
Lassave, the one-eyed woman, that Morey said, " What a
pity the explosion did not kill him!" From that mo-
ment Fieschi was possessed with hatred ; he denounced

FIESCHI. 49

Pepin and Morey, and was as assiduous in ruining them
as he had previously been anxious to save them. Morey
and Pepin were arrested. Fieschi became the energetic
supporter of the prosecution. He entered into the most
minute details, revealed everything, threw light on,
traced, explained, unveiled, unmasked everything, and
failed in nothing, never telling any falsehood, and caring
little about putting his head under the knife provided
the two other heads fell.

One day he said to M. Pasquier, " Pepin is such a fool
that he entered in his account-book the money he gave
me for the machine, setting down what it was to be used
for. Make a search at the house. Take his account-
book for the six first months of 1835. You will find at
the head of a page an entry of this kind made with his
own hand." His instructions are followed, the search is
ordered, the book is found. M. Pasquier examines the
book, the procurator-general examines the book ; nothing
is discovered. This seems strange. For the first time
Fieschi was at fault. He is told of it: "Look again."
Useless researches, trouble wasted. The commissioners
of the court are reinforced by an old examining magis-
trate whom this affair makes a councillor at the Eoyal
Court in Paris (M. Gaschon, whom the Chancellor Pas-
quier, in telling me all this, called Gftcon or Cachon).
This judge, an expert, takes the book, opens it, and in
two minutes finds at the top of a page, as stated, the
memorandum which formed the subject of Fieschi's
accusation. Pepin had been content to strike it through
carelessly, but it remained perfectly legible. The presi-
dent of the Court of Peers and the procurator-general,
from a certain habit readily understood, had not read the
passages which were struck through, and this memoran-
dum had escaped them.

The thing being discovered, Fieschi is brought forward,
TOI* xxi Y. 4

50 THINGS SEEN.

and Pepin is brought forward, and they are confronted
with each other before the book. Consternation of Pepin,
joy of Fieschi. Pepin falters, grows confused, weeps, talks
of his wife and his three children ; Fieschi triumphs. The
examination was decisive, and Pepin was lost. The sit-
ting had been long ; M. Pasquier dismisses Pepin, takes
out his watch, and says to Fieschi, " Five o'clock ! Come,
that will do for to-day. It is time for you to go to dinner."
Fieschi leaped up : " Dinner ! Oh, I have dined to-day.
I have cut off Pepin's head ! "

Fieschi was correct in the smallest particulars. He
said one day that at the moment of his arrest he had a
dagger upon him. No mention was to be found of this
dagger in any of the depositions. " Fieschi," said M.
Pasquier, " what is the use of telling lies ? You had no
dagger." " Ah, president," said Fieschi, " when I arrived
at the station-house I took advantage of the moment
when the policemen had their backs turned to throw the
dagger under the camp-bed on which I had to sleep. It
must be there still. Have a search made. Those gen-
darmes are a filthy lot. They do not sweep underneath
their beds." A visit was made to the station-house, the
camp-bed was removed, and the dagger was found.

I was at the Peers' Court the day before his condemna-
tion. Morey was pale and motionless. Pepin pretended
to be reading a newspaper. Fieschi gesticulated while
talking loudly and laughing. At one moment he rose
and said, " My lords, in a few days my head will be sev-
ered from my body; I shall be dead, and I shall rot in
the earth. I have committed a crime, and I render a ser-
vice. As for my crime, I am going to expiate it ; as for
my service, you will gather the fruits of it After me no
more riots, no more assassinations, no more disturbances.
I shall have sought to kill the king ; I shall have suc-
ceeded in saving him." These words, the gesture, the tone

The Attempt of Fiescbi on the Life of Louis Philippe.
Photo-Etching. From Drawing by F. Lix.

THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF OBLEANS. 51

of voice, the hour, the spot, struck me. The man appeared
to me courageous and resolute. I said so to M. Pasquier,
who answered me : " He did not think he was to die/'

He was a bravo, a mercenary, nothing else. He had
served in the ranks, and he mixed up his crime with some
sort of military ideas. " Your conduct is very dreadful,"
M. Pasquier said to him ; " to blow up perfect strangers,
people who have done you no harm whatever, passers-
by." Fieschi coldly replied, " It is what is done by
soldiers in an ambush."

THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF ORLEANS.

^ESTERDAY, July 13, the Duke of Orleans died of

I an accident.

On this subject, when one reflects upon the history of
the last hundred and fifty years, an idea crosses the mind.
Louis XIV. reigned, his son did not reign ; Louis XV.
reigned, his son did not reign ; Louis XVI. reigned,
his son did not reign ; Napoleon reigned, his son did
not reign ; Charles X. reigned, his son did not reign ;
Louis-Philippe reigns, his son will not reign. Extraor-
dinary fact ! Six times in succession human foresight
designates from amid a whole people the head which is
to reign, and it is precisely that one which does not reign.
The fact is repeated with dreadful and mysterious persis-
tency. A revolution comes about, a universal upheaval
of ideas which ingulfs in a few years a past of six centu-
ries, and the whole social life of a great nation. This
formidable commotion overturns everything excepting
the fact to which we have referred ; this, on the contrary,
it causes to spring up amid all that it demolishes, a
great empire is established, a Charlemagne appears, a new

52 THINGS SEEN.

world arises, the fact continues to repeat itself ; it appears
to be of the new world as well as of the old world. The
empire falls, the old blood returns; Charlemagne has
vanished, exile takes the conqueror, and returns those
who were proscribed ; revolutions gather again and burst,
dynasties change three times, event follows event, the
tide ebbs and flows ; still the fact remains, perfect, unin-
terrupted, without modification, without break. Since
monarchies have existed, law says, " The eldest son of
the king always reigns ; " and now for a hundred and
forty years the event has answered, " The eldest son of
the king never reigns." Does it not seem as though it is
a law which is revealing itself, and revealing itself in the
inexplicable order of human occurrences, with a degree of
persistency and exactitude which up to the present had
belonged only to material facts ? Would it not be start-
ling if certain laws of history were to be made manifest to
men with the same preciseness, the same inflexibility,
and, so to speak, the same harshness, as the great laws of
Nature ?

For the Duke of Orleans, when dying, a few mattresses
were hurriedly thrown upon the ground, and the head of
the bed was made of an old arm-chair turned upside down.

A battered stove was at the back of the prince's head.
Pots and pans and coarse earthenware vessels ornamented
a few boards along the wall A large pair of shears, a
fowling-piece, one or two-penny coloured pictures fastened,
with four nails, represented Mazagran, the Wandering
Jew, and the Attempt of Fieschi. A portrait of Napoleon
and a portrait of the Duke of Orleans (Louis-Philippe) as
a colonel-in-chief of hussars, completed the decoration of
the wall. The flooring was a square of plain red bricks.
Two old wardrobes propped up the prince's death-bed on
the left-hand side.

THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF ORLEANS. 53

The queen's chaplain, who assisted the vicar of Neuilly
at the moment of the Extreme Unction, is a natural son

of Napoleon, the Abbd , who much resembles the

Emperor, minus the air of genius.

Marshal Gerard was present at the death, in uniform ;
Marshal Soult, in a black coat, with his face like that of
an old bishop ; M. Guizot, in a black coat ; the king, in
black trousers and a brown coat. The queen had on a
violet silk gown trimmed with black lace.

July 20.

God has vouchsafed two gifts to man, hope and
ignorance. Ignorance is the better of the two.

Every time the Duke of Orleans, the Prince Royal, went
to Villiers to his summer palace, he passed by a rather
squalid-looking house, with only two stories, and a single
window to each of its two stories, and with a wretched
shop, painted green, upon the level of the street This
shop, without any window on the road-way, had only one
door, through which could be seen in the shadow a
counter, a pair of scales, a few common wares displayed
upon the floor, above which was painted in dirty yellow
letters this inscription: "GROCERY STORES." It is not
quite certain that the Duke of Orleans, young, light-
hearted, merry, happy, ever noticed this doorway ; or if
he occasionally cast an eye upon it in passing quickly
along the road on pleasure intent, he probably looked
upon it as the door of some wretched shop, some rookery,
some hovel It was the doorway of his tomb.

To-day, Wednesday, I visited the spot where the prince
fell, now exactly a week ago. It is at that part of the
road-way which is comprised between the twenty-sixth
and twenty-seventh tree on the left, counting the trees

54 THINGS SEEN.

from the intersection of the road in the open circus at
the Porte Maillot. The road-way from side to side is
twenty-one paving-stones wide. The prince smashed his
forehead upon the third and fourth paving-stones on the
left, near the edge. Had he been thrown eighteen inches
farther, he would have fallen on the bare earth.

The king has had the two blood-stained paving-stones
removed, and to-day could still be distinguished, in spite
of the mud of a rainy day, the two new stones just put in.

Upon the wall opposite, between the two trees, a cross
has been cut in the plaster by passers-by, with the date,
July 13, 1842. At the side is written the word "Martir"
(sic).

From the spot where the prince fell can be seen, on
the right, through a vista formed by the houses and trees,
the Arc de I'fitoile. On the same side, and within pistol-
shot, rises a great white wall surrounded by sheds and
rubbish, bordered by a moat and surmounted by a con-
fused mass of cranes, windlasses, and scaffoldings. These
are the fortifications of Paris.

While I examined the two paving-stones and the cross
traced upon the wall, a gang of school-boys, all in straw
hats, suddenly surrounded me, and these young fresh-
looking and merry faces grouped themselves with heed-
less curiosity around the fatal spot A few steps farther
on a young nurse kissed and caressed a little baby, at the
same time shouting with laughter.

The house in which the prince expired is No. 4, and is
situated between a soap manufactory and a low eating-
house and wine-shop keeper's. The shop on the ground-
floor is shut Against the wall, on the right-hand side of
the door, was placed a rough wooden seat, upon which
two or three old women were basking in the sun. Over
their heads was stuck up, upon the green ground of the
coloured wall, a large bill, bearing these words, "Esprit

THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF ORLEANS. 55

Putot Mineral Water." A pair of white calico curtains
at the window of the first floor seem to indicate that
the house is still occupied. A number of men, sitting at
tables and drinking at the neighbouring wine-shop,
talked and laughed noisily. Two doors farther on, upon
the house No. 6, nearly opposite the spot where the
prince was killed, is painted up this sign in black letters,
" Chanudet, stone-mason."

Singular fact : the prince fell to the left, and the post-
mortem examination showed that the body was contused
and the skull smashed on the right-hand side.

M. Villemain (it was he himself who told me this the
day before yesterday) arrived at the prince's side hardly
half an hour after the accident. All the royal family
were already there.

On seeing M. Villemain enter, the king hastened
towards him and said, " It is a terrible fall ; he is still
unconscious, but there is no fracture, the limbs are all
supple and uninjured." The king was right ; the whole
body of the prince was healthy and intact save the head,
which, without outward tear or cut, was broken under
the skin like ft plate, Villemain told me.

In spite of what has been said on the subject, the
prince neither wept nor spoke. The skull being shat-
tered and the brain torn, this would have been impossible.
There was but a particle of organic life. The dying man
did not see, feel, or suffer. M. Villemain only saw him
move his legs twice.

The left-hand side of the road is occupied by gardens
and summer-houses; on the right-hand side there is
nothing but hovels.

On the 13th of July, when the prince quitted the
Tuileries for the last time, he passed, first of all, that
human monument which awakens most powerfully the

56 THINGS SEEK.

idea of endurance, the obelisk of Barneses ; but he might
have called to mind that on this same spot had been
raised the scaffold of Louis XVI. He next passed the
monument which awakens in most splendid fashion the
idea of glory, the Arc de Triomphe de T^toile ; but he
might have called to mind that under the same arch
had passed the coffin of Napoleon. Five hundred steps
farther on he passed a road which owes its ominous name
to the insurrection of the 6th of October, fomented by
Philippe-%alit against Louis XVI. This road is called
the Koute de la Mvolte. Just as they entered it, the
horses which conveyed the grandson of Egalit4 ran away,
revolted, so to speak, and two-thirds of the distance down
this fatal road the prince fell.

The Duke of Orleans was named Ferdinand after his
grandfather of Naples, Philip after his father and grand-
father of France, Louis after Louis XVI., Charles after
Charles X., and Henry after Henry V. In his burial cer-
tificate was omitted (was it by design ?) his Sicilian name
of Bosolino. I confess I regretted the omission of this
pleasing name, which recalled Palermo and Sainte-Eosalie.
Some sort of ridicule was feared. Eosolino sounds charm-
ing to poets and whimsical to commonplace people.

As I came back, towards six o'clock in the evening, I
noticed a bill printed in large letters, stuck here and
there upon the walls, with the words, " F&te at Neuilly,
July 3d."

A DREAM. 57

A DREAM.

November 14.

HEEE is a dream which I dreamt this night I write
it solely on account of the date.

I was at home, but in a home which is not my own,
and which I do not know. There were several large
reception-rooms, very handsome, and brilliantly lighted.
It was evening a summer evening. I was in one of
these rooms, near a table, with some friends, who were
my friends in the dream, but not one of whom do I know.
A lively conversation was going on, accompanied by shouts
of laughter. The windows were all wide open. Suddenly
I hear a noise behind me. I turn round, and I see com-
ing towards me, amid a group of persons whom I do not
know, the Duke of Orleans.

I went up to the prince with an expression of delight,
but otherwise without surprise. The prince appeared
very lively and in good-humour. I do not remember
what clothes he wore.

I held out my hand to him, thanking him for coming
thus cordially to my house without sending up his name.
I remember very distinctly having said to him, " Thank
you, prince." He answered me with a shake of the
hand.

At that moment I turned my head and saw three or
four men placing upon the mantelpiece a bust of the
Duke of Orleans in white marble. I then perceived that
there was already on the same mantelpiece another bust
of the prince in bronze. The men placed the marble bust
in the place of the bronze bust and silently withdrew.
The prince led me towards one of the -windows, which, as I
have said, were open. It seems to me that in doing so we
went out of one room into another. My mind is not clear

58 THINGS SEEN.

as to this. The prince and I sat down near the window,
which looked out upon a splendid prospect. It was the
interior of a city. In my dream I perfectly recognized
this city, but in reality it was a place I had never seen.

Underneath the window stretched for a long distance
between two dark blocks of buildings a broad stream,
made resplendent in parts by the light of the inoon. At
the far end, in the mist, towered the two pointed and
enormous steeples of a strange sort of cathedral ; on the
left, very near to the window, the eye looked in vain
down a little dark alley. I do not remember that there
were in this city any lights in the windows or inhabitants
in the streets.

This place was known to me, I repeat, and I was
speaking of it to the prince as of a city which I had
visited, and which I congratulated him in having come
to see in his turn.

The sky was of a tender blue and a lovely softness.
In one place some trees, barely visible, were wafted in
a genial wind. The stream rippled gently. The whole
scene had an indescribable air of calm. It seemed as
though in this spot one could penetrate into the very
soul of things. I called the attention of the prince to
the fineness of the night, and I distinctly remember that
I said these words to him : " You are a prince ; you will
be taught to admire human politics ; learn also to admire
Nature."

As I was speaking to the Duke of Orleans I felt that my
nose began to bleed ; I turned, and I recognized among
some persons who were conversing at a little distance
behind us in low tones M. M&esville and M. Blanqui.
The blood which I felt streaming down my mouth and
cheeks was very dark and thick. The prince looked at
it as it streamed, and continued to speak to me without
betraying any surprise. I tried to stop this bleeding with

A DREAM, 59

my handkerchief, but without success. At length I
turned to M. Blanqui and said, "You are a doctor;
stop this bleeding, and tell me what it means." M.
Blanqui, who was a doctor only in my dream, and who
iu reality is a political economist, did not answer me.
I continued to converse with the prince, and the blood
continued to flow. -

I do not quite know how it was that I ceased to take
any notice of the blood which deluged my face. At this
point there is a brief interval of mist and confusion, in
which I no longer distinguish, except very imperfectly,
the figures of the dream. What I do know is that sud-
denly I heard, in the apartment which we had just left, a
fresh commotion, similar to that which had ushered in the
arrival of the Duke of Orleans. One of my friends came
in and said to me, "It is General Lafayette who has
come to see you." I hastily rose, and re-entered the first
apartment. General Lafayette was really there; I rec-
ognized him perfectly, and I looked upon his visit quite
as a matter of course. He was leaning upon his son
George, who was broad-faced, ruddy, and jovial-looking,
and who laid hold of my hands, shaking them very
heartily. The general was very pale; he was surrounded
by many unknown persona

It is impossible for me to recall what I said to the gen-
eral, and what he said to me in reply. At the end of a
few moments he said to me, " I am in a hurry ; I must
go. Give me your arm to the door." Then he leaned
his left elbow upon my right shoulder, and his right el-
bow upon the left shoulder of his son George, and we
made our way at a very slow pace towards the door.

Just as I arrived at the staircase, and was about to
descend with the general, I turned and cast a glance
behind me. My look evidently darted at this instant
through the thickness of all the walls, for I saw all over

60 THINGS SEEN.

several large apartments. There was no one in them
now; there were lights everywhere still, but all was
deserted. But I saw, alone, and still seated in the
same place, in the recess of the same window, the Duke
of Orleans looking sadly at me. At this moment I
awoke.

I had this dream on the night of the 13th to the 14th
of November, 1842, precisely four mouths after the death
of the Duke of Orleans, who was killed on the 13th of
July, and on the very night of the day when the period
of mourning for the death of the prince expired

1843.

ROYER-COLLARD.

June 16.
"^ESTERDAY, at the Acad^mie, the sitting not yet

JL having begun, M. Royer-Collard and M. Ballanche
came and sat beside ine. We entered into conversation.
It was rather a conversation between two than three. I
listened more than I spoke.

"The hot weather has come at last," said M. Royer-
Collard.

"Yes," replied M. Ballanche, "but it is too hot. The
heat is already too much for me."

" What ! are you not a Southerner, then ? "

"No. This heat overpowers me. I submit to it. I
resign myself."

" We must resign ourselves to the seasons as to men,"
said M. Royer-Collard.

" Resignation is the basis of everything."

"If we could not learn resignation," continued M.
Royer-Collard, " we should die of rage." Then, after a
moment's silence, and emphasizing his words in the man-
ner peculiar to him, " I do not say we should die in a
rage ; I say we should die of rage."

" As for me, anger is no longer a part of my disposition.
I have none left."

"I no longer get angry," rejoined M. Royer-Collard,
" because I reflect that half an hour afterwards I shall no
longer be angry."

"And I," replied M. Ballanche, "no longer get angry,
because it upsets my mind."

62 THINGS SEEN.

After a moment's silence he added, with a smile, " The
last time I was angry was at the period of the Coalition.
The Coalition,- yes, yes; the Coalition was my last fit
of anger."

" Even so early as that ? I no longer got angry," re-
plied M. Royer-Collard. " I looked on at what was being
done. I protested a great deal more inside than outside
myself, as a man protests who does not speak. After
that time I remained three years longer in the Chamber.
I regret it. It was three years too long. I remained too
long in the Chamber ; I should have retired from it sooner.
Not, however, at the period of the Revolution of July ;
not at the period of the refusal of the oath of allegiance,
my motives would have been misunderstood."

I said, " You are right ; there was in the Revolution of
July a basis of justice which you cannot ignore ; you were
not one of those who could protest against it/'

" Neither did I do so," replied M. Royer-Collard, smil-
ing. " I do not blauie those who acted otherwise than
as I did. Every one has his conscience, and iu public
affairs there are many ways of being honest. Men are
honest according to their lights."

He remained silent for a moment, as though scraping
up his recollections, then he resumed :

"Well, after all, Charles X., too, was honest." Then
he relapsed into silence.

I left him to ponder for a moment, and wishing to know
his innermost thoughts, I resumed :

" Whatever may have been said of him, he was, as a
king, an honest man ; and whatever may have been said
of him also, he only fell through his own fault. Histo-
rians may represent the matter as they please, but there
it is. It was Charles X. who overthrew Charles X."

"Yes," replied M. Royer-Collard, at the same time
nodding his head with a grave token of assent, " it is true

ROYER-COLLARD 68

he overthrew himself ; he would have it It is said he
had bad advisers. It is false, false. No one advised
him. It has been said that he consulted Cardinal de
la Farre, M. de Latil, M. de Polignac, his suite. Would
to Heaven he had done so! None of those who sur-
rounded him had lost their heads as completely as he
had ; none of them would have given him such bad advice
as he gave himself. All those who surrounded the king,
those who were called the courtiers, were wiser than
himself."

M. Eoyer-Collard remained silent for a moment, then
continued, with a sad smile, whidh he often assumed dur-
ing the conversation :

" Wiser, that is to say, less insane."

Another pause ; then he added,

" No, nobody advised him."

And after another pause :

" And nothing advised him. He had always, from his
youth upward, preserved his own identity. He was still
the Count d' Artois ; he had not changed. Not to change,
if one should live to be eighty years of age, that was the
only quality which he valued. He called that having a
personality. He said that since the Revolution there had
been in France and in the era only two men, M. de La-
fayette and himself. He esteemed M. de Lafayette."

" As a matter of fact," I said, " they were two brains
fashioned in very much the same way; but they har-
boured a different idea, that is all."

" And they were both of them constructed," continued
M. Royer-Collard, "to pursue their idea to the end.
Charles X. was destined to do what he did. It was fatal
1 knew it ; I was acquainted with the king. I saw him
from time to time. As I was a Royalist, he used to re-
ceive me with friendliness, and treat me kindly. I read-
ily foresaw the stroke which he was meditating. M. de

62 THINGS SEEK.

After & moment's silence he added, with a smite, " The
last time I was angry was at the period of the Coalition.
The Coalition, yes, yes; the Coalition was my last fit
of anger."

"Even so early as that ? I no longer got angry/ 1 re-
plied M. Royer-Collard. " I looked on at what was being
done. I protested a great deal more inside than outside
myself, as a man protests who does not speak. After
that time I remained three years longer in the Chamber.
I regret it It was three years too long. I remained too
long in the Chamber ; I should have retired from it sooner.
Not, however, at the period of the Revolution of July ;
not at the period of the refusal of the oath of allegiance,
my motives would have been misunderstood/'

I said, * You are right ; there was in the Revolution of
July a basis of justice which you cannot ignore ; you were
not one of those who could protest against it"

" Neither did I do so/' replied M. Royer-Collard, smil-
ing. " I do not blame those who acted otherwise than
as I did. Every one has his conscience, and in public
affairs there are many ways of being honest. Men are
honest according to their lights."

He remained silent for a moment, as though scraping
up his recollections, then he resumed :

"Well, after all, Charles X., too, was honest" Then
he relapsed into silence.

I left him to ponder for a moment, and wishing to know
his innermost thoughts, I resumed :

" Whatever may have been said of him, he was, as a
king, an honest man ; and whatever may have been said
of him also, he only fell through his own fault Histo-
rians may represent the matter as they please, but there
it is. It was Charles X. who overthrew Charles X."

"Yes," replied M. Royer-Collard, at the same tame
nodding his head with a grave token of assent, w it is tew

BOYBB-COLLARD 63

he overthrew himself; he would have it It is said he
had bad advisers. It is false, false. No one advised
him. It has been said that he consulted Cardinal de
la Farre, 11 de Latil, 11 de Polignac, his suite. Would
to Heaven he had done sol None of those who sur-
rounded him had lost their heads as completely as he
had ; none of them would have given him such bad advice
as he gave himself. All those who surrounded the king,
those who were called the courtiers, were wiser than
himself."

M. Boyer-Collard remained silent for a moment, then
continued, with a sad smile, whi<!h he often assumed dur-
ing the conversation :

" Wiser, that is to say, less insane.**

Another pause ; then he added,

* * No, nobody advised him."
And after another pause :

" And nothing advised him. He had always, from his
youth upward, preserved his own identity. He was still
the Count d' Artois ; he had not changed. Not to change,
if one should live to be eighty years of age, that was the
only quality which he valued. He called that having a
personality. He said that since the Revolution there had
been in France and in the era only two men, M. de La-
fayette and himself. He esteemed M. de Lafayette."

"As a matter of fact," I said, " they were two brains
fashioned in very much the same way; but they har-
boured * different idea, that is ail**

* And they were both of them constructed,** continued
It Boyer-Collard, "to pursue their idea to the end.
Charles X. was destined to do what he did. It was fatal
I knew it ; I was acquainted with the king. I saw him
from time to time. As I was a Royalist, he used to re-
ceive me with friendliness, and treat me kindly. I read-
ily foresaw the stroke which he was meditating. M. <te

64 THINGS SEEN.

Chftteaubriand, however, did not believe in it. He came
to see me on his return from his mission as Ambassador
at Rome, and asked me what I thought of it. I told him
how it was. Opinions were divided. The best authori-
ties doubted whether such madness was possible. But
I myself did not doubt. I may say that on the day when
I took up to the king the Address of the two hundred
and twenty-one, it was towards the end of February,
1830, I read the events of July in his looks."

"How did he receive you ? " I asked.

"Very coldly. With solemnity, with gentleness. I
read the Address to hurt, simply but firmly, without em-
phasizing any of the passages, but without slurring any
of them. The king listened to it as he would have done
to anything else. When I had finished " Here M.
Royer-Collard stopped short, and then added, with the
same sad smile, " What I am going to tell you is not very
king-like. When I had finished speaking, the king
was seated on what was called the throne, he drew
forth from under his thigh a paper, which he unfolded
and read to us. It was his reply to our Address. He
showed no anger. He showed a good deal two years
previously, at the period of the other Address, you
know, M. Ballanche, that which was drawn up by M.
Delalot. It was the custom to communicate the Address
to the Chamber on the previous evening, so that the
king might prepare his reply. When the king received
the Delalot Address, in the presence of the Ministers, he
burst into such a fit of rage that his shouts could be
heard from the Carrousel. He declared point-blank that
he would not receive the Address, and that he would
dissolve the Chamber. The king was in a state of fury,
and this was at its height. The moment was a perilous
one. M. de Portalis, who was then Keeper of the Seeds,
risked it You know M. de Portalis, Monsieur Victor

BOYER-COLLAED. 65

Hugo ; I do not tell you he is a hero, but see the influ-
ence of a candid word upon an obstinate disposition. M.
de Portalis, standing before Charles X., simply said to
him, 'If such are the intentions of the king for to-morrow,
the king must give us now his orders for the day after
to-morrow/ Strange to say, these few words appeased
the anger of Charles X. : exigui puheris jactu. He turned
with an air of vexation towards M. de Martignac, and
said to him, ' Well, Martignac, I will receive them ; but
sit down at the table, take a pen, and prepare me a plain
and uncompromising reply, worthy of a king of France.'
M. de Martignac obeyed. As he wrote, the anger of the
king further subsided ; and when M. de Martignac had
finished, and he read to the king the draft of the answer,
already much softened by the conciliatory disposition of
Martignac, Charles X. seized the pen to strike out half
of it, and tone down the remainder. That is how anger
disappears, even the anger of a king ; even the anger
of a stubborn man ; even the anger of Charles X."

At this moment, as the sitting had already begun a
few minutes ago, the Director of the Acad^mie (M.
Flourens) rang his bell, and an usher cried, "To your
seats, gentlemen."

M. Koyer-Collard rose, and said to me, " But none of
these details will be gathered up, and they will never
appear in history."

"Perhaps," I replied.

TOIi. XXIT. 6

1844.

KING LOUIS-PHILIPPE.

September.

KING LOUIS-PHILIPPE said to me the other day,
" I was never in love but once in my life."

"And who with, Sire?"

"With Madame de Genlis."

" Ah, but she was your tutor."

The king laughed and replied :

"As you say. And a strict tutor, I declare to yon.
She brought up my sister and myself quite ferociously.
Getting up at six in the morning, summer and winter ;
fed upon milk, roast meats, and bread ; never any luxu-
ries, never any sweetmeats ; plenty of work and no play.
It was she who accustomed me to sleep upon boards.
She made me learn a great variety of manual work;
thanks to her I can work a little at every trade, includ-
ing that of a barber-surgeon. I bleed my man like
Figaro. I am a cabinet-maker, a groom, a mason, a
blacksmith. She was systematic and severe. From a
very little boy I was afraid of her ; I was a weak, lazy,
and cowardly boy ; I was afraid of mice ! She made me
a tolerably bold man, with some amount of spirit. As I
grew up I perceived that she was very pretty. I knew
not what possessed me when she was present. I was in
love and did not know it. She, who was an adept in
the matter, understood, and guessed what it was at once.
She used me very badly. It was at the time when she
was intimate with Mirabeau. She constantly said to

KING LOTTIS-PHILIPPB. 67

me, ' Come, now, Monsieur de Chartres, you great booby,
why are you always at my skirts ? ' She was thirty-six
years of age, I was seventeen."

The king, who saw that I was interested, continued :
" Madame de Genlis has been much talked about and
little known. She has had children ascribed to her of
whom she was not the mother, Pamela and Casimir.
This is how it was : she loved anything beautiful or
pretty ; she liked to have smiling faces around her. Pa-
mela was an orphan whom she took up on account of
her beauty ; Casimir was the son of her door-keeper.
She thought the child charming ; the father used to beat
the son. ' Give him to me/ she said, one day. The man
consented, and that is how she got Casimir. In a little
while Casimir became the master of the house. She was
old then. Pamela she had in her youth, in our own
time. Madame de Genlis adored Pamela. When it
became necessary to go abroad, Madame de Genlis set
out for London with my sister and a hundred louis in
money. She took Pamela to London. The ladies were
wretched, and lived meanly in furnished apartments.
It was winter-time. Really, Monsieur Hugo, they did
not dine every day. The tid-bits were for Pamela. My
poor sister sighed, and was the victim, the Cinderella.
That is just how it was. My sister and Pamela, in order
to economize the wretched hundred louis, slept in the same
room. There were two beds, but only one blanket. My
sister had it at first, but one evening Madame de Genlis
said to her, ' You are well and strong ; Pamela is very
cold, I have put the blanket on her bed/ My sister was
annoyed, but dared not rebel ; she contented herself with
shivering every night However, my sister and myself
loved Madame de Genlis."

Madame de Genlis died three months after the Revo-
lution of July. She lived just long enough to see her

68 THINGS SEEN.

pupil king. Louis-Philippe was really in some degree of
her making ; she had educated him as though she had
been a man and not a woman. She positively refused to
crown her work with the supreme education of love. A
strange thing this in a woman of so few scruples, that
she should have first shaped the heart, and that shte
should have disdained to complete the work.

When she saw the Duke of Orleans king, she simply
said, " I am glad of it." Her last years were poor and
almost wretched. It is true she had no skill in manage-
ment, and scattered her money broadcast in the gutter.
The king often went to see her ; he visited her up to the
last days of her life. His sister, Madame Adelaide, and
himself never ceased to pay every kind of respect and
deference to Madame de Genlis.

Madame de Genlis complained somewhat of what she
called the stinginess of the king. She said, " He was a
prince, I made a man of him ; he was clumsy, I made a
ready man of him ; he was a bore, I made an entertain-
ing man of him ; he was a coward, I have made a brave
man of him ; he was stingy, I could not make a generous
man of him. Liberal if you like ; generous, no."

September.

M. Guizot goes out every day after breakfast, at mid-
day, and spends an hour at the residence of the Princess
de Li3ven, in the Rue Saint-Florentin. In the evening
he returns, and except on official days he spends his
whole evenings there.

M. Guizot is fifty-seven years of age ; the Princess is
fifty-eight With regard to this, the king said one even-
ing to M. Duchatel, Minister of the Interior, " Has not
Guizot a friend to advise him ? Let him beware of those
North-country women. He does not understand them.
When a North-country woman is old, and gets hold of a

KING LOUIS-PHILIPPE. 69

man younger than herself, she sucks him dry. Then
the king bursts out laughing. M. Duch&tel, who is fat
and stout, who wears whiskers, and who is forty-five
years of age, turns very red.

October.

The king, when at home in the evening, does not
usually wear any decoration. He is attired in a brown
coat, black trousers, and a waistcoat of black satin or
white pique. He has a white cravat, silk stockings, with
open-work in front, and polished shoes. He wears a
grey toupet, only slightly concealed, and arranged in the
style of the Restoration. No gloves. He is lively, good-
natured, affable, and chatty.

His travels in England delighted him. He spoke to
me about them for an hour and a half, with much gesti-
culation, accompanied by many imitations of English
pronunciation and ways.

" I was exceedingly well received," he said. " Mobs of
people, acclamations, salvoes of artillery, banquets, cere-
monies, fetes, visits from the Corporation, an address
from the City of London, nothing was wanting. In all
this, two things especially touched my feelings. Near
Windsor, at a posting-stage, a man who had run after my
carriage came and stood close to me at the window,
shouting, ' Vive le roi! Vive le roi ! Vive le roi /' in
French. Then he added, also in French, ' Sire, welcome
to this old English nation ; you are in a country which
knows how to appreciate you.' That man had never
seen me before, and will never see me again. He expects
nothing of me. It seemed to me as though it was the
voice of the people. This affected me more than any
other compliment In France, at the next stage beyond
Eu, a drunken man, seeing me pass, shouted, ' There is
the king come back ; it is all right now ; the English are

70 THINGS SEEN.

satisfied, and the French will be at peace.' The content-
ment and peace of the two peoples, that, indeed, was
my aim. Yes, I was well received in England. And if
the Emperor of Russia compared his reception with mine,
it must have been quite painful to him, he is so vain.
He went to England before me to prevent me from
making my journey. It was a foolish proceeding. He
would have done better to go after me. They would
then have been obliged to treat him in the same way.
In London, in particular, he is not liked. I do not know
whether they would have got the members of the Corpo-
ration to take the trouble to go and see him. Those
aldermen are very resolute."

Louis-Philippe used to make great fun of the elder
M. Dupin, who, thinking to heighten the refinements of
Court language, calls Madame Adelaide, the sister of the
king, Ma belle demoiselle.

SAINT CLOUD.

November.

THE king yesterday looked fatigued and careworn.
When he perceived me, he led me into the apartment
behind the queen's room, and said to me, as he showed
me a large-sized tapestry couch, with parrots worked
upon it in medallions, " Let us sit down on these birds."
Then he took my hand, and said, in a somewhat bitter
tone of complaint, " Monsieur Hugo, I am misunderstood.
I am said to be proud, I am said to be clever ; that
means that I am a traitor. It grieves me. I am simply
an honest man. I go the straight road. Those who are
acquainted with me know that I am not wanting in

SAINT CLOUD. 71

frankness. Thiers, when he was acting with me, told me
one day that we were disagreed: 'Sire, you are proud,
but I am prouder than you.' ' The proof that that is not
so/ I replied, ' is that you tell me so.' M. de Talleyrand
said to me one day, ' You will never make anything of
Thiers, who, for all that, would be an excellent instru-
ment. But he is one of those men who can only be used
on condition of satisfying their requirements; and he
will never be satisfied. The misfortune for himself as
well as for you is that there is no longer any possibility
of his being a cardinal/ Thiers is clever, but he has too
much of the conceit of a self-made man. Guizot is better.
He is a man of weight, a fulcrum ; the species is a rare
one, and I appreciate it. He is superior even to Casimir
P^rier, who had a narrow mind. His was the soul of a
banker, weighted to earth like an iron chest. Ah, how
rare is a true minister ! They are all like school-boys.
The attendances at the Council are irksome to them ; the
most important affairs are disposed of at a gallop. They
are in a hurry to be off to their departments, their com-
missions, their offices, their gossipings. Tn the period
which followed 1830 they had a look of uneasiness and
humiliation when I presided; moreover, no real appre-
ciation of power, little grandeur at heart, no sustained
aim in policy, no persistency of will. They leave the
Council as a boy leaves his class-room. On the day he
left the Ministry the Duke of Broglie jumped for joy in
the Council chamber. Marshal Soult arrives. ' What is
the matter with you, my dear duke ? ' 'Marshal, we are
leaving the ministry/ * You entered it like a wise man/
said the marshal, who had humour, 'and you leave it
like a madman.' Count Mote, now, had a way of yielding
to me and resisting at one and the same time. ' I am of
the king's opinion as to the general question, but not as
to the expediency/ Monsieur Hugo, if you only knew

72 THINGS SEEN.

how things go on sometimes at the Council ! The Bight
of Search treaty, the famous Eight of Search would
you believe it? was not even read at the Council?
Marshal Sebastian!, at that time Minister, said, 'Pray
read the treaty, gentlemen/ I said, ' My dear Ministers,
pray read the treaty/ * Oh, we have no time ; we know
what it is. Let the king sign it/ they said. And I
signed/'

1845.

VILLEMAIN.

December?.

DUBING the first days of December, 1845, I called
on Villemain. I had not seen him since the 3d of
July, exactly five months previously. Villemain had
been seized during the last days of December, 1844, with
the cruel complaint which marked the close of his po-
litical career.

It was cold, the weather was melancholy, I was melan- '
choly myself ; this was the time to go and console some-
body. Consequently I went to see Villemain.

He was then living in the rooms allotted to the life-
Secretary of the Acad^mie Frantjaise, on the second floor
of the right-hand staircase, at the far end of the second
courtyard of the Institute. I ascended this staircase and
rang at the door on the right; no one came. I rang a
second time ; the door opened. It was Villemain himself.
He was pale, dejected, attired in a long black frock-coat,
buttoned at the top with one solitary button, his grey
hair unkempt, He looked at me with a melancholy look,
and said, without a smile, " Ah, it is you ; good-morning."

Then he added, " I am alone ; I do not know where my
servants are ; come in."

He led me through a long corridor into an apartment,
and thence into his bedroom. The whole abode is de-
pressing, and seems in some way like the attic of a con-
vent In the bedroom, lighted by two windows opening
on the courtyard, the only furniture was a mahogany
bedstead, without curtains or counterpane, a sheet of

74 THINGS SEEN.

white paper carelessly throwii upon the bed, one or two
horsehair chairs, a chest of drawers between the two
windows, and a writing-table covered with papers, books,
newspapers, and opened letters. Nearly all these letters
had printed headings, such as, " House of Peers/ 1 " Insti-
tute of France," "Council of State," "Journal des Sa-
vants," etc. Upon the mantelpiece the "Moniteur," of
the day, a few letters, and a few books, among them the
"History of the Consulate and the Empire," by M. de
Lacretelle, which has just appeared.

Near the bed was a child's cot, with mahogany rails,
covered with a green counterpane. Upon the wall oppo-
site the bed hang three frames containing the lithographed
portrait of Villemain and the portraits of the two eldest
of his little daughters, painted in oil and tolerably like ;
upon the mantelpiece a clock, which is out of order,
and shows the wrong time ; in the fireplace a fire nearly
out.

Villemain made me sit down, and took hold of my
hands. He was rather disordered-looking, but gentle arid
earnest. He asked me what I had been doing this sum-
mer, and said he had been on a journey ; spoke of one or
two common friends, some with affection, others with
distrust. Then his appearance became calmer, and he
conversed for a quarter of an hour on literary topics,
adopting a high tone, clear, simple, elegant, thoughtful,
although still gloomy, and not laughing once.

Suddenly he looked straight at me and said, " I have a
painful matter in my mind ; I am in trouble, I have dis-
tressing anxieties. If you only knew what conspiracies
there are against me!"

"Villemain," I said, " be calm."

"No," he rejoined, "it is really dreadful." After a
pause he added, as though speaking to himself, " They
began by separating me from my wife. I loved her, and

VTLLEMAIN. 75

still love her She had some mental failing ; that may
have engendered delusions. But what is much more
certain is that they succeeded in arousing in her an anti-
pathy towards me, and then they separated me from her,
and afterwards separated my children from me. Those
poor little girls are charming. You saw them ; they are
my delight. Well, I do not dare to go and see them; and
when I see them, I simply assure myself that they are well,
that they are bright and gay and fresh-looking, and I am
afraid even to kiss them on the forehead. Great heavens !
my very touch would be made an excuse, perhaps, for
harming them. How do I know what devices they are
capable of? Therefore, I am separated from my wife,
separated from my children, and now I am alone."

After a pause he continued : " No, I am not alone. I
am not even alone. I have enemies, everywhere, here,
outside, around ine, in my dwelling. The fact is, my
friend, that I made a mistake ; I ought not to have en-
tered upon political affairs. To succeed in them, to be
firm and strong, I should have had a support ; an internal
support, happiness; an external support, some one."
(He referred, doubtless, to the king.) " These supports
both failed me. I foolishly threw myself amid men's
hatreds. I was naked and unarmed. They fell violently
upon me ; at present I have done with everything."

Then suddenly looking at me with a certain look of
anguish: "My friend, whatever may be said to you,
whatever you may be told, whatever may be alleged
about me, my friend, promise me that you will not be-
lieve any of the calumnies. They are so scandalous.
My life is very gloomy, but quite blameless. If you only
knew what things they concoct ; they are inconceivable.
Oh, how infamous they are ! It is enough to drive me
mad. If it were not for my little girls I should kill my-
self. Do you know what they say? Oh, I will not

76 THINGS SEEN.

repeat it They say that at night workmen come in
through that window to sleep in my bed."

I burst out laughing. "And that distresses you?
Why, it is foolish and absurd."

" Yes," he said, " I am on the second floor, but they are
so cunning that they put great ladders at night against
the wall to make people believe it. And when I think
that these things, these villainies, are secretly told and
openly believed, and no one defends me. Some look on
me coldly, others with dissimulation. Victor Hugo,
swear to me that you will not believe any calumny."

He stood up. I was profoundly touched ; I said a few
kind and friendly words to quiet him.

He continued :

" Ah, what abominable hatreds ! This is how it began.
When I went out of doors they managed so that every-
thing I saw should have an ominous look. I met only
men buttoned up to the chin, people dressed in red,
extraordinary costumes ; women dressed half in black,
half in violet, who looked at me and shouted for joy ; and
everywhere hearses of little children, followed by other
little children, some in black, others in white. You will
tell me, 'But those are mere omens, and a vigorous
mind is not disturbed by oiqens.' Well, I know that.
It is not the omens which alarm me, it is the thought
that I was so much hated that people took all this
trouble to bring round about me so many depressing
sights. If a man hates me sufficiently to surround me
constantly with a flight of crows, what appalls me is not
the crows, but his hatred."

Here I again interrupted him. " You have enemies," I
said to him ; " but you also have friends, think of that."

He abruptly withdrew his hands from mine. " Now,
just listen to what I am going to say to you, Victor Hugo,
and you will know what I have in my mind. You will

VILLEMAIN. 77

be able to tell how I suffer, and how my enemies have
succeeded in destroying all confidence and excluding all
the light from within me. I no longer know what I am
doing, or what is wanted of me. Now you, for instance,
are as noble a man as any that exists. You are of the
blood of La Vendde, of military blood ; I will go further,
and say of warriors' blood. There is nothing in you
that is not pure and loyal; you are independent of
everybody ; I have known you for twenty years, and I
have never seen you do any act which was not upright
and honourable. Well, you may imagine my misery, for
in my soul and conscience I am not sure you have not
been sent here by my enemies to spy upon me."

He was in such anguish that I could not but pity him.
I took his hand once more. He looked at me with a
haggard look.

" Villemain," I said, " doubt that the sky is blue, but
do not doubt that the friend who addresses you is loyaL"

" Forgive me," he rejoined, " forgive me. Ah, I know
the things I have been saying are absurd. You, at least,
have never failed me, although you may have had some-
times to complain of me. But I have so many enemies.
If you only knew ! This house is full of them. They
are everywhere, concealed, invisible; they beset me. I
feel that their ears are listening to me, I feel that their
looks are fixed upon me. What an anxiety it is to live
like this ! "

At this moment, by one of those strange coincidences
which sometimes happen as though by design, a little
door hidden in the wainscotting near the fireplace sud-
denly opened. He turned round on hearing the noise.

" What is it ? " He went to the door. It communi-
cated with a little corridor. He looked into the corridor.

" Is there any one there ? " he asked.

There was no one.

78 THINGS SEEN.

* It is the wind," I said.

He came back to me, placed his finger on his lips,
looked straight at me, and said in a low tone, and with
an indescribable tone of horror, " Oh, no ! "

Then he remained for some moments motionless and
silent, with his finger upon his lips, like some one listen-
ing for something, and with his eyes half turned towards
the door which he had left open.

I felt that it was time to speak earnestly to him. I
made him sit down again, and took him by the hand.

" Listen, Villemain," I said, " you have your enemies,
numerous enemies, I admit " He interrupted me, his
face lighted up with a sad joy.

" Ah ! " he said, " you, at all events, admit it. All these
fools tell me that I have no enemies, and that I am
dreaming."

" Yes," I replied, " you have your enemies ; but who
has not ? Guizot has enemies, Thiers has enemies, La-
martine has enemies. Have I not myself been fighting for
twenty years ? Have I not been for twenty years past
hated, rended, sold, betrayed, reviled, hooted, taunted, in-
sulted, calumniated ? Have not my books been parodied
and my deeds travestied ? T also am beset and spied
upon ; I also have traps set for me, and I have even been
made to fall in them. Who knows that I was not fol-
lowed this very day as I came from my house to yours ?
But what is all that to me ? I disdain it. It is one of
the most difficult yet necessary things in life to learn to
disdain. Disdain protects and crushes. It is a breast-
plate and a club. You have enemies ? Why, it is the
story of every man who has done a great deed or created
a new idea. It is the cloud which thunders around
everything, which shines. Fame must have enemies, as
light must have gnats. Do not bother yourself about it;
disdain. Keep your mind serene as you keep your life

VILLEMAIN. 79

clear. Do not give your enemies the satisfaction of
thinking that they cause you grief or pain. Be happy,
be cheerful, be disdainful, be firm."

He shook his head sadly. " That is easy for you to
say, Victor Hugo. As for me, I am weak. Oh, I know
myself ! I know my limitations. I have some talent in
writing, but I do not know how far it goes ; I have some
precision of thought, but I do not know how far it goes.
I am soon fatigued. I have no staying power. I am weak,
irresolute, hesitating. I have not done all that I could have
done. In the realms of thought I do not possess all that
is needful for creating ; in the sphere of action I do not
possess all that is needful for struggling. Strength is
precisely what I am wanting in ; and disdain is a form
of strength."

He was lost in thought for a moment, then added, this
time with a smile, " Anyhow, you have done me good ;
you have quieted me, I feel better. Equanimity is in-
fectious. Oh, if I could only bring myself to treat my
enemies as you treat yours ! "

At this moment the door opened and two persons en-
tered, a M. Fortoul, I think, and a nephew of Ville-
main's. I rose.

" Are you going already ? " he said to me.

He conducted me through the corridor as far as the
staircase. " There, my friend," he said to me, " I believe
in you."

" Well," I said, " I have told you to despise your ene-
mies. Do so. But you have two whom you must take
into account, and of whom you must rid yourself. These
two enemies are solitude and brooding. Solitude brings
sadness; brooding brings uneasiness. Do not remain
alone, and never brood. Move about, go out, walk, mi*
your ideas with the surrounding air, breathe freely and
with long breaths, visit your friends, come and see me."

80 THINGS SEEN.

" But will you be at home to me ? " he said.

"I shall be delighted."

"When?"

* Every evening, if you like."

He hesitated, then said, " Well, I will come. I want
to see you often. You have done me good. Good-by.
I shall see you before long."

He hesitated again, then added,

" But supposing I do not come ? "

"Then," I said, "I shall come to you."

I shook hands with him and went down the stairs.

As I reached the bottom, and was about to step into
the courtyard, I heard his voice saying, " I shall see you
before long, eh ? " I looked up. He had come down one
flight of stairs to bid me good-bye with a gentle smile.

1846.
ATTEMPT OF LECOMTE.

Me? 31.

THE Court of Peers is summoned to try the case of
another attempt upon the person of the king.
On the 16th of April last the king went for a drive in
the forest of Fontainebleau, in a char d banes. At his
side was M. de Montalivet, and behind him were the
queen and several of their children. They were return-
ing home towards six o'clock, and were passing by the
walls of the Avon enclosure, when two gunshots were
fired from the left. No one was hit. Eangers, gendarmes,
officers of hussars who escorted the king, all sprang for-
ward. A groom climbed over the wall and seized a man
whose face was half masked with a neckerchief. He was
an ex-Ranger-general of the forests of the Crown, who
had been dismissed from his post eighteen months before
for a grave dereliction of duty.

June 1, midday.

The orators' tribune and the president's chair have
been removed.

The accused is seated on the spot where the tribune
usually stands, and is placed with his back to a green
baize curtain, placed there for the trial, between four
gendarmes with grenadiers' hats, yellow shoulder-straps,
and red plumes. In front of him are five barristers, with
white bands at their necks and black robes. The one in
the centre has the Cross of the Legion of Honour and
VOL.XXIY. 6

82 THINGS SEEN.

grey hair. It is Maitre Duvergier, the bdtonnier. 1 Be-
hind the prisoner red benches, occupied by spectators,
cover the semi-circle where the chancellor usually
presides.

The prisoner is forty-eight years of age ; he does not
appear to be more than about thirty-six. He has nothing
in his appearance which would suggest the deed which he
has done. It is one of those calm and almost insignifi-
cant countenances, which impress rather favourably than
otherwise. General Voirol, who sits beside me, says to
me, "He looks a good-natured fellow." However, a dark
look gradually overspreads the face, which is somewhat
handsome, although of a vulgar type, and he looks like
an ill-natured fellow. From the seat which I occupy his
hair and moustache appear black. He has a long face
with ruddy cheeks. He casts his eyes almost continually
downward ; when he raises them, every now and then, he
looks right up at the ceiling; if he were a fanatic, 1
should say up to heaven. He has a black cravat, a
white shirt, and an old black frock-coat, with a single
row of buttons, and wears no ribbon, although belonging
to the Legion of Honour.

General Berthuz&ne leans forward towards me, and tells
me that Lecomte yesterday remained quiet all day, but
that he became furious when he was refused a new black
frock-coat which he had asked for to appear in before the
High Court. This is a trait of character.

While the names of the Peers were being called over
his eyes wandered here and there. To the preliminary
questions of the chancellor he replied in a low tone of
voice. Some of the Peers called out, " Speak up ! " The
chancellor told him to look towards the Court.

The witnesses were brought in, among whom were one

1 The b&tonnier is the head of the Bar, and presides over the Council
which regulates the etiquette of the profession. T&.

ATTEMPT OF LECOMTE. 83

or two women, very stylishly dressed, and some peasant
women. They are on my right, in the lobby on the left
of the tribune. M. Decazes walks about among the wit-
nesses. M. de Montalivet, the first witness, is called.
He wears the red ribbon, together with two stars, one of
a foreign order. He comes in limping, on account of his
gout. A footman in a russet livery with a red collar
assists him.

I have examined the articles brought forward in sup-
port of the indictment, which are in the right-hand pas-
sage. The gun is double-barrelled, with twisted barrels,
the breech ornamented with arabesques in the style of
the Renaissance; it is almost a fancy weapon. The
blouse worn by the assassin is blue, tolerably well worn.
The neckerchief with which he hid his face is a cotton
neckerchief, coffee-coloured, with white stripes. On these
articles is hung a small card bearing the signatures of
the prosecuting officials and the signature of "Pierre
Lecomte."

June 5.

During an interval in the sitting I observed the man
from a short distance. He looks his age. He has the
tanned skin of a huntsman and the faded skin of a pris-
oner. When he speaks, when he becomes animated,
when he stands upright, his appearance becomes strange.
His gesture is abrupt, his attitude fierce. His right eye-
brow rises towards the corner of his forehead and gives
him an indescribably wild and diabolical appearance.
He speaks in a muffled but firm tone.

At one point, explaining his crime, he said,

"I stopped on the 15th of April at the Place du

Carrousel. It was raining. I stood under a projecting

roof and looked mechanically at some engravings. There

Was a conversation going on in the shop at the side,

84 THINGS SEEN.

where there were three men and a woman. I listened
mechanically also. I felt sad. Suddenly I heard the
name of the king; they were talking of the king. I
looked at these men. I recognized them as servants at
the Castle. They said that the king would go the next
day to Fontainebleau. At that instant my idea appeared.
It appeared to me plainly, dreadfully. It left oft 1 raining.
I stretched out my hand from beneath the projection of
the roof. I found that it no longer rained, and I went
away. I returned home to my room, to my little room,
bare of furniture and wretched. I remained there alone
for three hours. I mused, I pondered, I was very un-
happy. My project continually recurred. And then the
rain began to come down again. The weather was
gloomy j a strong wind was blowing ; the sky was nearly
black. I felt like a madman. Suddenly I got up. It
was settled. I had made up my mind. That is how the
idea came into my head."

At another moment, when the chancellor said that the
crime was without a motive, he said,

"How so? I wrote to the king once, twice, three
times. The king did not reply. Oh, then "

He did not finish what he had to say, but his fist
clutched the rail fiercely. At this moment he was ter-
rific. He was a veritable wild man. He sits down. He
is now composed ; calm and fierce.

While the procurator-general spoke, he moved about
like a wolf, and appeared furious. When his counsel
(Duvergier) spoke, tears came into his eyes. They ran
down his cheeks, heavy and perceptible.

Jane 6.

This is how it takes place. On his name being called
in a loud voice by the clerk of the Court, each Peer rises
and pronounces sentence also in a loud voice.

ATTEMPT OF LECOMTE. 85

The thirty-two Peers who have voted before me have
all declared for the parricide's penalty. One or two have
mitigated this to capital punishment.

When my turn came, I rose and said,

" Considering the enormity of the crime and the small-
ness of the motive, it is impossible for me to believe that
the delinquent acted in the full possession of his moral
liberty, of his will. I do not think he is a human crea-
ture having an exact perception of his ideas and a clear
consciousness of his actions. I cannot sentence this man
to any other punishment but imprisonment for life."

I said these words in very loud tones. At the first
words all the Peers turned round and listened to me in
the midst of a silence which seemed to invite me to con-
tinue. I stopped short there, however, and sat down
again.

The calling of the names continued.

The Marquis de Boissy said,

* We have heard these solemn words. Viscount Victor
Hugo has given utterance to an opinion which deeply
impresses me, and to which I give my adhesion. I think,
with him, that the delinquent is not in full possession of
his reason. I declare for imprisonment for life."

The calling of the names continues with the lugubri-
ously monotonous rejoinder : " Capital punishment, parri-
cide's penalty."

Proceeding by seniority, according to the dates at
which the members of the House have taken their seats,
the list comes down to the names of the oldest Peers.
Viscount Dubouchage being called in his turn, said,

" Being already uneasy in my mind during the trial,
owing to the manner of the accused, but fully convinced
by the observations of M. Victor Hugo, I declare that, in
my opinion, the delinquent is not of sound mind. Vis-
count Hugo gave the reasons for this opinion in a few

86 THINGS SEEN.

words, but in a way which appears to me conclusive. I
support him in his vote, and I declare, like himself, for
imprisonment for life."

The other Peers, of whom a very small number re-
mained, all voted for the parricide's penalty.

The chancellor, being called on last, rose and said,

" I declare for the parricide's penalty. Now a second
vote will be taken. The first vote is only provisional,
the second alone is final. All are, therefore, at liberty to
retract or confirm their votes. An opinion worthy of
profound consideration in itself, not less worthy of con-
sideration owing to the quarter whence it emanates, has
been put forward with authority, although supported by
a very small minority, during the progress of the voting.
I think it right to declare here that during the continu-
ance of the long inquiry preceding the prosecution, during
seven weeks, I saw the accused every day ; I examined
him, pressed him, questioned him, and, as old Parlia-
mentarians say, 'turned him round* in every direction.
Never for a single moment was his clearness of percep-
tion obscured. I always found that he reasoned cor-
rectly according to the frightful logic of his deed, but
without mental derangement, as also without repentance.
He is not a madman : he is a man who knows what he
wanted to do, and who admits what he has done. Let
him suffer the consequences."

The second call has begun. The number of Peers
voting for the parricide's penalty has increased. On my
name being called I rose. I said,

"The Court will appreciate the scruples of one in
whose conscience such formidable questions are suddenly
agitated for the first time. This moment, my lords, is a
solemn one for all, for no one more than for myself. For
eighteen years past I have had fixed and definite ideas
upon the subject of irreparable penalties. Those ideas

ATTEMPT OF LECOMTE. 87

you are acquainted with. As a mere author I have pub-
lished them ; as a politician, with God's help I will apply
them. As a general rule, irreparable penalties are repug-
nant to me; in no particular instance do I approve of
them. I have listened attentively to the observations
of the chancellor. They are weighty, coming from so
eminent a mind. I am struck by the imposing unanimity
of this imposing assembly. But while the opinion of
the chancellor and the unanimity of the Court are much,
from the point of view of discussion, they are nothing in
face of one's conscience. Before the speeches began I
read, re-read, studied all the documents of the trial;
during the pleadings I studied the attitude, the looks,
the gestures, I scrutinized the soul of the accused. Well,
I tell this Court, composed as it is of just men, and I
tell the chancellor, whose opinion has so much weight,
that I persist in my vote. The accused has led a solitary
life. Solitude is good for great and bad for little minds.
Solitude disorders those minds which it does not en-
lighten. Pierre Lecomte, a solitary man with a small
mind, was necessarily destined to become a savage man
with a disordered mind. The attempt upon the king,
the attempt on a father, at such a time; when he was
surrounded by his family ; the attempt upon a small
crowd of women and children, death dealt out hap-hazard,
twenty possible crimes inextricably added to a crime de-
termined upon, there is the deed. It is monstrous.
Now, let us examine the motive. Here it is : A deduc-
tion of twenty francs out of an annual allowance, a resig-
nation accepted, three letters remaining unanswered.
How can one fail to be struck by such a reconciliation
and such an abyss ? I repeat, in conclusion, in the pres-
ence of these two extremes, the most monstrous crime,
the most insignificant motive, it is evident to me that
the thing is absurd, that the mind which has made such

8 THINGS SEEN.

a reconciliation and crossed such an abyss is an illogical
mind, and that this delinquent, this assassin, this wild
and solitary man, this fierce, savage being, is a madman.
To a doctor, perhaps, he is not a madman ; to a moralist
he certainly is. I will add that policy is here in har-
mony with justice, and that it is always well to deny
human reason to a crime which revolts against nature,
and shakes society in its foundations. I adhere to my
vote."

The Peers listened to me with profound and sympa-
thetic attention. M. de Boissy and M. Dubouchage re-
mained firm, as I did.

There were two hundred and thirty-two voters. This
is how the votes were distributed :

196 for the parricide's penalty ;
33 for capital punishment ;
3 for imprisonment for life.

The entire House of Peers may be said to have been
displeased at the execution of Lecomte. He had been
condemned in order that he might be pardoned. It was
an opportunity for mercy held out to the king. The
king eagerly seized such opportunities, and the House
knew this. When it learned that the execution had
actually taken place it was surprised, almost hurt.

Immediately after the condemnation, the chancellor
and Chief President Franck-Carrg, were summoned by
the king. M. Franck-Carrg was the Peer who had been
delegated to draw up the case. They went to the king
in the chancellor's carriage. M. Franck-Carrf, although
he voted for the parricide's penalty, was openly in favour
of a pardon. The chancellor also leaned in this direc-
tion, although he would not declare himself on the sub-
ject On the way he said to President Franck-Carrf :
"I directed the inquiry, I directed the prosecution, I

ATTEMPT OF LECOMTE. 89

directed the trial. I had some influence over the vote.
I will not give my opinion on the subject of a pardon.
I have enough responsibility as it is. They will do what
they like."

In the cabinet of the king he respectfully adopted
the same tone. He declined to commit himself to a
definite opinion on the subject of a pardon. President
Franck-Carrg was explicit. The king saw what was the
real opinion of the chancellor.

Maitre Duvergier had conceived an affection for his
client, as a barrister always does for the client he has to
defend. It is a common result. The public prosecutor
ends by hating the accused, and the counsel for the de-
fence by loving him. Lecomte was sentenced on a
Friday. On the Saturday M. Duvergier went to see the
king. The king received him in a friendly manner, but
said, " I will see about it ; I will consider it. The matter
is a grave one. My danger is the danger of all. My
life is of consequence to France, so that I must defend it
However, I will think the matter over. You know that
I detest capital punishment. Every time I have to sign
the dismissal of an appeal for a pardon I am the first to
suffer. All my inclinations, all my instincts, all my
convictions are on the other side. However, I am a
constitutional king ; I have ministers who decide. And
then naturally I must think a little of myself too."

M. Duvergier was dreadfully grieved. He saw that
the king would not grant a pardon.

The Council of Ministers was unanimously in favour
of the execution of the sentence of the Court of Peers.

On the following day, Sunday, M. Duvergier received
by express a letter from the Keeper of the Seals, Martin
du Nord, announcing to him that " the king thought it
right to decide that the law should take its course." He
was still under the influence of the first shock of hope

90 THINGS SEEN.

definitively shattered when a fresh express arrived. An-
other letter. The Keeper of the Seals informed the
bdtonnier that the king, wishing to accord to the con-
demned man, Pierre Lecointe, a further token of his
good-will, had decided that the yearly allowance of the
said Lecomte should revert to his sister for her lifetime,
and that his Majesty had placed an immediate sum of
three thousand francs at the disposal of the sister for her
assistance. " I thought, M. le Batonnier," said the Keeper
of the Seals, in conclusion, " that it would be agreeable
to you to communicate yourself to the unhappy woman
this evidence of the royal favour."

M. Duvergier thought he had made some mistake in
reading the first letter. "A further token," he said to
one of his friends, who was present. " I was mistaken,
then. The king grants the pardon." But he re-read
the letter, and saw that he had read it only too correctly.
A further token remained inexplicable to him. He re-
fused to accept the commission which the Keeper of the
Seals asked him to undertake.

As to the sister of Lecomte, she refused the three
thousand francs and the pension ; she refused them with
something of scorn and also of dignity. " Tell the king,"
she said, "that I thank him. I should have thanked
him better for something else. Tell him that I do not
forget my brother so quickly as to take his spoils. This
is not the boon that I expected of the king. I want
nothing. I am very unhappy and miserable, I am nearly
starving of hunger, but it pleases me to die like this,
since my brother died like that. He who causes the
death of the brother has no right to support the sister."

M. Marilhac plays throughout this affair a lugubriously
active part. He was a member of the Commission of the
Peers during the preliminaries to the trial. He wanted
to omit from the brief for the prosecution the letter of

ATTEMPT OF LECOMTE. 91

Dr. Gallois, in which he spoke of Lecomte as a mad-
man. It was at one moment proposed to suppress the
letter.

Lecomte displayed some courage. At the kst moment,
however, on the night preceding the execution, he asked,
towards two o'clock, to see the procurator-general, M.
Hubert ; and M. Hubert, on leaving him after an interview
of a quarter of an hour, said, " He has completely col-
lapsed ; the mind is gone."

June 12.

I dined yesterday at the house of M. Decazes with Lord
Palmerston and Lord Lansdowne.

Lord Palmerston is a stout, short, fair man, who is said
to be a good talker. His face is full, round, broad, red,
merry, and shrewd, slightly vulgar. He wore a red ribbon
and a star, which I think is that of the Bath.

The Marquis of Lansdowne affords a striking contrast
to Lord Palmerston. He is tall, dark, spare, grave, and
courteous, with an air of breeding, a gentleman. He had
a star upon his coat, and round his neck a dark-blue
ribbon, to which hung a gold-enamelled decoration, round-
shaped, and surmounted by the Irish harp.

M. Decazes brought these two gentlemen to meet ma
We spoke for some minutes of Ireland, of bread-stuffs,
and of the potato disease.

u Ireland's disease is graver still," I said to Lord
Palmerston.

"Yes," he replied; "the Irish peasants are very
wretched. Now, your country folk are happy. Ah, you
are favoured 'by the skies ! What a climate is that of
France ! "

" Yes, my lord," I rejoined ; " but you are favoured by
the sea. What a citadel is England t "

Lady Palmerston is graceful and talks well She must

92 THINGS SEEN.

have been charming at one time. She is no longer young.
Lord Palmerstou married her four years ago, after a
mutual passion which had lasted for thirty years. I
conclude from this that Lord Palmerston belongs a little
to history and a great deal to romance.

At table I was between M. de Montalivet and Alexandre
Dumas. M. de Montalivet wore the cross of the Legion
of Honour, and Alexandre Dumas the cross of an order
which he told me was that of St. John, and which I
believe to be Piedmontese.

I led up in conversation with M. de Montalivet to the
event of the 16th of April. He was, it is well known, in
the char & banes by the king's side.

" What were you conversing with the king about at the
moment of the report ? " I said.

" I cannot remember," he replied. " I took the liberty
of questioning the king upon this subject. He could not
recall it either. The bullet of Lecomte destroyed some-
thing in our memory. All I know is that while our con-
versation was not important, we were very intent upon
it If it had not absorbed our attention we should cer-
tainly have perceived Lecomte when he stood up above
us to fire ; the king, at all events, would have done so,
for I myself was turning my back somewhat to speak to
the king. All that I remember is that I was gesticulating
very much at the moment. When the first shot was fired,
some one in the suite cried, * It is a huntsman unloading
his gun/ I said to the king, ' A strange kind of huntsman
to fire the remains of his powder at kings/ As I finished
speaking the second shot went off. I cried, ' It is an
assassin ! ' * Oh 1 ' said the king, ( not so fast ; do not let
us judge too hastily. Wait, we shall see what it means/
You see in that the character of the king, do you not ?
Calm and serene in the presence of the man who has just
fired at him almost kindly, At this moment the queen

ATTEMPT OF JOSEPH HENBL 93

touched me gently on the shoulder ; I turned round.
She showed me, without uttering a word, the wadding of
the gun which had fallen upon her lap, and which she
had just picked up. There was a certain calmness in
this silence which was solemn and touching. The queen,
when the carriage leans over a little, trembles for fear
she will be upset ; she makes the sign of the cross when
it thunders ; she is afraid of a display of fireworks ; she
alights when a bridge has to be crossed. When the king
is fired upon in her presence she is calm."

ATTEMPT OF JOSEPH HENRI.

July 29, midnight.

SUZANNE, the chambermaid, has just returned home.
She has been to the fete to see the fireworks. On
coming in she was radiant she said, " Oh ! what a
lucky thing, madame ! It was my cousin who arrested
the man who fired upon the king." " What 1 Has any
one fired at the king ? " " Yes, and my cousin arrested
the man. What a lucky thing! It was this evening,
just now. The king was on the balcony. The man fired
two pistol-shots together, and missed the king. Oh, how
people applauded ! The king was pleased. He pointed
out himself where the smoke came from. But my cousin,
who is a policeman in plain clothes, was there, close to
the man. He only had to turn round. He took the
man into custody." "What is his name?" "Joseph
Legros." " The assassin ? " " No, my cousin. He is a
tall fellow. The man is little. I do not know his name.
I have forgotten it He looked sad ; he pretended to be
crying. When he was taken away he said, ' Oh dear ! I
must die, then.' He is fifty years old. Some gold was

94 THINGS SEEN.

found on him. I should think he will have a bad time
of it to-night My cousin is delighted, and the cur6 also
is delighted." (This is a canon of Notre-Daine who
resides in the same building as the cousin in the police.)
" What luck, eh ! Madame, what luck ! "

July 30.

There is close to here, in the Rue de Limoges, a house
with a carriage-way of solemn and gloomy appearance,
some old court-house, with a little square yard. On the
left-hand side of the door is a great black board, in the
centre of which are the Arms of France. Upon this
board is an inscription in wooden letters, formerly gilt,
and running thus :

SOUVENIRS & USEFUL

OFFICE REQUISITES
ARTICLES

of every kind,
for Udiat.

MANUFACTORY OF FANCY ARTICLES IN EMBOSSED STEEL

AND OTHER GOODS.
g _ JOSEPH HENRI 8

Joseph Henri is the assassin. He has a wife and three
children.

On the right-hand side in the courtyard there is a
house-door, above which is seen :

JOSEPH HENRI.

THE WAREHOUSE IS ON THB FIB8T FLOOE.

The whole house is of a fallen and dismal appearance.

ATTEMPT OF JOSEPH HENBL 95

August I.

The day before yesterday I went to inscribe my name
at the palace of the king, who has gone to Eu. This is
done upon a kind of register, with a green parchment
back like a laundress's book. There are five registers,
one for each member of the royal family. Every evening
the registers are forwarded to the king, and the queen
carefully reads them.

I do not suppose people inscribed their names at the
residence of Louis XIV. or of Napoleon.

This reminds me of the first time I dined at the
Tuileries. A month afterwards I met M. de Itemusat,
who was among the guests, and who says, " Have you
paid your visit of digestion ? "

Homely manners are charming and graceful, but they
go rather too far sometimes. I thoroughly understand
royalty living a homely life, but this granted, I prefer the
patriarchal style to the homely style. Patriarchal life is
as simple as homely life, and as majestic as royal life.

M. Lebrun, who came to leave his name at the same
time as I did, was telling me that a few years ago the
King of the Belgians was at the Tuileries. M. Lebrun
goes to see him. He speaks to the hall porter. "Can I
see the King of the Belgians, please ? " " The King of
the Belgians ? Oh ! yes, sir, in the second courtyard,
through the little door. Go up to the third floor and
turn to the left along the corridor. The King of the
Belgians is No. 9."

The Prince de Joinville lives in a little attic at the
Tuileries. The Duke of Saxe-Coburg is lodged in the
Louvre in a corridor. Like the King of the Belgians, he
has his card nailed upon the door: "Duke of Saie-
Cobuig."

96 THINGS SEEN.

August 25.

The trial of Joseph Henri begins to-day in the Court
of Peers.

The prisoner is brought in after the Court is seated by
four gendarmes, of whom two hold him by the arms.
There were six to Lecomte. Joseph Henri is a little
man, who appears over fifty years of age. He is dressed
in a black frock-coat ; he has a black silk waistcoat and
black cravat, whiskers, black hair, a long nose. He
wears eye-glasses.

He enters, bows three times to the Court, as an actor
bows to the pit, and sits down. During the calling of
the names he takes snuff with a profound look of ease.

The chancellor tells him to rise, and asks him his
surname and Christian names, He replies in a low tone
of voice, in a subdued and timid manner. "Speak
louder," said the chancellor. The prisoner repeats his
replies loudly and very distinctly. He looks like a
worthy citizen who is taking out a passport, and who is
being questioned by the government employ^. He sits
down and whispers a few words to his counsel, M. Ba-
roche, batonnier of the order of barristers. There are
five barristers at the bar. Among the crowd which
throngs the semi-circle behind the prisoner is a priest
Not far from the priest is a Turk.

The prisoner is so short that when he stands up he
does not reach above the heads of the gendarmes seated
beside him. From time to time he blows his nose loudly
in a white handkerchief with blue squares. He has the
appearance of a country registrar. His person altogether
suggests something ineffably mild, sad, and subdued.
Every now and then, however, he holds his head in his
two hands, and a look of despair penetrates through the
air of indifference. He is, in fact, despairing and indiffer-

ATTEMPT OF JOSEPH HENBL 9?

ent at one and the same time. When the procurator-
general and the chancellor tell him that he is playing a
part, he looks at them without any appearance of resent-
ment, and like a man who does not understand.

He speaks a great deal, rather fast, sometimes in low,
at others in very loud, tones. He appears to see things only
through, a veil, and to hear only through a screen. One
would imagine there was a wall, barely transparent, be-
tween the real world and himself. He looks fixedly, just
as if he is seeking to make out things and distinguish
faces from behind a barrier. He utters rambling words
in a subdued manner. They have a meaning, however,
for a thoughtful person.

He concludes a long explanation thus : " My crime is
without a stain. At present my soul is as in a labyrinth."

The procurator-general said to him, " I am not to be
imposed on by you. You have an object, and that is to
escape the death penalty by appearing to invite it, and
in this way to secure some less grave penalty."

" Pooh ! " he exclaimed ; "how can you say so ? Other
penalties are a punishment, the penalty of death is anni-
hilation."

He stood musing for a moment, and then added:
"For eighteen years my mind has suffered. I do not
know what state my mind is in ; I cannot say. But you
see I am not trying to play the madman."

" You had," the chancellor said, " ferocious ideas."

He replies : " I had no ferocious ideas ; I had only
ideas " (here he indicates with a gesture an imaginary
flight of birds hovering round his head) " which I thought
came to me from God."

Then he remains silent for a moment, and continues,
almost violently : " I have suffered a great deal, a great
deal " (folding his arms). " And do you think I suffer
no longer ? "
VOL. xxiv. 7

98 THINGS SEEK.

Objection is made to certain passages of what he has
written.

" Just as you please. All that I have written I have
written, written, written ; but I have not read it."

At another moment he breaks out unexpectedly amid
the examination with this : " I have beliefs. My princi-
pal belief is that there are rewards and punishments
above."

The names of all the regicides, of Fieschi, of Alibaud,
of Lecomte, are mentioned to him. His face becomes
clouded, and he exclaims, " How is it you speak to me of
all those whose names you have just mentioned ? "

At this moment Viennet comes up behind me, and
says, " He is not a madman, he is a fool."

For myself I should have said the precise contrary.

He is asked, " Why did you write to M. de Lamartine
andM. Raspail?"

He replies, "Because I had read some of their writ-
ings, and they appeared to me to be philanthropists ; and
because I thought that philanthropy should not be found
only in a pen point."

He frequently concludes his replies with this word,
addressed to the Court, and uttered almost in a whisper,
"Appreciate!"

The procurator-general recapitulates all the charges, and
concludes by asking him, " What have you to say in
reply?"

" I have no reply to make."

And he places his hand on his forehead as if he had a
pain there.

In the midst of a long rambling statement, mingled
here and there with flashes of intelligence, and even of
thoughtfulnees, he stops short to ask for a basin of soup,
and gives a number of directions to the attendant who
brings it to him. He has a fit of trembling which is

ATTEMPT OF JOSEPH HENBI. 99

plainly perceptible. He drinks a glass of water several
times during the examination. He trembles so violently
that he cannot carry the glass to his lips without holding
it with both hands.

He calls the procurator-general "Monsieur le Procu-
reur." When he speaks of the king he says "his

During the very violent speech, for the prosecution, of
the procurator-general he makes signs of approval. Dur-
ing the speech for the defence, of his counsel, he makes
signs of disagreement. However, he listens to them
with profound attention. At one point M. Hubert said,
"The prisoner has no political animus. He even pro-
tests his respect and admiration for the king." Joseph
Henri nods his head twice in token of assent. At an-
other moment the procurator-general says that the pris-
oner wants to secure a ludicrously inadequate punishment.
He says " No," with a shake of his head, and takes snuff.

During the temporary rising of the Court Villemain
came to me in the reading-room, and said, " What do you
think of all this ? It seems to me that no one here is
genuine, neither the prisoner, nor the procurator-general,
nor the chancellor. They all look to me as though they
are shamming, and as though not one of them says what
he thinks. There is something false, equivocal, and
confused in this affair."

During the trial Villemain contemplated Joseph Henri
with fixed and melancholy interest

August V.

The deliberation began at twenty minutes past eight
o'clock. The Peers, without swords or hats, sit with
closed doors ; only the clerks are present On taking their
seats the Peers cried out on all sides, " Open the ventila-
tors ; let us have some light ; give us some air ! "

100 THINGS SEEN.

The heat that was in the hermetically sealed room was
overpowering.

Two questions were asked by the chancellor:

" Is the prisoner Henri guilty of the attempt upon the
life of the king ? Is he guilty of an attempt upon the
person of the king ? "

I should not omit to say that during the calling of the
names, Lagren^e said to me, " I shall be the only one of
the diplomatic body who will not vote for the sentence
of death." I congratulated him, and he went and sat
down again behind the bench occupied by Bussifere.

Another Peer, one of the new ones, whom I did not
know, left his seat, came towards me, and seated himself
upon the empty chair at the side, saying to me, " You do
not know me ? " " No." " Well, I nursed you when you
were little, no higher than that, upon my knees. I am
a friend of your father's. I am General Kapatel."

I remembered the name, which my father had often
mentioned. I shook hands with the general. We con-
versed affectionately. He spoke to me of my childhood,
I spoke to him of his great battles, and both of us became
younger again. Then silence took place. The voting
had begun.

The voting went on, on the question of an attempt on
the life or an attempt on the person, without its being
ascertained beforehand whether the difference in the
crime involved any difference in the penalty. However,
it was soon evident that those Peers who decided that it
was an attempt on the person did not desire the death
penalty, and the majority of this opinion became larger
and larger.

As the second vote was about to be taken, I said : " It
results from the deliberation on the whole, and from the
earnest views which have been put forward, that, in the
opinion of all the judges, the words 'person of the king'

ATTEMPT OF JOSEPH HEKBL 101

have a double sense, and that they signify the physical
person and the moral person. These two senses, how-
ever, are distinct to the conscience, although they are
confounded in the vote. The physical person has not
been injured, has not been seriously menaced, as nearly
all my noble colleagues are agreed. It is only the moral
person who has been not only menaced, but even injured.
Having given this explanation, and with this reserve,
that it is perfectly understood that it is the moral person
only that is injured, I associate myself with the immense
majority of my colleagues, who declare the prisoner,
Joseph Henri, guilty of an attempt upon the person of
the king."

The clerk proclaimed the result :

One hundred and twenty-two Peers decided for an
attempt on the person; thirty-eight for an attempt on
the life ; four for an act of contempt.

The sitting was suspended for a quarter of an hour.
The Peers left the Court, and became scattered in groups
in the lobby. I conversed with M. de la Redorte, and I
told him that if it came to the point I admitted State
policy as well as justice, but on the condition that I
should consider State policy as the human voice, and
justice as the Divine voice. M. de Mornay came up to
me and said that the Anciens abandoned the death
penalty; that they were sensible of the feeling of the
House, and gave way to it ; but that, in agreement with
the majority, they would vote for penal servitude for
life, and I was asked to give my support to this vote. I
said that it was impossible for me to do so ; that I con-
gratulated our Anciens on having abandoned the death
penalty, but that I should not vote for penal servitude;
that, in my opinion, the punishment exceeded the offence;
that, moreover, it was not in harmony with the dignity
of the Chamber or its precedents.

102 THINGS SEEN,

The sitting was resumed at half-past four.

When my turn came, I simply said, "Detention for
life/'

Several Peers gave the same vote. Thirteen in all
Fourteen voted the death penalty ; a hundred and thirty-
three penal servitude for life.

Several Peers said to me, " You ought to be satisfied ;
there is no death sentence. The judgment is a good
one." I replied, " It might have been better."

The procurator-general and the advocate-general were
brought in, in scarlet robes ; then the public rushed in
noisily. There were a number of men in blouses. Two
women who were among the crowd were turned out.
The names of the Peers were called ; then the chancellor
read the judgment amid profound silence.

P. S. September 12.

The punishment has not been commuted; the judg-
ment will be carried out.

Joseph Henri, who had been transferred from the
Luxembourg and from the Conciergerie to the prison of
La Roquette, started the day before yesterday for Toulon
in a prison-van with cells, accompanied by eight felons.
While the irons were being placed upon him he was
weak, and trembled convulsively; he excited the com-
passion of everybody. He could not believe that he was
really a convict. He muttered in an undertone "Oh
dear! if I had but known!"

VISIT TO THE CONCIERGERIE. 103

VISIT TO THE CONCIERGERIE.

IEEMEMBER that on Thursday, the 10th of Septem-
ber, 1846, St. Patient's day, I decided to go to the
Acaddmie. There was to be a public meeting for the
award of the Montyon prize, with a speech by M.
Viennet Arriving at the Institute, I ascended the
staircase rather irresolutely. In front of me ran up
boldly and cheerfully, with the nimbleness of a school-
boy, a member of the Institute in full dress, with his
coat buttoned up, tight-fitting, and nipped in at the
waist, a lean, spare man, with active step and youthful
figure. He turned round. It was Horace Vernet. He
had an immense moustache, and three crosses of different
orders suspended from his neck. In 1846 Horace Vernet
was certainly more than sixty years of age.

Arriving at the top of the staircase, he entered I
felt neither so young nor so bold as he, and I did not
enter.

In the street outside the Institute I met the Marquis
of B. " You have just come away from the Academic ? *
he asked. " No, " I replied ; " one cannot come away with-
out going in. And you, how is it you are in Paris ? "
" I have just come from Bourges. * The Marquis, a very
warm Legitimist, had been to see Don Carlos, son of
him who took the title of Charles V. Don Carlos, whom
the faithful called Prince of the Asturias, and after-
wards King of Spain, and who was known to European
diplomacy as the Count de Montemolin, looked with
some amount of annoyance upon the marriage of his
cousin, Dofta Isabella, with the Infante Don Francisco
d'Assiz, Duke of Cadiz, which had just been concluded
at this very moment. He plainly showed the Marquis

104 THINGS SEEN.

how surprised he felt, and even let him see a letter ad-
dressed by the Infa&te to him, the Count de Monte-
molin, in which this phrase occurred, word for word:
" I will abandon all thought of my cousin as long as you
remain between her and me. "

We shook hands, and M. de B. left me.

As I was returning by the Quai des Morfondus, I
passed by the lofty old towers of Saint-Louis, and I felt
an inclination to visit the prison of the Conciergerie at
the Palais de Justice. It is impossible to say how the
idea came into my head to go in and see how man had
contrived to render hideous in the inside what is so mag-
nificent on the outside. I turned to the right, however,
into the little courtyard, and rang at the grating of the
doorway. The door was opened ; I gave my name. I
had with me my peer's medal. A door-keeper was put
at my service to serve as a guide wherever I wished
to go.

The first impression which strikes one on entering a
prison is a feeling of darkness and oppression, dimin-
ished respiration and perception, something ineffably
nauseous and insipid intermingled with the funereal and
the lugubrious. A prison has its odour as it has its
chiaroscuro. Its air is not air, its daylight is not day-
light. Iron bars have some power, it would seem, over
those two free and heavenly things, air and light

The first room we came to was no other than the old
guard-room of Saint-Louis, an immense hall cut up into
a large number of compartments for the requirements
of the prison. Everywhere are elliptical-pointed arches
and pillars with capitals; the whole scraped, pared,
levelled, and marred by the hideous taste of the archi-
tects of the Empire and the Eestoration. I make this
remark once for all, the whole building having been
Served in the same fashion. In this warders' room

VISIT TO THE CONCIERGERIB. 105

could still be seen on the right-hand side the nook where
the pikes were stacked, marked out by a pointed mould-
ing at the angle of the two walls.

The outer office in which I stood was the spot where
the toilet of condemned criminals took place. The office
itself was on the left There was in this office a very
civil old fellow, buried in a heap of cardboard cases,
arid surrounded by nests of drawers, who rose as I en-
tered, took off his cap, lighted a candle, and said:

" You would like, no doubt, to see Eteloise and Ab-
lard, sir ? *

u By all means, * I said ; " there is nothing I should
like better. "

The old man took the candle, pushed on one side a
green case bearing this inscription, " Discharges for the
month, " and showed me in a dark corner behind a great
nest of drawers a pillar and capital, with a representa-
tion of a monk and a nun back to back, the nun holding
in her hand an enormous phallus. The whole was
painted yellotf, and was called H&oise and Ab41ard.

My good man continued :

" Now that you have seen H^loise and Ab^lard, you
would, no doubt, like to see the condemned cell ? "

" Certainly, " I said.

" Show the gentleman the way, " said the good man to
the turnkey.

Then he dived once more into his cases. This peace-
ful creature keeps the register of the sentences and terms
of imprisonment.

I returned to the outer office, where I admired as I
passed by a very large and handsome shell-work table
in the brightest and prettiest Louis XV. taste, with a
marble border, but dirty, unsightly, daubed with colour
which had once been white, and relegated to a dark
corner Then I passed through a gloomy room, encum-

106 THINGS SEEN.

bared with wooden bedsteads, ladders, broken panes of
glass, and old window-frames. In this room the turn-
key opened a door with a fearful noise of heavy keys
and drawn bolts, and said, " That is it, sir. "

I went into the condemned cell.

It was rather a large place, with a low, arched ceil-
ing, and paved with the old stone flooring of Saint-Louis,
square blocks of lias-stone alternating with slabs of
slate.

Some of the paving-stones were missing here and
there. A tolerably large semi-circular vent-hole, pro-
tected by its iron bars and projecting shaft, cast a pale
and wan sort of light inside. No furniture, save an old
cast-iron stove of the time of Louis XV., ornamented
with panels in relief, which it is impossible to distin-
guish owing to the rust, and in front of the skylight a
large arm-chair in oak, with an opening in the seat
The chair was of the period of Louis XIV. , and covered
with leather, which was partly torn away so as to ex-
pose the horse-hair. The stove was on the right of the
door. My guide informed me that when the cell was
occupied a folding bedstead was placed in it. A gen-
darme and a warder, relieved once every three hours,
watched the condemned man day and night, standing
the whole time, without a chair or bed, so that they
might not fall asleep.

We returned to the outer office, which led to two more
rooms, the reception room of the privileged prisoners,
who were able to receive their visitors without standing
behind a double row of iron bars, and the saloon of the
barristers, who are entitled to communicate freely and
in private with their clients. This " saloon, * for so it
was described in the inscription placed over the door,
was a long room, lighted by an opening in the wall, and
furnished with long wooden benches like the other one.

VISIT TO THE CONCIEBGERIE. 107

It appears that some young barristers had been guilty
of abusing the privilege of a legal tete-a-t&e. Female
thieves and poisoners are occasionally very good-looking*
The abuse was discovered, and the a saloon " was pro-
vided with a glazed doorway. In this way it was pos-
sible to see, although not to hear.

At this juncture the governor of the Conciergerie,
whdse name was Lebel, came up to us. He was a ven-
erable old man, with some shrewdness in his looks. He
wore a long frock-coat, and in his button-hole the ribbon
of the Legion of Honour. He begged to be excused for
not having ascertained before that I was in the place,
and asked me to allow him to accompany me in the
tour of inspection which I wished to make.

The outer office led through an iron barrier into a
long, wide, and spacious vaulted passage.

" What is that ? " I asked M. Lebel.

" That, * he said, " was formerly connected with the
kitchens of Saint-Louis. It was very useful to us dur-
ing the riots. I did not know what to do with my
prisoners. The Prefect of Police sent and asked me,
' Have you plenty of room just now ? How many
prisoners can you accommodate ? ' I replied, * I can
accommodate two hundred. ' They sent me three hun-
dred and fifty, and then said to me, ' How many more
can you accommodate ? ' I thought they were joking.
However, I made room by utilizing the Women's In-
firmary. ' You can, ' I said, ' send a hundred prisoners. '
They sent me three hundred. This rather annoyed me ;
but they said, ' How many can you still find room for ? '
* You can now send as many as you like. * Sir, they sent
me six hundred ! I placed them here ; they slept upon
the ground on trusses of straw. They were very excita-
ble. One of them, Lagrange, the Republican from
Lyons, said to me, ' Monsieur Lebel, if you will let me

108 THINGS SEEN.

see my sister, I promise you I will make all the men
keep quiet.' I allowed him to see his sister; he kept
his word, and the place, with all its six hundred devils,
became a little heaven. My Lyons men thus continued
well behaved and civil until the day when, the House
of Peers having begun to move in the matter, they were
brought in contact, during the official inquiry, with the
Paris rioters, who were of Sainte-Pdlagie. The letter
said to them, ' You must be mad to remain quiet like
that. Why, you should complain, you should shout,
you should be furious. ' My Lyons men now became
furious, thanks to the Parisians. They became perfect
Satans! Oh, what trouble I had! They said to me,
' Monsieur Lebel, it is not because of you, but of the
Government. We want to show our teeth to the (rov-
ernment ' And Eeverchon then undressed himself and
stood stark naked. *

" He called that showing his teeth, did he ? * I asked
M. Lebel.

In the mean time the turnkey had opened the great
railings at the far end of the corridor, then other rail-
ings and heavy doors, and I found myself in the heart
of the prison.

I could see through the railed arches the men's exer-
cise-yard. It was a tolerably large, oblong courtyard,
above which towered on every side the high walls of
Saint-Louis, nowadays plastered and disfigured. A num-
ber of men were walking up and down in groups of two
or three ; others were seated in the corners, upon the stone
benches which surround the yard. Nearly all wore the
prison dress, large waistcoats with linen trousers; two
or three, however, wore black coats. One of the latter
was clean and sedate-looking, and had a certain inde-
scribable air of a town-bred man. It was the wreck of
a gentleman.

VISIT TO THE CONCIERGERIB. 109

This yard had nothing repulsive-looking about it. It
is true that the sun was shining brightly, and that
everything looks smiling in the sun, even a prison.
There were two beds of flowers with trees, which were
small, but of a bright green, and between the two beds,
in the middle of the yard, an ornamental fountain with
a stone basin.

This yard was formerly the cloister of the Palace.
The Gothic architect surrounded the four sides with a
gallery ornamented with pointed arches. The modern
architects have covered these arches with masonry ; they
have placed steps and partitions in them and made two
stories. Each arcade made one cell on the ground-floor
and one on the first floor. These cells, clean and fitted
with timber floorings, had nothing very repulsive about
them. Nine feet long by six feet wide, a door opening
on to the corridor, a window overlooking the ground,
iron bolts, a large lock, and a railed opening in the
door, iron bars to the window, a chain, a bed in the
angle on the left of the door, 'covered with coarse linen
and coarse blanketing, but very carefully and neatly
made, that is what these cells were like. It was rec-
reation time. Nearly all the cells were open, the men
being in the yard. Two or three, however, remained
closed, and some of the prisoners young workmen,
shoemakers and hatters for the most part were work-
ing there, making a great noise with their hammers.
They were, I was told, hard-working and well-conducted
prisoners, who preferred to do some work rather than go
out for exercise.

The quarters of the privileged prisoners were above.
The cells were rather larger, and, as a result of the greater
liberty enjoyed here at a cost of sixteen centimes a day,
rather less clean. As a general rule, in a prison, the
greater the cleanliness the less liberty there is. These

110 THINGS SEEN.

wretched beings are so constituted that their cleanliness
is the token of their servitude. They were not alone in
their cells ; there were, in some cases, two or three to-
gether; there was one large room in which there were
six. An old man with a kindly and honest-looking
face was engaged in reading. He lifted up his eyes
from his book when I entered, and looked at me like a
country curd reading his breviary and seated upon the
grass with the sky above his head. I made inquiries,
but I could not discover of what this good-man l was
accused. Upon the whitewashed wall near the door
these four lines were written in pencil :

" Dans la gendarmerie,
Quand un gendarme rit,
Tous les gendarmes ricnt
Dans la gendarmerie." 2

Beneath them a parodist had added :

" Dans la Conciergerie,
Quand un concierge rit,
TOUB les concierges rient
Dans la Conciergerie."

M. Lebel called my attention in the yard to the spot
where a prisoner had made his escape a few years before.
The right angle formed by the two walls of the yard at
the northernmost end had sufficed for the accomplish-
ment of the man's purpose. He planted his back in
this angle, and drew himself up solely by the muscular
force of his shoulders, elbows, and heels, as far as the
roof, where he caught hold of a stove-pipe. Had this

1 Sic in the original. TR.

1 An untranslatable pan upon the words " nne gendarmerie," or a
station of the mounted police, and "an gendarme rit": in English, "a
policeman laughs." In the parody which follows, the jest is heightened,
of course, hy making all the " concierges " laugh in the Conciergerie, as
though it were a place full of " concierges/' or door-keepers. TR.

VISIT TO THE CONCIEBGEBIE. Ill

stove-pipe given way under his weight he would have
been a dead man. On reaching the roof he climbed
down again into the outer enclosure and fled. All this
in broad daylight He was captured again in the Palais
de Justice. His name was Bottemolle. a Such an es-
cape was deserving of better luck, " said M. Lebel. u I
was almost sorry to see him brought back. "

At the beginning of the men's yard there was, on the
left, a little office reserved for the chief warder, with a
table placed at a right angle before the window, a
leather-covered chair, and all kinds of cardboard cases
and papers upon the table. Behind this table and chair
was an oblong space of about eight feet by four. It was
the site of the cell formerly occupied by LouveL The
wall which divided it from the office had been demol-
ished. At a height of about seven feet the wall ended,
and was replaced by an iron grating reaching to the ceil-
ing. The cell was lighted only through this and through
the window in the door, the light coming from the corri-
dor of the office and not from the courtyard. Through
this grating and through the window of the door Louvel,
whose bed was in the corner at the far end, was watched
night and day. For all that, moreover, two turnkeys
were placed in the cell itself. When the wall was
pulled down the architect preserved the door a low-
lying door, armed with a great square lock and round
bolt and had it built into the outer wall It was
there I saw it.

I remember that in my early youth I saw Louvel cross
the Pont-au- Change on the day on which he was taken
to the Place de Gr&ve. It was, I think, in the month
of June. The sun shone brightly. Louvel was in a
cart, with his arms tied behind his back, a blue coat
thrown over his shoulders, and a round hat upon his
head. He was pale. I saw him in profile. His whole

112 THINGS SEEN.

countenance suggested a sort of earnest ferocity and vio-
lent determination. There was something harsh and
frigid in his appearance.

Before we left the men's quarters M. Lebel said,
M Here is a curious spot. " And he made me enter a
round, vaulted room, rather lofty, about fifteen feet in
diameter, without any window or opening in the wall,
and lighted only through the doorway. A circular
stone bench stretched all round the chamber.

" Do you know where you are now ? * asked M. Lebel.

"Yes/ I replied.

I recognized the famous chamber of torture. This
chamber occupies the ground-floor of the crenellated
tower, the smallest of the three round towers on the
quay.

In the centre was an ominous and singular-looking
object. It was a sort of long and narrow table of lias-
stone, joined with molten lead poured into the crevices,
very heavy, and supported on three stone legs. This
table was about two and a half feet high, eight feet long,
and twenty inches wide. On looking up I saw a great
rusty iron hook fastened in the round stone which forms
the key-stone of the arch.

This object is the rack. A leather covering used to
be put over it, upon which the victim was stretched.
Eavaillac remained for six weeks upon this table, with
his feet and hands tied, bound at the waist by a strap
attached to a long chain hanging from the ceiling. The
last ring of this chain was slipped on to the hook
which I still saw fixed above my head. Six gentlemen
guards and six guards of the provost's department
watched him night and day. Damiens was guarded like
Eavaillac in this chamber, and tied down upon this
table during the whole time occupied by the inquiry
and the trial of his case. Desrues, Cartouche, and

VISIT TO THE CONCIERGEBIK 113

Voisin were tortured upon it The Marchioness de
Brinvilliers was stretched upon it stark naked, fas-
tened down, and, so to speak, quartered by four chains
attached to the four limbs, and there suffered the fright-
ful a extraordinary torture by water, * which caused her
to ask, " How are you going to continue to put that
great barrel of water in this little body ? *

A whole dark history is there, having filtered, so to
speak, drop by drop, into the pores of these stones, these
walls, this vault, this bench, this table, this pavement,
this door. There it all is; it has never quitted the
place. It has been shut up there, it has been bolted
up. Nothing has escaped from it, nothing has evapo-
rated ; no one has ever spoken, related, betrayed, revealed
anything of it This crypt, which is like the mouth of
a funnel turned upside down, this case made by the
hands of man, this stone box, has kept the secret of all
the blood it has drunk, of all the shrieks it has stifled.
The frightful occurrences which have taken place in this
judge's den still palpitate and live, and exhale all sorts
of horrible miasms. What a strange abomination is
this chamber ! What a strange abomination this tower
placed in the very middle of the quay, without any moat
or wall to separate it from the passer-by ! Inside, the
saws, the boots, the wooden horses, the wheels, the pin-
cers, the hammers which knock in the wedges, the hiss-
ing of flesh touched with the red-hot iron, the spluttering
of blood upon the live embers, the cold interrogatories
of the magistrates, the despairing shrieks of the tortured
man; outside, within four paces, citizens coming and
going, women chattering, children playing, tradespeople
selling their wares, vehicles rolling along, boats upon
the river, the roar of the city, air, sky, sun, liberty!

It is a gloomy reflection that this tower without win-
dows has always seemed silent to the passer-by ; it made
VOL. xxiv. 8

114 THINGS SEEN.

no more noise then than it does now. What must be
the thickness of these walls for the sound of the street
not to have reached the tower, and for the sound of the
tower not to have reached the street!

I contemplated this table in particular with a curios-
ity filled with awe. Some of the prisoners had carved
their names upon it Towards the centre eight or ten
letters, beginning with an M 9 and forming a word which
was illegible, were rather deeply cut. At one end had
been written with a punch the name of " Merel. " (I
quote from memory, and may be mistaken, but I think
that is the name.)

The wall was hideous in its nakedness. It seemed
as though one felt its fearful and pitiless solidity. The
paving was the same kind of paving as in the condemned
cell, that is to say, the old black and white stones of
Saint-Louis in alternate squares. A large square brick
stove had taken the place of the old heating furnace for
the instruments of torture. This chamber is used in
winter time as a place of warmth for the prisoners.

We then proceeded to the women's building. After
being in the prison for an hour, I was already so accus-
tomed to the bolts and bars that I no longer noticed
them, any more than the air peculiar to prisons, which
suffocated me as I went in. It would be impossible,
therefore, for me to say what doors were opened to ena-
ble us to walk from the men's to the women's quarters.
I do not remember. I only recollect that an old woman,
with a nose like a bird of prey, appeared at a railing
and opened the gate to us, asking us if we wished to
look round the yard. We accepted the offer.

The women's exercise yard was much smaller and
much more gloomy than that of the men. There was
only one bed of shrubs and flowers, a very narrow one,
and I do not think there were any trees. Instead of the

VISIT TO THE CONCIERGEREB. 115

ornamental fountain there was a wash-house in the
corner. A female prisoner with hare arms was inside
washing her clothes. Eight or ten women were seated
in the yard in a group, talking, sewing, and working.
I raised my hat They rose and looked at me with
curiosity. They were for the most part apparently of
the lower middle class, and presented the appearance of
small shopkeepers about forty years of age. That ap-
peared to be the average age. There were, however,
two or three young girls.

By the side of the yard there was a little chamber into
which we entered. There were two young girls there,
one seated, the other standing. The one who was seated
appeared ill ; the other was tending her.

I asked, " What is the matter with that young girl ? "

" Oh, it is nothing, " said the other, a tall and rather
handsome dark girl with blue eyes ; she is subject to
it. She is not very well. She was often taken like it at
Saint-Lazare. We were there together. I look after her. "

" What is she charged with ? " I continued.

" She is a servant. She stole six pairs of stockings
of her employers. "

Just then the invalid turned pale and fainted. She
was a poor girl of sixteen or seventeen years of age.

" Give her some air, " I said.

The big girl took her in her arms like a child, and
carried her into the yard. M. Lebel sent for some
ammonia.

" She took six pairs of stockings, " he said ; * but it is
her third offence. "

We returned to the yard. The girl lay upon the
stones. The women crowded round her, and gave her
the ammonia to smell. The old female warder took off
her garters, while the big dark girl unlaced her clothing.
As she undid her stays she said,

116 THINGS SEEN.

* This comes over her every time she puts on stays.
I will give you stays, you little fool ! *

In those^ words, little fool, there was somehow or other
a tone which was tender and sympathizing.

We left the place.

One of the peculiarities of the Conciergerie is that all
the cells occupied by regicides since 1830 are in the
women's quarters.

I entered, first of all, the cell which had been occu-
pied by Lecomte, and which had just been tenanted by
Joseph Henri. It was a tolerably large chamber, al-
most vast, well lighted, and having nothing of the cell
about it but the stone floor, the door armed with the
biggest lock in the Conciergerie, and the window, a
large railed opening opposite the door. This chamber
was furnished as follows : in the corner near the win-
dow a boat-shaped mahogany bedstead, four and a half
feet wide, in the most imposing style of the Eestoration ;
on the other side of the window a mahogany writing-
table ; near the bed a mahogany chest of drawers, with
lacquered rings and handles ; upon the chest of drawers
a looking-glass, and in front of the looking-glass a ma-
hogany clock in the form of a lyre, the face gilded and
chased ; a square carpet mat at the foot of the bed ; four
mahogany chairs covered with Utrecht velvet ; between
the bed and the writing-table a china stove. This fur-
niture, with the exception of the stove, which would
shock the taste of common-place people, is the very
ideal of a rich shopkeeper. Joseph Henri was dazzled
by it. I asked what had become of this poor madman.
After having been transferred from the Conciergerie to
the prison of La Roquette, he had set out that very
morning, in the company of eight felons, for the convict
prison of Toulon.
The window of this cell looked out on the women's

VISIT TO THE CONCIERGEEIE. H7

exercise yard. It was ornamented with a rnsty old
projecting shaft, full of holes. Through these holes
could be seen what was going on in the yard, an amuse-
ment for the prisoner not altogether without drawbacks
for the women, who thought themselves alone and se-
cluded from observation in the yard.

Near by was the cell formerly occupied by Fieschi
and Alibaud. Ouvrard, who was the first to occupy it,
had a marble chimney-piece placed in it (Saint-Anne
marble, black with white veins), and a large wooden
partition forming a recess and dressing-room. The fur-
niture was of mahogany, and very similar to that of the
apartment of Joseph Henri. After Fieschi and Alibaud,
this cell had had for its occupants the Abb de Lamen-
nais and the Marchioness de Larochejacquelein ; then
Prince Louis Napoleon ; and, finally, that a stupid
Prince de Berghes, n as M. Lebel put it

Opposite these two cells was the entrance to the
Women's Infirmary, a long and broad chamber, too low-
lying for its size. There were a score of beds there,
with no one in the beds. I expressed surprise at this.

a I hardly ever have any invalids, " said M. LebeL
" In the first place, the prisoners only stay here a short
time. They come to await their trial, and go away
immediately afterwards; if acquitted, at liberty; if
convicted, to their destination. As long as they are
here, the anticipation of their trial keeps them in a
state of excitement which leaves room for nothing else.
Yes, they have no time to get ill in ; they have another
sort of feverishness than fever. At the period of the
cholera, which was also the great period of riots, I had
seven hundred prisoners here. They were everywhere,
in the doorways, in the offices, in the waiting-rooms,
in the yards, on the beds, on straw, on the paving-
stones. I said, ' Good heavens ! It is to be hoped the

118 THINGS SEEN..

cholera will not come in addition to all this. ' Sir, I
did not have a single man invalided. "

There is certainly a moral in these facts. They show
that strong mental excitement is a preservative against
all ailments. In times of pestilence, while sanitary and
hygienic measures should not be neglected, the people
should be entertained by grand fetes, grand perform-
ances, noble impressions. If no one troubled about the
epidemic it would disappear.

" When they had, in the cells on the opposite side, a
prisoner guilty of an attempt on the person of the king,
the Women's Infirmary was converted into a guard-
room. Here were installed fifteen or twenty warders,
kept secluded from the outer world, like the prisoner
himself, seeing no one, not even their wives, and this
for the whole time of the preliminaries of the trial,
sometimes six weeks, at others two months. That is
what is done, " added M. Lebel, from whom I had these
details, " when I have regicides. "

This phrase fell from him in the most natural manner
possible ; to him it was a sort of habit to Imvc regicides.

u You spoke, * I said, " in a contemptuous manner of
the Prince de Berghes. What do you think of him ? "

He wiped his eye-glasses on his sleeve, and replied :

a Oh, as for that, I do not think anything about him ;
he was a wretched, great simpleton, well-bred, with ex-
cellent manners, and a gentle expression, but a fool.
When he arrived here I put him at first in this chamber,
in this infirmary, which is of a good size, so that he
might have space and air. He sent for me. ' Is my
case a serious one, sir, ' he asked. I stammered a few
hesitating words. ' Do you think, ' he added, ' that I
shall be able to get away this evening ? ' ' Oh, no, '
I said. ' Well, to-morrow, then ? ' ' Nor to-morrow, '
I replied. "What! do you really think they will

VISIT TO THE CONCIERGEREB. 119

keep me here for a week ? ' ' Perhaps longer. ' * More
than a week ! More than a week ! My case really is a
serious one, then ? Do you think my case is serious ? '
He walked about in every direction, continuing to re-
peat this question, to which I never replied. His fam-
ily, however, did not abandon him. The duchess his
mother, and the princess his wife, came to see him every
day. The princess, a very pretty little woman, asked if
she might share his prison cell I gave her to under-
stand that this was impossible. As a matter of fact,
what was his offence ? Forgery, certainly ; but without
any motive. It was an act of stupidity, nothing more.
The jury found him guilty because he was a prince. If
he had been some rich tradesman's son, he would have
been acquitted. After he was sentenced to three years'
imprisonment, he was left here for some time with me,
and then he was transferred to a sanitarium, of which a
whole wing was secured for his exclusive use. He has
been there nearly a year now, and he will be left there
for six months longer; then he will be pardoned. So
that his being a prince damaged him at his trial, but it
benefits him in his imprisonment. "

As we crossed the passage my guide stopped me and
called my attention to a low door about four and a half
feet in height, armed with an enormous square lock and
a great bolt, very similar to the door of Louvel's cell
It was the door of the cell of Marie- Antoinette, the only
thing which had been preserved just as it was, Louis
XVIII. having converted her cell into a chapeL It was
through this door that the queen went forth to the
Revolutionary Court; it was through it also that she
went to the scaffold. The door no longer turned on its
hinges. Since 1814 it had been fixed in the wall

I have said that it had been preserved just as it was,
but I was mistaken. It was daubed over with a fearful

120 THINGS SEEN.

nankeen-coloured picture ; but this is of no consequence.
What sanguinary souvenir is there which has not been
painted either a yellow or a rose-colour ?

A moment afterwards I was in the chapel, which
had formerly been a cell. If one could have seen there
the bare stone floor, the bare walls, the iron bars at the
opening, the folding-bedstead of the queen, and the
camp-bedstead of the gendarme, together with the his-
toric screen which separated them, it would have created
a profound feeling of emotion and an unutterable im-
pression. There were to be seen a little wooden altar,
which would have been a disgrace to a village church, a
coloured wall (yellow of course), small stained-glass
windows, as in a Turkish cafe, a raised wooden plat-
form, and upon the wall two or three abominable paint-
ings, in which the bad style of the Empire had a tussle
with the bad taste of the Restoration. The entrance to
the cell had been replaced by an archivault cut in the
wall. The vaulted passage by which the queen pro-
ceeded to the Court had been walled up. There is a
respectful vandalism that is even more revolting than a
vindictive vandalism, because of its stupidity.

Nothing was to be seen there of what came under the
eye of the queen, unless it was a small portion of the
paved flooring, which the boards, fortunately, did not
entirely cover. This floor was an old-fashioned, chev-
roned pavement of bricks, laid on horizontally, with the
narrow side uppermost.

A straw chair, placed upon the platform, marked the
spot where the bed of the queen had rested.

On coming away from this venerable spot, profaned
by a foolish piety, I went into a large apartment at the
side, which had been the place of incarceration for the
priests during the Terror, and which had been converted
into the chapel of the Conciergerie. It was very mean*

VISIT TO THE CONCIBBGERIB. 121

looking, and very ugly, like the chapel-cell of the
queen. The Kevolutionary Court held its sittings
above this apartment

While walking about in the depths of the old build-
ing, I perceived here and there, through openings in the
walls, immense cellars, mysterious and deserted cham-
bers, with portcullises opening on to the river, fearful
dungeons, dark passages. In these crypts spiders' webs
abounded, as well as mossy stones, sickly gleams of
light, vague, and distorted forms. I asked M. Lebel,
* What is this place ? " He replied, * This is no longer
used. " What had it been used for ?

We had to go back through the men's yard. As we
passed through it M. Lebel pointed out to me a staircase
near the latrines. It was here that a murderer named
Savoye, who had been condemned to the galleys, had
hanged himself, not many days previously, to the rail-
ings of the baluster. " The jury have made a mistake, "
said this man ; " I ought to have been condemned to
death. I will settle the matter. " He settled it by hang-
ing himself. He was put under the special supervision
of a prisoner who had been raised to the functions of
a warder and whom M. Lebel dismissed.

While the governor of the Conciergerie furnished me
with these details a decently dressed prisoner came up
to us. He seemed to wish to be spoken to. I asked
him several questions. He was a young fellow who had
been a working embroiderer and lace-maker, afterwards
the assistant to the Paris executioner, what was for-
merly called the fl headsman's valet," and finally, he
said, a groom in the king's stables.

* Pray, sir, ask the governor not to have me put in
the prison-dress, and to leave me my fainSant. * This
word, which has to be pronounced faignant, means
a cloth coat in the latest slang. He had, in fact,

122 THINGS SEEN.

a tolerably good cloth coat. I obtained permission for
him to keep it, and I got him into conversation.

He spoke very highly of M. Sanson, the executioner,
his former master. M. Sanson lived in the Rue du
Marais-du-Temple, in an isolated house, of which the
jalousies were always closed. He received many visits.
Numbers of English people went to see him. When
visitors presented themselves at M. Sanson 's they were
introduced into an elegant reception-room on the ground-
floor, furnished entirely with mahogany, in the midst of
which there was an excellent piano, always open, and
provided with pieces of music. Shortly afterwards M.
Sanson arrived, and asked his visitors to be seated. The
conversation turned upon one topic and another. Gen-
erally the English people asked to see the guillotine.
M. Sanson complied with this request, no doubt for some
consideration, and conducted the ladies and gentlemen
to the adjoining street (the Eue Albouy, I think), to the
house of the scaffold-manufacturer. There was a shed
at this place, where the guillotine was permanently
erected. The strangers grouped themselves around it, and
it was made to work. Trusses of hay were guillotined.

One day an English family, consisting of the father,
the mother, and three pretty daughters, fair and with
rosy cheeks, presented themselves at Sanson 's residence.
It was in order to see the guillotine. Sanson took them
to the carpenter's and set the instrument at work. The
knife fell and rose again several times at the request of
the young ladies. One of them, however, the young-
est, was not satisfied with this. She made the execu-
tioner explain to her, in the minutest details, what is
called the toilet of the condemned. Still she was not
satisfied. At length she turned hesitatingly towards
the executioner.

* Monsieur Sanson, " she said.

VISIT TO THE CONCIERGEEIB. 123

* Mademoiselle, " said the executioner.

" What is done when the man is on the scaffold ? How
is he tied down ? "

The executioner explained the dreadful matter to her,
and said, " We call that ' putting him in the oven. ' "

" Well, Monsieur Sanson, " said the young lady, " I
want you to put me in the oven."

The executioner started. He gave an exclamation of
surprise. The young lady insisted. " I fancy, * she
said, " that I should like to be able to say I have been
tied down in it. "

Sanson spoke to the father and mother. They replied,
" As she has taken a fancy to have it done, do it *

The executioner had to give in. He made the young
Miss sit down, tied her legs with a piece of string, and
her arms behind her back with a rope, fastened her to
the swinging plank, and strapped her on with the
leather strap. Here he wanted to stop. * No, no, that
is not yet all, " she said. Sanson then swung the plank
down, placed the head of the young lady in the dread-
ful neck-piece, and closed it upon her neck. Then she
declared she was satisfied.

When he afterwards told the story, Sanson said, * I
quite thought she was going to say at last, ' That is not
all ; make the knife fall. ' n

Nearly all the English visitors ask to see the knife
which cut off the head of Louis XVI. This knife was
sold for old iron, in the same way as all the other guil-
lotine knives when they are worn out English people
will not believe it and offer to buy it of M. Sanson. If
he had cared to trade in them, there would have been as
many knives of Louis XVL sold as walking-sticks of
Voltaire.

From his anecdotes of Sanson the fellow, who said he
had formerly been a groom at the Tuileries, wanted to

124 THINGS SEEK.

proceed to anecdotes of the king. He had heard the
conferences of the king with the ambassadors, etc.
I did not trouble him. I thought of his being a Gas-
con, 1 and an embroiderer, and his political revela-
tions appeared to be only fancy articles of a superior
description.

Up to 1826 the Conciergerie had no other entrance
than a grating opening into the courtyard of the Palais
de Justice. It was through this that criminals con-
demned to death came out. In 1826 was made the door-
way which is to be seen upon the quay between the two
great round towers These two towers had, upon the
ground-floor, like the tower of the torture-chamber, a room
without a window. The two grotesque Gothic arches,
without any voussoir or equilateral triangle for a base,
which are still admired here to this day, and which are
masterpieces of ignorance, were opened in these splendid
walls by a sort of stone-mason named Peyre, who held
the office of architect to the Palais de Justice, and who
mutilated, dishonoured, and disfigured the building as
may be seen. These two rooms, thus lighted, make two
fine circular apartments. Their walls are ornamented
with inlaid Gothic arches of admirable purity, resting
upon exquisite brackets. These charming triumphs of
architecture and sculpture were never intended to see
the light of day, and were made, strange to say, for hor-
ror and darkness.

The first of the two rooms the nearest to the men's
yard had been converted into a dormitory for the war-
ders. There were in it a dozen beds, arranged like the
rays of a star, round a stove placed in the centre. Above
each bed a plank, fixed in the wall through the delicate
mullions of the architecture, held the personal belong-

1 The people of Gaacony are proverbially supposed to be hatchet-
throwers, ~ 7ft.

VISIT TO THE CONCIEBGEEIB. 125

ings of the warders, generally represented by a brush,
a trunk, and an old pair of boots. Over one of the beds,
however, beside the pair of boots, which was not want-
ing in any single instance, was a little heap of books.
I noticed this; it was explained to me. It was the
library of a warder named Peiset, to whom Lacenaire
had imparted literary tastes. This man, seeing Lace-
naire constantly reading and writing, first admired and
then consulted him. He was not without intelligence ;
Lacenaire advised him to study. Some of the books
which were there were those of Lacenaire. Lacenaire
gave them to him. Peiset had bought a few other old
books upon the quays ; he took the advice of Lacenaire,
who said, " Read this, " or " Do not read that. " By de-
grees the jailer became a thinker, and it was thus that
an intelligence had been awakened and had expanded in
this repulsive atmosphere.

The other room could only be entered by a door which
bore this inscription : u Entrance reserved for the Gover-
nor. " M. Lebel opened it for me very politely, and we
found ourselves in his sitting-room. This apartment
was, in fact, transformed into the governor's sitting-
room. It was almost identical with the other, but
differently furnished. This sitting-room was made up
in extraordinary fashion. The architecture of Saint-
Louis, a chandelier which had belonged to Ouvrard,
hideous wall-paper in the Gothic arches, a mahogany
writing-desk, some articles of furniture with unbleached
calico coverings, an old legal portrait without any case
or frame and nailed askew upon the wall, some en-
gravings, some heaps of paper, a table looking like a
counter ; altogether, the room, thus furnished, had the
characteristics of a palace, a prison-cell, and a shop-
parlour. It was patibulary, magnificent, ugly, ridi-
culous, sinister, royal, and vulgar.

It was into this apartment that the visitors of the

126 THINGS SEEN.

privileged prisoners were shown. At the time of his
detention, of which many traces remained at the Con-
ciergerie, M. Ouvrard used to see his friends here. The
Prince de Berghes used to see his wife and mother here.
" What does it matter to me if they do receive their
visitors here ? * said M. LebeL " They think them-
selves in a drawing-room, and they are none the less in
a prison. * The worthy man looked profoundly con-
vinced that the Duchess and Princess de Berghes must
have thought they were in a drawing-room.

It was there also that the chancellor, Duke Pasquier,
was in the habit of preparing the preliminaries of the
official inquiries confided to him in respect of the prose-
cutions before the House of Peers.

The governor's room communicated with this apart-
ment It was very mean and ugly looking. The spe-
cies of den which served as his bedroom was solely
dependent upon the doors for light and air, that is to
say, so far as I could see, for I passed rapidly through.
It was clean, although of a rather mouldy-smelling
cleanliness, and had all sorts of frames in the corners,
and old-fashioned knick-knacks, and all those minutiae
which one sees in the rooms of elderly people. The
dining-room was larger, and had windows. Two or
three good-looking young ladies were seated there upon
straw-bottomed chairs, and were at work under the eye
of a lady of about fifty years of age. They rose with a
modest and pleasant look as I passed, and their father,
M. Lebel, kissed them on the forehead. Nothing
stranger could be imagined than this Anglican Presby-
terian's home, surrounded by the infamous interior of a
prison, and walled round as it were and preserved in all
its purity amid every vice, every crime, every disgrace,
and every shame.

" But, " I said to M. Lebel, " What has become of
the hall of the chimney-pieces ? Where is it ? *

VISIT TO THE CONCIERGERIE. 127

He appeared to turn it over in his mind like a person
who fails to understand.

" The hall of the chimney-pieces ? Did you say the
hall of thfe chimney-pieces ? n

" Yes, " I rejoined, " a great hall which was under the
salle des pas perdus, l and where there were in the four
corners four enormous chimney-pieces, constructed in
the thirteenth century. Why, 1 remember distinctly
having come to see it some twenty years ago, in com-
pany with Rossini, Meyerbeer, and David d' Angers. w

" Ah ! * said M. Lebel, " I know what you mean.
That is what we call the Kitchens of Saint-Louis. *

" Well, the Kitchens of Saint-Louis then, if that is
what you 'call them. But what has become of this hall ?
Besides the four chimney-pieces, it had some handsome
pillars which supported the roof. I have not seen it
even now. Has your architect, M. Peyre, hidden it
away ? "

" Oh, no. Only he has made some alterations in it for
us."

These words, quietly uttered, made me shudder. The
hall of the chimney-pieces was one of the most remarka-
ble monuments of the Royal and domestic architecture
of the Middle Ages. What might not a creature like
the architect Peyre have done with it? M. Lebel
continued :

* We scarcely knew where to put our prisoners during
the time when they have to undergo their preliminary
examination. M. Peyre took the Kitchens of Saint-
Louis and made a magnificent sourici&re* with three
compartments, one for men, one for women, and one
for the juveniles. He contrived this in the best manner

1 The outer hall of a French Court of Justice, to which the public are
admitted. TK.

a A room in which prisoners are temporarily detained. TB.

128 THINGS SEEN.

possible, and he did not destroy the old hall to any
great extent, I assure you. "

* Will you take me to it ? * I said to M. Lebel.
u By all means. "

We passed through long, wide, low, and narrow cor-
ridors and passages. Here and there we came across a
staircase crowded with gendarmes, and we saw pass,
amid a hubbub of policemen and warders, some poor
wretch whom the ushers handed to each other, at the
same time saying to each other in a loud tone of voice
the word Disponibk. l

" What does that word convey ? " I said to my guide.

" It means that he has a man whom the examining
magistrate has done with, and who is at the disposal of
the gendarme. "

" To set him at liberty ? *

" No, to take him back to prison. "

At length the last door opened.

* Here you are, " said the governor, " in the room you
are looking for.

I look round.

I was in darkness.

I had a wall in front of my eyes.

My eyeballs, however, gradually became accustomed
to the darkness, and after a few moments I distinguished
on my right, in a recess, a lofty and magnificent chim-
ney-piece in the shape of an inverted funnel, built of
stone, and resting, by means of an open buttress of the
most exquisite style, against a pillar which stood in
face of it.

"Ah," I said, "here is one of the chimney-pieces.
But where are the others ? "

" This is the only one, " replied M. Lebel, a which
remains intact Of the three others, two are completely
1 Available, or ready to be disposed of. -- TB.

VISIT TO THE CONCIBBGBEIE. 129

destroyed, and the third is mutilated ; it was necessary
for a souricibre. It is because we had to fill up the in-
tervals between the pillars with stone-work. We had
to put up partitions. The architect preserved this
chimney-piece as a specimen of the architectural style
of the period."

a And, " I added, " of the folly of the architects of our
time ! * Thus there was no hall, but a number of com-
partments; and out of four chimney-pieces three were
destroyed. This was effected under Charles X. This
is what the sons of Saint-Louis made of the souvenirs
of Saint-Louis.

" It is true, * continued M. Lebel, u that this sourici&re
might very well have been placed elsewhere. But then,
you know, they did not think of that, and they had this
hall available. However, they arranged it very well.
It is divided by stone walls in longitudinal compart-
ments, lighted each by one of the windows of the old
hall. The first is that of the juveniles. Should you
like to go in?"

A turnkey opened a heavy door with a peep-hole bored
through it, by means of which the interior of the
sourictire could be watched, and we went in.

The juveniles' sourici&re was an oblong room, a paral-
lelogram, provided with two stone benches on the two
principal sides. There were three boys there. The
eldest was rather a big boy. He appeared to be about
seventeen years of age, and was clad in frightful old
yellowish clothes.

I spoke to the youngest, who had a rather intelligent,
although an enervated and degraded, face.

" What is your age, boy ? "

" I am twelve, sir. "

* What have you done to be in here ? *

" I took some peaches. *

TOL. XXIV. 9

130 THINGS SEEN.

* Where?"

* In a garden at MontreuiL *
" By yourself ? "

" No, with my friend. *

* Where is your friend ? "

He pointed out the other one, who was clad like him-
self in the prison material, and was a little bigger than
himself, and said, " There he is. "

" You got over a wall, then ? "

u No, sir. The peaches were on the ground in the
road. "

u You only stooped down ? "

" Yes, sir. "

" And picked them up ? "

* Yes, sir. *

At this point M. Lebel leaned towards me, and said,
" He has already been taught his lesson. "

It was evident, in fact, that the child was telling a
lie. There was neither decision nor candour in his
look. He cast his eyes down obliquely as he looked at
me, as a sharper examines his victim, and moreover
with that delighted expression of a child who makes a
man his dupe.

a You are not telling the truth, my lad, " I resumed.

" Yes I am, sir. *

This " Yes I am, sir, * was said with that kind of
impudence in which one feels that everything is want-
ing, even assurance. He added boldly, u And for that
I have been sentenced to three years' imprisonment
But, je'n rappelle. " l

u Have not your relatives come to claim you ? "

" No, sir. *

* And your friend, was he sentenced ?"

i For " fen rappelle," meaning that he hat appealed against the en-
tence. TK.

VISIT TO THE CONCIERGERIE. 131

* No, his relatives claimed him. "

" He is a better boy than you, then ? "

The boy hung down his head.

M. Lebel said to me, " He has been sentenced to be
detained for three years in a House of Correction, to be
brought up there, acquitted, that is to say, for not
having acted ' with discretion. ' The misfortune and
the grief of all the little vagabonds is to be under six-
teen years of age. They have a thousand ways of trying
to persuade the authorities that they are sixteen years of
age, and guilty with discretion. In fact, when they are
sixteen years and one day old they are punished with a
few months 1 imprisonment for their pranks. If they
are a day less than sixteen years old, they have three
years' detention at La Eoquette. "

I gave a small sum of money to these poor little
wretches, who perhaps were only wanting in education.

All things considered, society is more guilty towards
them than they are guilty towards society. We may
ask them, What have you done with our peaches ? Very
well. But they might reply, what have you done with
our intelligence ?

" Thank you, sir, " said the youngster, putting the
money in his pocket

* I would have given you twice as much, " I told him,
" if you had not told a lie. *

* Sir, " said the boy, a I have been sentenced, but
je'n rappelle. "

" It was bad to take peaches, but it was worse to tell
a lie."
The child did not appear to understand.

* Je'n rappelle, * he said.

We quitted the cell, and as the door was closed, the
boy followed us with a look, while still repeating,
" Je'n rappelle. " The two others did not breathe a word.

132 THINGS SEEN.

The jailer bolted the door while muttering, " Keep quiet
my little rats. * l This word reminded us that we were
in a " souricibre. " 2

The second compartment was set apart for men, and
was exactly similar to the first I did not go in, but
contented myself with looking through the peep-hole.
It was full of prisoners, among whom the turnkey
pointed out to me a youth with a prepossessing counte-
nance, tolerably dressed, and wearing a thoughtful air.
This was an individual named Pichery, the ringleader
of a gang of thieves who were to be put on their trial in
a few days' time.

The third slice cut out of the Kitchens of Saint-Louis
was the women's jail. It was thrown open to us. I
saw only seven or eight inmates, all more than forty
years of age, with the exception of a youngish woman
who still retained some remains of good looks. This
poor creature hid herself behind the others. I under-
stood this bashfulness, and I neither asked nor per-
mitted any question. All kinds of little articles of
women's luggage baskets, flat baskets, work-bags,
pieces of knitting just begun encumbered the stone
benches. There were also great pieces of brown bread.
I took up a piece of this bread. It was of the colour of
road scrapings, smelled very nasty, and stuck to the
fingers like birdlime.

" What is that? " I said to M. Lebel.

" It is the prison bread. *

'' Why, it is detestable ! "

* Do you think so ? "

a Look at it yourself. *

" It is a contractor who supplies it "

" And who makes his fortune, does he not ? *

Equivalent to " my little dears." Tu.

* In allusion to its other aiguificatiou of a mouse-trap. Tm.

VISIT TO THE CONCIEKGERIE. 133

" M. Chayet, Secretary at the Prefecture, has to ex-
amine the bread; he considers it very good, so good
that ho does not have any other on his own table. "

" M. Chayet, " I said, " is wrong to judge the bread
eaten by the prisoners by the bread he receives himself.
If the speculator does send him every day a delicacy,
that does not prove that he does not send filth to the
prisoners. "

" You are right ; I will speak about it. "

I learned afterwards that the quality of the bread had
been looked into, and that an improvement had been
effected.

On the whole, there was nothing remarkable in this
cell, unless it was that the walls were covered all over
with inscriptions in black marks. Here are the three
which stood out prominently in larger letters than the
others : " Corset. * a Je suis codan^e & six mois pour
vacabonage. n a Amour pour la vie. " l

The three doors of the compartments opened on the
same passage, a long dark corridor, at the two extremi-
ties of which, like two stone tiaras, were the rounded
forms of the two chimney-pieces which had been pre-
served, and of which, as I had already said, there was
only one which was perfect. The second had lost its
principal ornament, its buttress. Of the others all
that remained visible was the sites on which they had
stood in the corners of the juvenile compartment and
the women's compartment

It was upon the easternmost of these two latter chim-
ney-pieces that the curious figure of the demon Mahidis
was carved. The demon Mahidis was a Persian demon

1 The first appears to be the name of a prisoner ; the second is an illit-
erate inscription by some woman, to the effect that she has been sentenced
to six months' imprisonment as a vagabond ; the third expresses undying
affection for some person unknown. TB.

134 THINGS SEEN.

which Saint-Louis brought back from the Crusades. It
was to be seen upon the chimney-piece with its five
heads, for he had five heads; and each of these five
heads had composed one of those songs which are called
ragas in India, and which are the oldest music known.
These ragas are still celebrated and dreaded throughout
Hindustan on account of their magic powers. There is
no juggler who is bold enough to sing them. One of
these ragas sung at nuddar makes the night fall in-
stantly, and to conjure up from the ground an immense
circle of darkness, which spreads as far as the voice of
the singer will carry. Another is called the Ihupuck
raga. Whoever sings it perishes by fire. A tradition
relates how the Emperor Akbar one day was smitten
with a desire to hear this raga sung. He sent for a
famous musician named Naik-Gopaul, and said to him :
" Sing me the Ihupuck raga. * Thereupon the poor
tenor, trembling from head to foot, falls upon the em-
peror's knees. The emperor had his whim, and was
inflexible. The only concession the tenor could obtain
was to be allowed to go and see his family for the last
time. He sets out, returns to the town in which he
lives, makes his will, embraces his old father and
mother, says adieu to all that he loves in the world,
and returns to the Emperor. Six months elapsed.
Eastern kings have melancholy and tenacious whims.
" Ah, there you are, musician, " said Shah Akbar, in a
sad but friendly tone. " Welcome ! You are going to
sing me the Ihupuck raga. " Naik-Gopaul trembles,
and implores once more. But the emperor is inexora-
ble. It was winter-time. The Jumna was frozen over ;
people were skating upon it Naik-Gopaul has the ice
broken, and gets into the water up to his neck. He
begins to sing. At the second verse the water became
warm, at the second stanza the ice melted, at the third

VISIT TO THE CONCIERGEBIE. 135

stanza the river began to boil Naik-Gopaul was cook-
ing ; he was covered with blisters. Instead of singing,
he cried, u Mercy, Sire ! "

" Go on, " said Akbar, who was no mean lover of music.

The poor wretch went on singing ; his face was crim-
son, his eyes started out of his head, but he continued
to sing, the emperor listening meanwhile with ecstasy.
At length a few sparks shot out of the hair of the tenor,
which stood on end.

" Mercy ! " he cried, for the last time.

" Sing ! " said the emperor.

He began the last stanza amid shrieks. Suddenly the
flames burst forth from his mouth, then from his entire
body, and the fire consumed him in the midst of the
water. That is one of the habitual effects of the music
of this demon Mahidis, who was represented upon the
demolished chimney-piece. He had a wife named Par-
butta, who is the author of what the Hindoos call the
sixth raga. Thirty raginis, a music of a feminine and
inferior character, were dictated by Boimba. It was to
these three devils, or gods, that was due the invention
of the gamut, composed of twenty-one notes, which
forms the basis of the music of India.

As we withdrew three gentlemen in black coats, con-
ducted by a turnkey, passed near us ; they were visitors.
" Three new members of the Chamber of Deputies, *
M. Lebel informed me in a whisper. They had whis-
kers and high cravats, and spoke like Provincial acade-
micians. They were lavish in expressions of admiration ;
they were in ecstasies, more particularly at the work
which had been done in the way of embellishing the
prison and making it suitable to the requirements of the
police authorities. One of them maintained that Paris
was being prodigiously embellished, thanks to the archi-
tects of taste who were modernizing (sic) the ancient luild-

136 THINGS SEEN.

ings; and he asserted that the Acad&nie Franchise
ought to make these Paris embellishments the subject
of a prize competition in poetry. This set me thinking
that M. Peyre has done for the Palais de Justice what
M. Godde has done for Saint-Germain des Prds, and
M. Debret for Saint-Denis; and while M. Lebel was
giving some instructions to the warders, I wrote with a
pencil upon a pillar of the hall of the chimney-pieces
these verses, which might be sent in for the competition
if ever the Academic should set up the competition de-
sire by these gentlemen, and which, I hope, would
secure the prize:

" Un sizain vaut une longne ode

Pour chanter Debret, Peyre, et Godde ;
L'oison gloussant, I'ane qui brait,
Fetent Godde, Peyre, et Debret ;
Et le dindon, digne compere,
Admire Debret, Godde, et Peyre." *

As M. Lebel turned round, I had finished. He con-
ducted me to the outer door again, mid I issued forth.
As I went away, some one of a group of men in
blouses behind me, who appeared to be waiting on
the quay, said, " There is one of them who has been
discharged. He is a lucky fellow. "

It appears that I looked like a thief. However, I had
spent two hours at the Conciergerie, the sitting of the
Academic must still be going on, and I reflected, with
much inward satisfaction, that if I had gone to it I
should not have been " discharged " thus early.

1 This might be rendered,

Six lines are worth a lengthy ode
To sing of Debret, Peyre, and Godde;
The gosling's hiss, the donkey's bray,
Acclaim them all, Godde, Peyre, Debret;
The rurVey, too, a worthy mate,
Host worship this triumvirate. Tit.

COUNT MORTIER. 137

COUNT MORTIER.

November 11.
A/ESTERDAY Chancellor Pasquier comes to the house

I of Mine, de Boignes, and finds her in great agita-
tion, holding a letter in her hand. " What is the matter,
madame ? " " This letter which I have received. Read
it." The chancellor took the letter; it was signed
"Mortier," and said, in effect, "Madame, when you read
this letter my two children and myself will no longer be
alive."

It was Count Mortier, a Peer of France, and formerly
an ambassador, but where I cannot remember, who
wrote. M. Pasquier was much concerned. M. Mortier
was known as a confirmed hypochondriac. Four years
ago, at Bruges, he ran after his wife with a razor in his
hand, with the intention of killing her. A month ago
he made a similar attempt, which led to a separation, by
the terms of which M. Mortier retained the custody of
the children, a little boy of seven years of age and a little
girl of five. His hypochondria was caused, it appears,
by jealousy, and developed into uncontrollable passion.

The chancellor sends for his carriage, and does not
take a chair. " Where does M. Mortier live ? " " In the
Rue Neuve Saint- Augustin, in the Hdtel Chatham," said
Mme. de Boignes.

M. Pasquier arrives at the Hotel Chatham; he finds
the staircase crowded, a commissary of police, a lock-
smith with his bunch of keys, the door barricaded. The
alarm had been given. They were going to break open
the door.

" I forbid you," said the chancellor. " You would
exasperate him, and if the mischief were not yet done
he would do it"

138 THINGS SEEN.

For some time, however, M. Mortier had not an-
swered. There was nothing but a profound silence be-
hind the door, a terrible silence, for it seemed that if
the children were still living they should be crying.
" It seemed," said the chancellor, when he told me this
to-day, " as if it was the door of a tomb."

The chancellor called out his name : " Count Mortier,
it is I, M. Pasquier, the chancellor, your colleague. You
know my voice, do you not ? "

To this a voice replied, " Yes."

It was the voice of M. Mortier.

The on-lookers breathed again.

" Well," continued M. Pasquier, " you know me ; open
the door."

"No," replied the same voice. Then it obstinately
refused to speak again. All was silent once more.

This happened several times. He replied, the dialogue
continued, he refused to open, then he remained silent.
Those outside trembled for fear that in these brief in-
tervals of silence he might do the dreadful deed.

In the mean time the prefect of police had arrived.

"It is I, your colleague, Delessert, and your old
friend." (They were school-fellows, I think.)

This parleying lasts for more than an hour. At length
he consents to open the door provided they give him
their word they will not enter. The word is given ;
he half opens the door ; they go in.

He was in the anteroom, with an open razor in his
hand; behind him was the inner door of his rooms,
locked, and with the key removed. He appeared
frenzied.

" If any one approaches me," he said, " there will be an
end of him and me. I will remain alone with Delessert
and speak to him ; I consent to that."

A risky conversation this, with a furious man armed

COUNT MOBTIEB. 139

with a razor. M. Delessert, who behaved bravely, asked
every one else to withdraw, remained alone with M.
Mortier, and after a refusal, which lasted for a space of
twenty minutes, persuaded him to put down the razor.

Once disarmed, he was secured.

But were the children dead or living ? It was terrible
to reflect upon. To all questions on the subject he
replied, " It is nothing to do with you."

The inner door is broken open, and what is found
at the farther end of the rooms ? The two children,
crouching under the furniture.'

This is what had happened.

In the morning M. Mortier said to his children, " I am
very unhappy. You love me, and I love you. I am
going to die. Will you die with me ? "

The little boy said, resolutely, " No, papa."

As for the little girl, she hesitated. In order to per-
suade her the father passed the back of the razor gently
around her neck, and said to her, "There, my dear, it
will not hurt you any more than that."

"Well, then, papa," said the child, "I do not mind
dying."

The father goes out, probably to fetch a second razor.
Directly he goes out, the little boy rushes to the key,
lays hold of it, shuts the door, and locks it twice on
the inside.

Then he takes his sister to the furthermost end of the
rooms and gets under the furniture with her.

The doctors declared that Count Mortier was a melan-
choly and dangerous madman. He was taken to a
mad-house.

He had a mania, in fact, for razors. When he was
seized he was searched; besides that which he had in
his hand, one was found in each of his pockets.

On the same day the news arrived in Paris that my

149 THINGS SEEN.

colleague, Count Bresson, had cut his throat at Naples,
where he had recently been appointed Ambassador.

This was a grief to us all, and a great surprise. From
a mere worldly point of view, Count Bresson wanted
nothing. He was a Peer of France, an ambassador, a
Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour. His son had
lately been created a Duke in Spain. As an ambassador
he had a salary of two hundred thousand francs a year.
He was an earnest, kindly, gentle, intelligent, sensible man,
very rational in everything, of high stature, with broad
shoulders, a good square face, and at fifty-five years of age
looked only forty ; he had wealth, greatness, dignity, in-
telligence, health, and was fortunate in private as in
public life. He killed himself.

Nourrit also went to Naples and killed himself.

Is it the climate ? Is it the marvellous sky ?

Spleen is engendered just as much under a blue sky as
under a gloomy sky, more so, perhaps.

As the life of even the most prosperous man is always
in reality more sad than gay, a gloomy sky is in har-
mony with ourselves. A brilliant and joyous sky mocks
us. Nature in its sad aspects resembles us and consoles us ;
Nature, when radiant, impassive, serene, magnificent, trans-
plendent, young while we grow old, smiling when we are
sighing, superb, inaccessible, eternal, contented, calm in
its joyousness, has in it something oppressive.

By dint of contemplating the sky, ruthless, unre-
lenting, indifferent, and sublime, one takes a razor and
makes an end of it.

December 1.

In the new hall for private meetings at the Academic
the statue of Racine has been placed in a corner, and the
statue of Corneille in the centre, behind the president's
chair.

SOIR&E AT Bt GUIZOT'S. 141

Formerly it was Racine who was in the centre and
Corneille in the corner. This is a step in the right
direction. Another demolition, another reconstruction,
and it will be Molifere who will be put in the place of
honour.

SOIRfiE AT M. GUIZOT'S.

December 18.
ECEPTION at M. Guizot's.

M. Guizot's aged mother is eighty-four or eighty-
five years old. She attends the evening gatherings, seat-
ing herself in the corner by the fireplace, and wearing a
chemisette and a black cap amid all the laces and the
stars and ribbons. In this room of velvet and gold one
would think she must be an apparition from the Cevennes.
M. Guizot said to her one day, "Do you remember,
mother, the time when your grandmother spoke to us
of the dragoons who pursued her in the mountains, and
of the bullets which pierced her clothes?"

At the period of M. Guizot's birth '89 had not yet re-
stored to Protestants their civil rights. They were out-
lawed. M. Guizot was thus legally a bastard when he
was born. He was inscribed in no register when he
came into the world, and would be unable to prove his
French nationality.

M. Guizot came up during the evening to a group of
which I happened to make one, and said to me :

M. GUIZOT. Well, we are going to begin the struggles
once more.

I. You do not fear anything in our Chamber ?

M. GUIZOT. No. The Opposition intimates to me that
it will not harass me much, excepting M. de Boissy, who
has not informed me beforehand of what he intends to

142 THINGS SEEN.

do at all M. de Montalembert will speak about Cracow.
But we shall have a paragraph in the Speech from the
Throne, which I hope will leave nothing to be said.

I. And you will be quite right. As for myself, my
opinion is this ; if the Chamber had been sitting at the
time of the Cracow affair, I should have spoken, and I
should have said, I ask permission to congratulate France.
To get rid of Cracow is to restore to us the Rhine. The
treaties of 1815 no longer exist. Those treaties were
made against us, they are violated against us, they will
be violated again against us ; the final violation will be
for us to make. I congratulate France, and I glorify
Poland.

VISCOUNT DE FLAVIGNY. That may be. But is it not
a misfortune that some governments

M. DE LAGREN^E. Monarchical governments !

M. DE FLAVIGNY. set the example of the infraction
of treaties and the violation of international law !

L It is nothing new. M. Guizot, who is a great his-
torian, knows better than we do that nothing is more fre-
quent in the history of Europe. All governments have
from time to time violated every law, beginning with the
law of nations. Cannon were called the ultima ratio.
Who has might has right; that was the maxim. The
little were devoured by the great ; the fowls eaten by the
foxes ; the foxes eaten by the wolves ; the wolves eaten
by the lions, that was the practice. That which is new
is the respect for law. It is the glory of the civilization
of the nineteenth century to wish the weak to be respected
by the strong, and to rank eternal morality higher than
pikes and muskets. The three Powers which have de-
stroyed Cracow have committed a blunder, not because
they have violated the tradition of past centuries, but
because they have outraged the spirit of the time.

M. GUIZOT. Just so.

SOIB&E AT M. GUIZOTR 143

M. DE FLAVIGNY. But the history of the popes,
then

I. The history of the popes is better than the history
of kings, but it has also its dark spots. Popes them-
selves have also been false to their word and violated
their plighted faith.

M. GUIZOT (laughing). Oh, do not let us say any
harm of the Papacy just now. There is a pope whom I
esteem, and for whom I have a warm regard.

I. Granted. But the preceding one, Gregory XVI. !
As for Pius IX., I am also among those who live in
hopes.

M. GUIZOT. I esteem him because he appreciates and
invites advice, because he asks for one's opinion, although
judging rationally for himself afterwards ; because he
wishes to do what is right, seeks it, and often discovers
it. I esteem him because he concedes gracefully, and
with a good will, that which is just. I esteem him be-
cause he knows also how to say, " I will never do that."
He has gentleness and firmness.

I. If Pius IX. likes he may become the most power-
ful sovereign in Europe. No one realizes what a pope
might become. A pope who would follow the drift of
his times might govern and might move the world. He
has so enormous a lever, faith, the conscience, the
mind! Every soul is a mine ready to be fired by the
spark which would flash from such a pope. What a con-
flagration, if it pleased him ! What a coruscation, if he
so willed it!

1847.
LORD NOEMANBY.

January 6.

THE Marquis of Normanby, the English ambassa-
dor, said to me yesterday, " When the secret his-
tory of the Cracow affair is known, it will be known that
Eussia said to Austria, ' Take Cracow, will you ? ' ' No.'
'Well, then, I will take it.' Austria yielded." " Then,"
I said, " her audacity is obedience, her violence coward-
ice, her usurpation an abdication." Lord Normanby is a
man of about fifty years of age, tall, fair, with a pro-
nounced English look, elegant, graceful, high-bred, good-
natured, and dandyish. He has been Viceroy of Ireland
and Home Secretary in England. He is the author of
two or three novels of high life. He wears a blue ribbon
over his white tie, and a diamond star upon his dress-
coat. He speaks French with diificulty, but with humour.

Lord Normanby spoke to me of O'Connell, who, in
1847, is beginning to break up. His seventy-three years
weigh him down, notwithstanding his tall figure and wide
shoulders. This man, of such violent and bitter elo-
quence, is in a drawing-room obsequious, full of compli-
ments, modest to humility, mild to affectation. Lord
Normanby said to me, " O'Connell is affected."

O'Connell has in County Kerry an old ancestral hall,
where he goes to shoot for two months in the year, re-
ceiving guests and entertaining them like an old county
gentleman, 1 keeping up, Lord Normanby also told me, a
savage hospitality.

1 In the original, " l

DINNER AT M. DE 8ALV ANDY'S. 145

His eloquence, adapted to the masses and to Ireland,
had little influence upon the Commons of England. How-
ever, he had during his life two or three great successes
in Parliament. But the platform suited bi*n better than
the tribune.

DINNER AT M. DE SALVANDY'S.

January 14.

"X^ESTERDAY, Thursday, I dined at the house of
I M. de Salvandy, Minister of Public Instruction.
There were present Lord Normanby, British ambassador ;
the Duke of Caraman, a young nobleman, intelligent and
artless, much occupied in philosophic studies ; Dupin, the
elder, with his rough bourgeois air ; M. de Itemusat, the
eight-days old Academician, a keen and well-balanced
mind ; M. Gay-Lussac, the chemist, whom fame has
made a Peer of France, and to whom nature has given
the face of a worthy peasant ; the other chemist, M. Du-
mas, a man of talent, his hair rather too elaborately
curled, and displaying very prominently the ribbon of a
Commander of the Legion of Honour ; Sainte-Beuve, bald
and little ; Alfred de Musset, with his youthful hair, his
fair beard, his equivocal opinions, and his intellectual
countenance ; M. Ponsard, a man of thirty-two years of
age, with strange-looking features, large dull eyes, rather
narrow forehead, the whole in a frame-work of black
beard and black hair, a hero of the shop-girls, a great
poet to the bourgeois; M. Michel Chevalier, with his close-
cropped head, his receding forehead, his bird-like profile,
and his spare figure ; Alfred de Vigny, another fair man
with a bird-like profile,but with long hair ; Viennet, with
his grimace ; Scribe, with his peaceful air, rather anxious

VOL. XXIV. 10

146 THINGS SEEN.

about a piece of his which was being played the same
evening at the Gymnase, and which failed ; Dupaty, sad
after his fall of the 7th at the sitting of the Academic ;
Montalembert, with his long hair and English appear-
ance, mild and disdainful ; Philippe de S^gur, a light and
lively talker, with an aquline nose, deep-sunk eyes, grey
hair, combed in imitation of the Emperor ; Generals Fab-
vier and Rapatel, in full uniform, Kapatel with his
round, homely face, Fabvier with his flat-nosed lion's
face ; Mignet, smiling and cold ; Gustave de Beaumont,
with dark, firm, and energetic face ; Hal^vy, always
timid ; the astronomer Leverrier, rather red-faced ; Vitet,
with his tall figure and his smile, which is amiable, al-
though it lays bare his teeth ; M. Victor Leclerc, the can-
didate for the Academic, who had that morning been
rejected ; Ingres, the table rising to his chin, so that his
white tie and his commander's ribbon seemed to come
from under the table-cloth ; Pradier, with his long hair,
and his air of a man of forty at sixty years of age;
Auber, with his head on one side, his polite manners,
and his two crosses at his button-hole.

I sat beside Lord Normanby, who is a very amiable
man, although the ambassador of ill-humour ; I called his
attention to the end of the table thus composed : Ingres,
Pradier, Auber, painting, sculpture, and music.

Mme. de Salvandy had Lord Normanby on her right,
and M. Gay-Lussac on her left ; M. de Salvandy had on
his right M. Dupin, and on his left M. de IMmusat.

February 5.

Yesterday I was at the Tuileries. There was a repre-
sentation there. After the opera every one went into the
side-rooms in which the buffet was placed and began to
converse.

M. Guizot had made during the day in the Chamber of

DINNER AT M. DB SALVANDY'S. 147

Deputies a very noble, very fine, and very spirited speech
about our budding dispute with England. This speech
was much spoken of. Some approved, others condemned.
Baron de Billing passed close to me with a lady whom I
could not see on his arm.

" Good evening," he said. " What do you think of the
speech ? " I replied, " I am pleased with it. I like to see
that we are at length holding up our heads again in this
country. It is said that this boldness is imprudent, but
I do not think so. The best way not to have a war is to
show that one does not fear it. See how England gave
in to the United States two years ago ; she will give in
in the same way to France. Let us be firm, others will
be gentle ; if we are gentle, others will be insolent."

At this moment the lady to whom he was giving his
arm turned towards me, and I recognized the wife of the
English ambassador. She looked very displeased. She
said, " Oh, monsieur ! "

I replied, " Ah, madame !"

And the war ended there. God send that that may be
the only interchange of words between the Queen of Eng-
land and the King of France !

SATURDAY, February 20.

Opening of the TWfttre-Historique. I came out from
it at half -past three in the morning.

March 21.

Mile. Mars was the only person represented in the
statuary of the porch of the Th^fttre-Historique.

Mme. d'A , hearing this, said, " This places her in

the list of the dead ; she has not long to live."

Mile. Mars died on the 20th of March, a month to a
day after the opening of the ThdWre-Historique. She
was sixty-nine years of age, two years older than Mile.

148 THINGS SEEK.

Georges. Mile. Mars was fifty-two years old when she
first performed her original part of Dona Sol, a character
supposed to be seventeen.

She leaves a son in the banking-house of Edward. No
letters announcing the decease, owing to the difficulty of
putting, " Mademoiselle Mars is dead. Her son has the
honour to inform you of the fact."

FUNERAL OF MLLE. MARS.

March 26.

I HAVE been at the burial of Mile. Mars. I arrived
at twelve o'clock. The hearse was already at the
Madeleine. There was an immense crowd, and the most
brilliant sun imaginable. It was the day of the flower-
market in the square outside the church. I penetrated
with considerable difficulty as far as the steps, but there it
was impossible to go any farther; the only door was
crowded : no one could get in. I saw in the dark interior of
the church, through the dazzling light of midday, the
ruddy stars of the wax tapers stuck round a tall catafalque.
The paintings on the ceiling formed a mystic background.

I heard the funeral chant, the sound of which reached
as far as where I stood, and all round me the remarks
and shouts of the crowd. Nothing is so sad as a burial ;
one sees only people who are laughing. Every one gaily
accosts his neighbour, and talks of his concerns.

The church and the front gate are hung with black
drapery, with an escutcheon of silver lace containing the
letter M. I approached the hearse, which was of black
velvet with silver-lace ornamentation, with the same
letter M. A few tufts of black feathers had been
thrown upon the place intended for the coffin.

FUNERAL OF MLLE. MARS. 149

The people of Paris are like the people of Athens,-
frivolous but intelligent There were men in blouses
there, with their sleeves tucked up, who said some true
and forcible things upon the stage, upon art, upon the
poets. They sought and distinguished in the crowd
men whose names are famous. These people must have
glory. When there is no Marengo or Austerlitz, they
love and must have their Dumas and their Lamartines.
These are like a light towards which all eyes are eagerly
directed.

I remained under the peristyle, sheltered from the sun
by a column. One or two poets came and joined me and
stood round me, Joseph Autran, Adolphe Dumas, Au-
guste Maquet. Alexandre Dumas came over to us with
his son. The crowd recognized him by his thick head of
hair, and called out his name.

Towards one o'clock the body came out of the church,
together with all the people. Eemarks broke forth from
among those outside :

"Ah, there is Boufife !"

" But where is Arnal ? "

" Here he is."

" Hulloa, those men in black are the sorietaires of the

" The Theatre-Francis has come to its own buriaL"

" Look at Freddric-Leinaitre ; he is giving his arm to
Clarisse Miroy."

" Yes ; and Rachel, over there, gives her arm to Mme.
Doche."

" There are some ladies, Mme. Volnys, Mme. Guyon,
Rose Chdri."

" This one is D^jazet ; she is no longer young ; this
ought to make her reflect/' etc.

The hearse began to move off, and we all followed on
foot. In our rear came some ten mourning carriages and

150 THINGS SEEN.

a few open carriages with some actresses inside them.
There were quite ten thousand persons on foot. They
formed a dark wave, which appeared to push forward the
hearse, jolting its immense black plumes.

On both sides of the boulevard there was another mob,
forming a hedge. Women in red bonnets sat upon a kind
of step formed by the pavements, smiling ; the balconies
were crowded with people. Towards the Porte Saint-
Martin I left the procession and went away musing.

F&TE AT THE DUKE OF MONTPENSIER'S.

July 6.

MDE MONTPENSIER gave a ffo this evening
in the Pare des Minimes, in the Forest of
Vincennes.

It was splendid and delightful. The f$te cost the
prince two hundred thousand francs. In the forest had
been erected a multitude of tents, borrowed from the
government repository and the French Museum of Arms,
some of which were historical. This alone cost ten
thousand francs. There were the tent of the Emperor of
Morocco, taken at the battle of Isly, and exhibited three
years previously at the Tuileries upon a wooden platform
constructed inside the big fountain ; the tent of Abd-el-
Kader, taken with the Smala, 1 very handsome, with red
and yellow arabesques embroidered in satin ; another tent
of the Bey of Constantine, of a wonderfully elegant shape ;
and, finally, the tent given to Napoleon by the Sultan
Selim.

1 An awemblage of tents belonging to an Arab chief. TR.

FfcTB AT THE DUKE OF MONTPENSIER'S. 151

The latter eclipsed all the others. From the outside
it appeared like an ordinary tent, remarkable only for
having, in the canvas, little windows, of which the
frames were of rope, three windows on each side. The
inside was superb. The visitor found himself inside a
great chest of gold brocade; upon this brocade were
flowers and a thousand fancy devices. On looking closely
into the cords of the windows, one discovered that they
were of the most magnificent gold and silver lace ; each
window had its awning of gold brocade. The inner lining
of the tent was of silk, with large red-and-blue stripes.
If I had been Napoleon I should have liked to place my
iron bed in this tent of gold and flowers, and to sleep in
it on the eve of Wagram, Jena, and Friedland.

These splendid tents were disfigured by fearful ma-
hogany furniture rather sparingly placed in them.

M. de Montpensier received his guests with much
cheerfulness and grace.

Dancing took place in an immense marquee, where the
princesses remained. They were all there, with the
exception of the Duchess of Orleans. The Duke of Au-
male came back from Brussels on purpose to take part in
the/efe.

Queen Maria Christina was there with her daughter,
Madame de Montpensier. The Reyna gobemadora has
some remains of beauty, but she is too stout, and her
hair is quite grey.

The tables were laid out under some other tents ; there
were ample refreshments, and buffets everywhere. The
guests, while numbering more than four thousand, were
neither crowded nor few and far between. Nowhere was
there a crush. There were not enough ladies.

The f&e had a splendid military character. Two
enormous cannon of the time of Louis XIV. formed the
pillars of the entrance. The artillery soldiers of Vin-

152 THINGS SEEN.

cennes had constructed here and there columns of pikes,
with pistols for chapters.

The principal avenue of the park was illuminated
with coloured glass lamps ; one might imagine that the
emerald and ruby necklaces of the wood-nymphs were to
be seen among the trees. Sap-matches burned in the
hedges, and cast their glimmering over the forest.
There were three tall poplar- trees illuminated against
the dark sky in a fantastic manner which created much
surprise. The branches and leaves were wafted in the
wind amid a brilliant scenic display of lights.

Along each side of the great avenue was a row of
Gothic panoplies from the Artillery Museum, some
leaning against the oaks and the lime-trees, others erect
and with the visor shut, seated upon dummy steeds, with
caparisons and coats-of-arms, with trappings and dazzling
chamfrons. These steel statues, masked and motionless
in the midst of the rejoicings, and covered with flashes
and streams of light, had something dazzling and sinister
in their appearance. Quadrilles were danced to vocal
music. Nothing more charming could be conceived than
these youthful voices singing melodies among the trees
in soft, deep tones ; one might have fancied the guests to
be enchanted knights tarrying forever in this wood to
listen to the song of fairies.

Everywhere in the trees were suspended coloured lan-
terns, presenting the appearance of luminous oranges.
Nothing stranger could be imagined than this illumi-
nated fruit appearing suddenly upon the branches.

From time to time trumpet-blasts drowned in tri-
umphant tones the buzz of the festivities.

At the end of the avenue the artillerymen had sus-
pended a great star of the Legion of Honour constructed
of ramrods. They had arranged in the hedges, in the
form of benches and chairs, mounds of bullets, Paixhan

F&TE AT THE DUKE OF MONTPENSIEB'& 153

mortars, and howitzers. Two enormous siege-pieces
guarded the cross of honour. Beneath it were busts of
the king and queen.

Amid all this moved immense throngs of people,
among whom I saw Auber, Alfred de Vigny, Alexandre
Dumas, with his son, Taylor, Th^ophile Gautier, Thiers,
Guizot, Eothschild, Count Daru, President Franck-Carr^,
Generals Gourgaud, Lagrange, Saint- Yon, the Duke of
Fdzensac, Hubert, Keeper of the Seals, the Prince and
Princess of Craon, Lord Normanby, Narvaez, Duke of
Valence, and a host of peers and ambassadors, etc. The
dust was terrible.

Two Arabs in white bernouses were there, the Cadi
of Constantine and Bou-Maza. Bou-Maza has fine eyes,
but an ugly look ; a well-shaped mouth, but a dreadful
smile: it is treacherous and ferocious; there is in -this
man something of the fox and the tiger. I thought, how-
ever, that he had a tolerably fine expression in his face at
a moment when, thinking there was no one near him in
the forest, he went up to the tent of Abd-el-Kader and
stood looking at it. He appeared to be saying to it,
" What are you doing here ? "

Bou-Maza is young ; he appears about twenty-five years
of age.

Towards one o'clock in the morning some fireworks
were let off, and the forest was illuminated with Bengal
lights. Then supper was served at the table of the prin-
cesses ; all the ladies sat down to supper, the gentlemen
remaining standing. Afterwards dancing was resumed.

I regret not having been able to remain to the end.
I should have liked to see appear athwart the dark
branches, amid this festivity about to be extinguished,
some of those waning lights, those expiring illuminations,
those wearied dancers, those women covered with flowers,
diamonds, and dust, those pale faces, those drooping eye-

154 THINGS SEEN.

lids, those rumpled dresses, that gleam of daylight, so
pale and dismal.

However, I think, I know not why, that this fSte will
be remembered ; it has left a certain uneasy feeling in
my mind. For a fortnight previously it had been talked
about, and had formed an important subject of conversa-
tion to the people of Paris. Yesterday, from the Tuileries,
to the Barrifere du TrOne, a triple hedge of on-lookers
lined the quays, the streets, and the Faubourg Saint-
Antoine as the carriages of the guests passed by. At
frequent intervals this crowd hurled at the gilded and
bedizened passengers in their carriages shouts of disgust
and hate. It was like a mist of hatred amid this
splendour.

Every one on his return related what had befallen him.
Louis Boulanger and Achard had been hooted; the
carriage of Tony Johannot had been spat into ; mud and
dirt had been thrown into the open carriage of General
Narvaez. Th^ophile Gautier, so calm and impassive, so
Turk-like in his resignation, was rendered quite thought-
ful and gloomy by the occurrence.

It would not seem, however, that this grand display
had anything impolitic in it, or that it should have
proved unpopular. On the contrary, the Duke of Mont-
pensier, in spending two hundred thousand francs, must
have caused the expenditure of a million. That makes,
in this time of distress, a sum of twelve hundred thou-
sand francs put in circulation for the benefit of the peo-
ple; they ought to be gratified. Well, it is not so.
Luxury is necessary to great States and to great civili-
zations, but there are times when the people must not
see it.

But what is luxury which is not seen ? This is a prob-
lem. Magnificence in the background, profusion in ob-
scurity, a display which does not show itself, a splendour

FftTE AT THE DUKE OF MONTPENSIER'S. 155

which dazzles no one's eyes, is this possible ? This must
be taken into consideration, however. When the people
have luxury paraded before them in days of dearth and
distress, their mind, which is that of a child, jumps to a
number of conclusions at once ; they do not say to them-
selves that this luxury enables them to get a living, that
this luxury is useful to them, that this luxury is neces-
sary to them. They say to themselves that they are
suffering, and that these people rejoice; they ask why
all these things are not theirs; they examine these
things, not at the light of their poverty, which requires
work, and consequently rich people, but by the light of
their envy. Do not suppose that they will conclude
from that: Well, this will give us so many weeks'
wages and so many good days' employment No ; they,
too, want not the work, not the wages, but leisure, enjoy-
ment, carriages, horses, lackeys, duchesses! It is not
bread they require, but luxury. They stretch out their
trembling hands towards these shining realities, which
would vanish into thin air if they were to grasp them.
The day on which the distress of the many seizes upon
the riches of the few, darkness reigns ; there is nothing
left, nothing for anybody. This is full of perils. When
the crowd looks with these eyes upon the rich, it is not
ideas which occupy every mind, it is events.

That which specially irritates the people is the luxury
of princes and young men ; it is, in fact, only too evident
that the first have not experienced the necessity, and that
the others have not had the time, to earn it. This seems
unjust, and exasperates them ; they do not reflect that
the inequalities of this life prove the equality of the
next.

Equilibrium, equity, these are the two aspects of the
law of God. He shows us the first aspect in the world of
matter and of the body ; he will show us the second in
the world of souls.

156 THINGS SEEN.

THE TESTE AND CUBliiRES TRIAL.

July.

ON the evening of the day when the judicial com-
mittee of Peers determined to prosecute M. Teste,
chance willed it that the chancellor had to go to Neuilly
with the Bureau of the Chamber to present to the king a
bill which had been passed.

The chancellor and the Peers of the Bureau (among
whom was Count Dam) found the king in a furious state
of mind. He had been informed of the prosecution of
M. Teste. Immediately he caught sight of them he
advanced towards them with rapid strides.

"What! Chancellor," he said, "was not one of my
former ministers enough for you? Must you have a
second? You have taken Teste now. So that after I
have spent seventeen years in France in setting up
authority once more, in one day, in one hour, you have
allowed it to be cast down again. You destroy the
whole work of my reign. You debase authority, power,
the government. And you do that, you, the chan-
cellor of the House of Peers ! " et cetera.

The squall was a violent one. The chancellor was
very firm. He resolutely refused to give in to the king.
He said that, doubtless, policy was to be considered, but
that it was necessary also to listen to justice ; that the
Chamber of Peers also had its independence as a legisla-
tive power, and its sovereignty as a judicial power ; that
this independence and sovereignty must be respected,
and if need be, would make themselves respected ; that,
moreover, in the present state of opinion, it would have
been a very serious matter to refuse satisfaction to it ;
that it would be doing an injury to the country and to

THE TESTE AND CUBI&RES TRIAL. 157

the king not to do what this opinion demanded, and
what justice required ; that there were times when it was
more prudent to advance than to retreat; and that finally
what had been done was done. " And well done," added
Daru. " We shall see," said the king.

And from anger he relapsed into uneasiness.

July 8.

Half-past twelve. The Court enters. A crowd in the
galleries. No one in the reserved galleries except Colonel
Poizat, governor of the Palace. In the diplomatic gal-
leries two persons only, Lord Normanby, the English
ambassador, and Count de Loevenhcelm, the Swedish
minister.

The accused are brought in. Three tables, with a green
baize covering, have been placed facing the Court; to
each of these tables there is a chair, and at the back is a
bench for the counsel. President Teste sits down at the
middle table, General Cubiferes at the right-hand table,
Parmentier at the left-hand table. All three are dressed
in black.

Parmentier entered some time after the two Peers.
Teste, who is a Commander of the Legion of Honour, has
the rosette of the decoration in his button-hole ; Cubi&res,
who is a Grand Officer, the plain ribbon. Before sitting
down, the general converses with his counsel, then turns
over, with a very busy air, the volume of documents re-
lating to the case. He wears his ordinary look. Teste
is pale and calm. He rubs his hands like a man who is
pleased. Parmentier is stout, bald, has white hair, a red
face, a hooked nose, a mouth like a sabre-cut, thin lips ;
the appearance of a rascal. He wears a white tie, as does
also President Teste. The general wears a black cravat
The three defendants do not look at each other. Par-
mentier casts his eyes down, and affects to be playing

158 THINGS SEEN.

with the gold chain of his watch, which he displays with
the ostentation of a country bumpkin against his black
waistcoat. A young man with a thin black moustache,
who is said to be his son, is seated on his left.

Being questioned as to his position in life, Teste rises
and says, " I thought it would not be seemly to bring to
this bar the honours which I have had conferred upon
me." (Visible impression on the Court.) " I placed them
yesterday in the hands of the king/* (This makes a
manifestly favourable impression.)

The indictment is read. It sets forth the following
facts :

Parmentier, Director of the Mines of Gouhenans, alleges
that he remitted to General Cubiferes ninety-four thou-
sand francs for the purpose of obtaining from M, Teste,
Minister of Public Works, a grant of a salt-mine. M.
Teste emphatically denies having received this sum.
Parmentier is quite ready to believe that it was inter-
cepted, and that he was thus defrauded of it either by M.
Cubi&res or another shareholder in the mines, M. Pellapra,
who, it appears, acted as a go-between from the general
to M. Teste. Parmentier is accused of corruption ; Cubi-
feres and Pellapra of corruption and fraud ; Teste of " hav-
ing received gifts and presents to perform an act of his
duty not subject to payment."

Pellapra has fled. Cubiferes, Teste, and Parmentier
appear.

While the indictment is being read Cubi&res hides his
face and forehead in his left hand, and follows the read-
ing of the volume which has been circulated. Teste also
follows it, and annotates his copy with a steel pen. He
has put on his eye-glasses. From time to time he takes
snuff out of a great boxwood snuffbox, and converses
with his counsel, M. Paillet Parinentier appears very
attentive.

THE TESTE AND CUBlfeRES TRIAL. 159

July 10.

This is what I can make out of it after the two first
days.

Jk. have spoken to General Cubferes four or five times
in my life, and to President Teste once only, and yet, in
this affair, I am as much interested in their fate as though
they were friends of mine of twenty years' standing.
Why ? I will say at once. It is because I believe them
to be innocent.

I " believe " is not strong enough ; I see them to be
innocent. This view may, perhaps, be modified, for this
affair changes like the waves, and alters its aspect from
one moment to another; but at the present time, after
much perplexity, after many transitions, after many pain-
ful intervals, in which I have more than once trembled
and shuddered in my conscience, I am convinced that
General Cubiferes is innocent of the act of fraud, that
President Teste is innocent of the act of corruption.

What is this affair, then? To my mind, it resumes
itself in two words, commission and black-mail ; com-
mission deducted by Pellapra, black-mail extorted by Par-
meutier. A commission, tainted with fraud and swindling,
was the cause of the first act alleged in the indictment ;
black-mail was the cause of the scandal. Hence the
whole case.

I have no leaning towards guilt which is not invinci-
bly proved to me. My inclination is to believe in inno-
cence. As long as there remains in the probabilities of
a case a possible refuge for the innocence of the accused,
all my theories, I will not say incline, but precipitate
themselves towards it.

SUNDAY, July 11.

An adjournment takes place over to-day. The second
and third hearing were devoted to the examination of the
accused.

160 THINGS SEEN.

At the opening of Friday's sitting were read communica-
tions which had been unexpectedly made by Messrs. Lon
de Malleville and Marrast, and which appear to throw a
strong light upon this trial. The defendants entered
the Court pale and dejected, Parinentier, however, with
more assurance than the others. M. Teste listened to
the reading of the new documents, while leaning his el-
bow upon the table and half hiding his face in his hand ;
General Cubieres, with his eyes cast downward ; Pannen-
tier with perceptible embarrassment.

The examination began with the general.

M. Cubiferes has a doll-like face, an undecided look, a
hesitating manner of speaking, red cheeks ; I believe him
to be innocent of fraud ; however, I am not deeply im-
pressed with him. During the examination he stood up,
and gently beat a tattoo upon the table with the tip of a
wooden paper-knife with a look of profound eas. The
procurator-general, M. Delangle, a rather commonplace
lawyer, treated him once or twice with insolence ; Cubi-
ts, a Waterloo man, did not venture to say a word in
return to make his ears tingle. I felt for him. In the
opinion of the Court he is already convicted.

The first part of the examination was badly conducted.
There was but one expression of opinion at the refresh-
ment-bar. The chancellor is a remarkable veteran, out
of the common, but then, he is eighty- two years of age ;
at eighty-two years of age one cannot face either a woman
or a crowd.

Parmentier, interrogated by the general, spoke with
ease and a sort of vulgar glibness which was sometimes
witty, at others shrewd, skilful throughout, never elo-
quent He is a man who, to tell the truth, is a scoundrel.
He is not aware of it himself. This shameless creature
has a twist in his mind, and exposes his nakedness just
as Venus would do. A toad who fancies he is beautiful
is a repulsive spectacle. He was hissed. At first he

THE TBSTB AND CUBtfeRES TKIAI*. 161

either did not hear, or did not understand ; however, he
ended by understanding ; then the perspiration stood in
beads upon his face. Every now and then, amid the marks
of disgust of the assemblage, he nervously wiped the
streaming surface of his bald head, looked about him with
a certain air of entreaty and bewilderment, feeling that
he was lost, and trying to recover himself. Yet he con-
tinued to speak, and to expose his mental defects, while
low tones of indignation drowned his utterances, and his
anguish increased. At this moment I felt pity for the
wretched manX

M. Teste, who was examined yesterday, spoke like an
innocent man ; frequently he was exceedingly eloquent
He was not an advocate ; he was a real man, who suffered,
who tore out his very vitals and exposed them to view
before his judges, saying, "See there!" He profoundly
impressed me. While he spoke, a light broke in upon
me that this whole affair might be explained by a fraud
committed by Pellapra.

Teste is sixty-seven years of age ; he has a southern
accent, a large and expressive mouth, a tall forehead,
giving him a look of intelligence, the eyes deep set and at
times sparkling ; his whole bodily activity overwhelmed
and crushed, but he is energetic withal. He moved about,
started, shrugged his shoulders, smiled bitterly, took snuff,
turned over his papers, annotated them rapidly, held in
check the procurator-general or the chancellor, shielded
Cubi&res, who is his ruin, showed his contempt for Par-
mentier, who defends him, threw out notes, interruptions,
replies, complaints, shouts. He was turbulent, yet in-
genuous ; overcome with emotion, yet dignified. He was
clear, rapid, persuasive, supplicating, menacing, full of
anguish without any trepidation, moderate and violent,
haughty and tearful. At one point he powerfully affected
me. His very soul found expression in the cries which
YOL.XXIV. 11

162 THINGS SEEN.

he uttered. I was tempted to rise and say to him, " You
have convinced me ; I will leave my seat and take up my
position on the bench at your side ; will you let me be
your counsel ? " And then I restrained myself, thinking
that if his innocence continued to be made manifest to
me, I should perhaps be more useful to him as a judge
among his judges.

Pellapra is the pivot on which the case turns. Teste
appears sincerely grieved at his flight. If Pellapra re-
turns, all will be clear. I ardently hope that Teste is
innocent, and that, if innocent, he will be saved.

At the rising of the Court, I followed him with my
eyes as he went out He slowly and sadly crossed the
benches of the Peers, looking to right and left upon these
chairs, which perhaps he will never occupy again. Two
ushers, who guarded him, walked one in front of him, and
the other behind him.

July 12.

The aspect of the case has suddenly changed. Some
fresh documents l are terribly incriminating to Teste.
Cubi&res rises, and confirms the authenticity and impor-
tance of these documents. Teste replies haughtily and
energetically, but for all that his confidence diminishes.
His mouth contracts. I feel uneasy about him. I begin
to tremble for fear he has been deceiving us all. Par-
mentier listens, almost with a smile, and with his arms
carelessly folded. Teste sits down again, and takes an
immense number of pinches of snuff out of his great
boxwood snuffbox, then wipes the perspiration off his

* A letter of Madame Pellapra, signed "Emilie Pellapra;" six notes
written by Teste and recognised by him (he took them in his trembling
hand and said, "They are mine 1 '); an extract from the accounts of
Pellapra, appearing to show that he had remitted the ninety-four thousand
francs to Teste*

THE TESTE AND CUBllBBES TRIAL. 163

forehead with a red silk handkerchief. The Court is
profoundly agitated.

" I can imagine what he suffers by what I suffer my-
self," M. de Pont^coulant said to me. " What torture it
is ! " said General Neigre. " It is a slow guillotine
stroke," said Bertin de Vaux. Apprehension is at its
height among the members of the Court and the public.
All are anxious not to lose one word. The Peers cry
out to those who address them, " Speak up ! Speak up !
We cannot hear." The chancellor begs the Court to
consider his great age.

The heat is insupportable.

The stock-broker Goupil gives his evidence. Teste
makes a desperate struggle.

M. Charles Dupin questions the stock-broker. Teste
follows him with his eyes, and applauds him with a
smile. Anything more doleful than this smile could not
be imagined.

On this occasion the private conference was held before
the sitting in the old Chamber. The Peers buzzed like
a swarm of bees. The chancellor came to the bench on
which I was seated, and spoke to me of matters connected
with the Academic; then of the trial, of his feeling of
fatigue and grief ; saying how pleasant was a meeting of
the Academic after a sitting of the Court of Peers.

In his evidence M. Legrand, Under-secretary of State
for Public Works, described Teste as " a person who is
sitting behind me." Teste shrugged his shoulders.

After the serious evidence of the notary Koquebert,
the face of Teste assumes an agonized expression.

At the production of the document for the Treasury
he turned red, wiped his forehead in anguish, and turned
towards his son. They exchanged a few words; then
Teste began once more to turn over his papers, and the
son buried his head in his hands.

164 THINGS SEEN.

In one hour Teste has aged ten years ; his head moves,
his lower lip twitches. Yesterday he was a lion ; to-day
he is a booby.

Everything in this affair moves by fits and starts.
Yesterday I saw that Teste was innocent, to-day I see
that he is guilty. Yesterday I admired him, to-day I
should be tempted to despise him were he not so miser-
able. But I no longer feel anything but pity for him.

This trial was one of the most terrible spectacles
which I have ever witnessed in my life. It is a moral
dismemberment. That which our forefathers saw eighty
years ago in the Place de Grfeve, on the day of the execu-
tion of Damiens, we have seen to-day, on the day of the
execution of President Teste in the Court of Peers. We
have seen a man tortured with hot irons and dismem-
bered in the spirit. Every hour, every minute, some-
thing was torn from him : at twelve o'clock his distinction
as a magistrate ; at one o'clock his reputation as an up-
right minister ; at two o'clock his conscience as an honest
man ; half an hour later, the respect of others ; a quarter
of an hour afterwards, his own self-respect. In the end,
he was but a corpse. It lasted for six hours.

For my OWTI part, as I said to the Chief President
Legagneur, I doubt whether I should ever have the
hardihood, even were Teste convicted and guilty, to add
any punishment whatever to this unparalleled chastise-
ment, to this frightful torment.

July 13.

As I entered the cloak-room Viscount Lemercier, who
was there, said to me, " Have you heard the news ? "
"No." "Teste has attempted to commit suicide, and
failed."

The fact is as stated. M. Teste, yesterday evening, at
nine o'clock, fired two pistol-shots at himself; he fired

THE TESTE AND CUBIJ&RES TRIAL. 165

two shots simultaneously, one with each hand. One he
aimed in his mouth, and the cap missed fire ; the other
at his heart, and the hullet rebounded, the shot heing
fired from too close a distance.

The chancellor read in the private conference the
official documents detailing the occurrence ; they were
afterwards re-read at the public sitting. The pistols were
deposited upon the table of the Court. They are two
very little pistols, quite new, with ivory handles.

Teste, not having succeeded in destroying himself, re-
fuses henceforth to appear before the Court. He has
written to the chancellor a letter in which he abandons
his defence, " the documents produced yesterday leaving
no room for contradiction." This is the language of an
advocate, not of a man ; a man would have said, " I am
guilty."

When we entered the Court, M. Dupin the elder, who
was seated behind me on the Deputies' bench, said to me,
"Guess what book Teste sent for to kill time with?"
" I do not know." " ' Monte-Cristo ! ' * Not the first four
volumes/ he said, 'I have read them.' 'Monte-Cristo'
was not to be found in the library of the House of Peers.
It had to be borrowed from a public reading-room, which
only had it in periodical parts. Teste spends his time
in reading these parts."

My neighbour, the Duke of Brancas, who is a kind
and worthy veteran, says to me, "Do not oppose the con-
demnation. It is God's justice which will be done."

Yesterday evening, when General Cubi&res was in-
formed that Teste had fired two pistol-shots at himself,
he wept bitterly.

I note that to-day is a fatal day, the 13th of July.
The seat lately occupied by Teste is empty at the sitting.
The clerk of the court, La Chauvinifere, reads the indict-
ment M. Cubiferes listens with an air of profound sad-

166 THINGS SEEN.

ness, then hides his face in his hand. Parmentier holds
his head down the whole time. The events of yesterday
the attempted suicide of Teste and his letter to the
chancellor destroy in its very foundations the abomin-
able line of defence of Parmentier.

At ten minutes past one the Procurator-general Del-
angle rises to address the Court. He twice repeats,
amid the painful impression which prevails, " Messieurs
les Pairs " then stops short, and continues : " The trial
is ended." The procurator-general spoke only for ten
minutes.

It is a curious fact that Teste and Delangle have all
their lives been brought into close association, Delangle
following Teste, and in the end prosecuting him. Teste
was the Idtonnier of the bar; Delangle held the office
immediately after him. Teste was appointed president
of the Court of Cassation; Delangle entered the same
court as advocate-general. Teste is accused, Delangle is
procurator-general.

I now understand the meaning of the movement of the
father and son which I noticed yesterday at the moment
of the production of the document from the Treasury ;
the father said to the son, " Give me the pistols." The
son handed them to him, and then sank his head in his
hands. It is in this way, I think, the sombre tragedy
must have happened.

At the opening of the sitting the chancellor reads a
letter, in which Cubi&res resigns his position as a Peer.

The question is put as to whether the accused are
guilty.

" Is Cubiferes guilty of fraud ? " Unanimously " No."

Upon the question of corruption :

* Is Teste guilty ? " Unanimously " Yes."

"Is Cubi&res guilty?" Unanimously, with the excep-
tion of three votes, " Yes."

THE TESTE AND CUBlftBES TRIAL. 167

" Is Parmentier guilty ? " Unanimously " Yes."

Sentences :

Teste is sentenced to civil degradation unanimously,
with the exception of one vote.

Upon the question of the fines, I rose in my turn, and
said, " I desire to punish a guilty man ; I do not desire
to punish a family, that is to say, innocent persons.
The restitution of the money received, to my mind,
would be sufficient. No fine. My lords, the example is
not in a fine ; the example is in the terrible things which
you have seen; the example is in the terrible act to
which you have just committed yourselves. A fine dete-
riorates the example. It places a question of money in
the place of a question of honour."

Teste was condemned to pay a fine of ninety-four
thousand francs.

At half -past six a fresh letter from General Cubi&res
is read, in which he states that he has requested that he
may be placed on the retired list. The unhappy man
throws something overboard at every moment

July 15.

At half-past twelve the calling of the names takes
place. The Court is profoundly and painfully agitated.
The law officials claim the whole law, the whole penalty,
against Cubiferes ; the nobles are more humane.

The Court proceeds to pass sentence.

Upon the question whether Teste should be imprisoned,
I said, " My lords, the guilty man has already been suffi-
ciently punished. At the present moment he is sixty-
seven years of age ; in five years he will be seventy-two.
I will not add one word. No imprisonment ! "

Teste is sentenced to three years' imprisonment.

Respecting Cubiferes and the penalty of civic degrada-
tion, when my turn came, I said, " I feel that the Court

168 THINGS SEEN.

is weary, and I am suffering myself from a feeling of
agitation which unsettles me; I rise notwithstanding.
I have studied, as you have, my lords, with whatever
intelligence and power of attention I may have, the
whole of the indictment in this deplorable case. I have
examined facts. I have contrasted persons. I have en-
deavoured to penetrate not only into the heart of the case,
but into the hearts of these men you are trying at this
moment. Well, this is the conclusion I have arrived at :
In my opinion, General Cubi&res was led astray, led
astray by Pellapra, defrauded by Parnientier. Under
these circumstances, there has been, I acknowledge,
weakness, a weakness censurable, inexcusable, gravely
culpable even, but after all only weakness ; and weak-
ness is not baseness, and I do not wish to punish weak-
ness with infamy. I will avow, and the Court will
pardon this avowal, that during the many hours that
this unfortunate affair has occupied our minds I imag-
ined that you were going to render an altogether different
decision in your all-powerful and sovereign justice. I
should have wished to leave in his terrible isolation the
painful and conspicuous figure of the principal defendant.
This man, who, by dint of talent, has contrived a mir-
acle which, for my part, I should always have thought
impossible to be great in his abasement and touching
in his shame ; this man I should have liked to punish
simply with civic degradation. And I should have
wished to add nothing to this fearful penalty ; in such
a case that which increases diminishes. For the weak
and unfortunate General Cubiferes, I should have wished
a sentence of deprivation, for a certain period of time, of
the civic and civil rights mentioned in Article 401. And
finally, for the men of money, I should have wished
money penalties ; for the miscreants, humiliating penal-
ties ; for Parmentier, fine and imprisonment For these

THE TESTE AND CUBlfeRES TRIAL. 169

men of such diversity of guilt I should have wished for
a diversity of penalties, which your omnipotence would
permit you to decree, and the observance of this propor-
tion between the misdeeds and the punishments ap-
peared to me to be in accordance with conscience, and I will
add, although that concerns me less, in accordance
with public opinion. In your wisdom you have judged
otherwise. I bow to it, but I beg you, nevertheless, to
approve my remaining of the same opinion. In an as-
sembly in which there are so many men of importance
who have occupied, or who will yet occupy, the highest
functions in the State and the government, I appreciate, I
honour, I respect that noble feeling of outraged decency
which leads you to inflict unusually heavy penalties at this
juncture, and to afford not only the most just but also
the most cruel satisfaction to public opinion. I, gentle-
men, am not a lawyer, I am not a soldier, I am not a public
functionary, I am an ordinary tax-payer ; I am a member,
like any one else, of the great crowd from which ema-
nates that public opinion to which you defer ; and it is
for this, it is because I am simply this, that I am per-
haps qualified to say to you, Enough ! Stop ! Go as far
as the limits of justice ; do not overstep them. The ex-
ample has been set. Do not destroy that isolation of the
condemned man Teste, which is the grand aspect, the
grand moral lesson of the trial. As long as it was
a question only of this unhappy man, I spoke to you
merely in the language of pity ; I speak to you now in the
language of equity, solemn and austere equity. I con-
jure you, give credit to General Cubiferes for his sixty
years of honourable life, give credit to him for the agony
he has suffered for those four years of torture which he
endured at the villainous hands of Parmentier, for this
public exposure upon that bench during four days;
give credit to him for that unjust accusation of fraud,

170 THINGS SEEN.

which was also a torture to him ; give credit to him for
h^s generous hesitation to save himself by ruining Teste ;
give credit to him, finally, for his heroic conduct upon
the battle-field of Waterloo, where I regret that he did
not remain. I formally propose to sentence M. Cubiferes
to the penalty provided by Article 401, together with Ar-
ticle 42 ; that is to say, to a suspension of civil and civic
rights for ten years. I vote against civic degradation."

At seven o'clock there still remain eighty Peers who
have not voted. The chancellor proposes an adjourn-
ment until the morrow. Objections are made: An ad-
journment while the voting is taking place ! M. Cauchy
reads precedent from the Qu^nisset trial. Uproar. The
adjournment is carried.

July 16.

Continuation of the voting upon the question of the
penalty to be inflicted upon General Cubi&res.

The penalty of civic degradation is carried by 130
votes to 48.

He is condemned besides to a fine of ten thousand
francs.

No imprisonment.

It appears that the decision in favour of inflicting the
penalty of civic degradation upon General Cubiferes, which
has just been arrived at, has reached the prison. Just
now I heard in the street the dreadful cries of Madame
de Cubiferes and Madame de Sampays, her sister, who
were with the general at the moment when the news was
communicated to him.

July 17.

Sentence upon Parmentier.

Upon the question of civic degradation I said, "I
should have wished, as the Court is aware, in order that

THE TESTB AND CUBlfeRES TBIAL. 171

a great example might be made, that President Teste
should have been left in his degrading isolation, alone
under the burden of civic degradation." The Court did
not agree with me ; it thought proper to associate with
him General Cubiferes. I cannot do otherwise than asso-
ciate with him Parmentier. I vote for civic degradation,
while profoundly regretting that I am obliged, after this
great social and public penalty has been inflicted upon
two ex-Ministers, upon two Peers of France, to whom it
is everything, to inflict it upon this wretch to whom it is
nothing.

Parmentier is condemned to civic degradation and a
fine of ten thousand francs. No imprisonment.

As we were about to leave, and were in the cloak-room,
Anatole de Montesquiou, who constantly voted in the
most lenient sense, pointed out to me, in the second com-
partment of the cloak-room near that in which I am put-
ting on my things, an old Peer's robe hanging at the side
of the robe of the Minister of Public Instruction. This
robe is worn at the elbows, the gilt of the buttons is
rubbed off, the embroidery faded ; an old ribbon of the
Legion of Honour is in the button-hole, more yellow than
red, and half untied. Above this coat was written,
according to the custom, the name of him to whom it
belonged: " M. TESTE."

My opinion is that the public will consider the decree
of the Court of Peers just in the case of Teste, harsh in
that of Cubiferes, and lenient in that of Parmentier.

At half-past four the doors were thrown open to the
public. An immense crowd had been waiting since the
morning. In a moment the galleries were noisily filled.
It was like a wave. Then profound silence when the
calling of the names began. The Peers replied, generally
speaking, in a barely audible and weary tone of voice.

Then the chancellor put on his shaped hat of black

172 THINGS SEEN.

velvet lined with ermine, and read the decree. The pro-
curator-general was at his post. The chancellor read
the decree in a firm tone, very remarkable in an old man
of eighty years of age. Whatever may have been said
by certain newspapers, he did not shed " silent tears."

The judgment will be read presently by the Chief
Clerk of the Court to the condemned men.

It will be just a month ago to-morrow, the 18th, that
Teste was arraigned by the judicial committee of the
Peers, and that he said to them, " I thank you for plac-
ing me in a position which gives me the precious privi-
lege of defending myself."

July 21.

It is a curious fact that M. Teste, who, as Minister of Pub-
lic Works, had this Luxembourg prison built, is the first
minister who has been confined in it. This reminds one
of the gibbet of Montfaucon, and of Enguerrand de
Marigny.

M. Teste occupies in this prison an apartment sepa-
rated only by a partition from the apartment of General
Cubiferes. The partition is so thin that, as M. Teste speaks
loudly, Mme. de Cubiferes was obliged on the first day to
tap upon the wall to warn M. Teste that she heard all
he said. The pistol-shot, too, made General Cubiferes
start as though it had been fired in his own apartment.

The sitting of the 12th had been so decisive that some
act of desperation was thought probable. During the
very sitting the Duke Decazes had had iron bars put to
the windows of the prisoners. They found these bars in
the windows on coming back, but did not feel any sur-
prise on seeing them. They also had their razors taken
from them, and had to dine without knives.

Policemen were to remain day and night by their side.
However, it was thought that M. Teste might be left

THE TESTE AND CUBlfeKES TRIAL. 173

alone with his son and the counsel who were defending
him. He dined with them almost in silence, a remark-
able fact, for he was a great talker. The little he did
say was concerning matters foreign to the trial. At nine
o'clock the son and the barristers retired. The police-
man who was to watch M. Teste received orders to go up
directly. It was during the few minutes which elapsed
between the departure of his son and the entrance of the
policeman that M. Teste made his attempt to commit
suicide.

Many persons had doubted whether this attempt was
seriously intended. This was the tone of the comments
in the Chamber. M. Delessert, the prefect of police,
whom I questioned on this subject, told me there could
be no doubt about it that M. Teste had tried to kill him-
self in downright good earnest, but he believes that only
one pistol-shot was fired.

After his condemnation, General Cubiferes received
many visits ; the sentence of the Court missed its mark
by reason of its excessive severity. The general's
visitors, in going to his cell, passed before that of Par-
mentier, which was only closed with a door having, in-
stead of a glass pane, a white curtain, through which he
could be seen. All of them in passing by loaded Par-
mentier with terms of contempt, which obliged the fellow
to hide in a corner where he was no longer visible.

During the trial the heat was intense. At every
moment the chancellor had to summon back the Peers
who went off to the refreshment-bars or the lobbies.

Lord Normanby did not miss a single sitting.

July 22.

The name of Teste has already been removed from his
seat in the House of Peers. It is General Achard now
who occupies his chair.

174 THINGS SEEN.

Yesterday, Tuesday, the 21st of July, as I was pro-
ceeding from the Acaddmie to the House of Peers, to-
wards four o'clock, I met near the exit of the Institute,
in the most deserted part of the Rue Mazarine, Parmentier
coming out of prison. He was going in the direction
of the Quay. His son accompanied him. Parmentier,
dressed in black, carried his hat in his hand behind
his back; with his other arm he leaned upon his son.
The son had a downcast look. Parmentier appeared
completely overwhelmed. He had the appearance of
exhaustion, of a man who has just come from a long
walk. His bald head seemed to bend beneath his shame.
They were walking slowly.

It was stated to-day at the Chamber that Madame de
Cubiferes gave a soirie two days after the condemnation.
It appears that in reality she simply contented herself
with not shutting her door. She has just written to the
newspapers a letter, which will not do her husband much
good, but in which there is nevertheless one fine passage,
as follows : "He has had his peerage, his rank, everything
taken from him, even to his dignity as a citizen. He
retains his wounds."

The chancellor offered to let M. de Cubiferes leave the
prison by one of the private gates of the chancellor's
official residence in the Luxembourg. A hired convey-
ance would have awaited M. de Cubiferes, and he would
have got in without being seen by any one in the street.
M. de Cubi&res refused. An open carriage, drawn by two
horses, came and took up its position at the gate-way of
the Rue de Vaugerard, in the midst of the crowd. M. de
Cubiferes got into it, accompanied by his wife and Madame
de Sampays, and this is how he came out of prison.
Since then he has had, every evening, more than a hun-
dred visitors. There are always some forty carriages at
his door.

THE CONDEMNED CONVICTS' PRISON. 175

THE CONDEMNED CONVICTS' PRISON.

THE prison for condemned convicts, built by the side
of, and as a comparison to, the prison for youthful
offenders, is a living and striking antithesis. It is not
only that the beginning and the ending of the evil-doer
face each other ; there is also the perpetual confronting
of the two penal systems, solitary confinement and
imprisonment in common. This is almost enough to de-
cide the question. It is a dark and silent duel between
the dungeon and the cell, between the old prison and the
new.

On one side were all the condemned, pell-mell, the
child of seventeen with the old man of seventy; the
prisoner of thirteen months with the convict for life ;
the beardless lad who had filched apples and the assassin
of the highway, snatched from the Place Saint-Jacques
and sent to Toulon in consequence of "extenuating
circumstances ; " the almost innocent and the quasi-
condemned ; the blue-eyed and the grey-beard ; hideous,
pestilential workshops, where they sewed and worked in
semi-darkness, amid things dirty and foetid, without air,
daylight, speech ; without looking at each other ; without
interest ; horrible, mournful spectres, some of whom terri-
fied one by their age, and others by their youth.

On the other side a cloister, a hive, each worker in his
cell, each soul in its alveole : an immense edifice of three
stories, inhabited by neighbours who never saw each
other ; a town composed of small hermitages ; nothing
but children, and children who do not know each other,
who live years close to each other without ever hearing
the echo of each other's foot-falls or the sound of their
voices, separated by a wall, by an abyss : work, study,

176 THINGS SEEN.

tools, books ; eight hours' sleep, one hour of repose, one
hour of play, in a small walled court ; prayers morning
and evening ; thought ever !

On one side the cesspool, on the other cultivation !

You enter a cell ; you find a child standing up before a
bench lighted by a dirty window, of which one square
pane at the top can be opened. The child is clad in
coarse serge; clean, grave, quiet He ceases working
and salutes. You question him ; he replies with a seri-
ous gaze, and in subdued tones. Some are making locks,
a dozen a day ; others are carving furniture, etc., etc.
There are as many conditions as stories ; as many work-
shops as corridors. The child can read and write besides.
He has in prison a master for his brain as well as for his
body.

You must not think that because of its mildness
the prison is insufficient punishment. No; it is pro-
foundly sad. All the prisoners have an appearance of
punishment which is peculiar.

There are still many more criticisms to be passed ; the
cell system begins. It has almost all its improvements
to come ; but, incomplete and imperfect as it is at present,
it is admirable when compared with the system of im-
prisonment in common.

The prisoner a captive on all sides, and only at all
free on the working side interests himself in what he
makes, whatever it may be. Thus, a lad who hated all
occupations becomes a most furiously industrious me-
chanic. When one is in solitary confinement one man-
ages to find light in the darkest dungeon.

August 5.

The other day I was visiting the convict prison, and I
said to the governor, who accompanied me :

" You have a man condemned to death here now ? "

THE CONDEMNED CONVICTS' PRISON. 177

" Yes, sir, a man named Marquis, who tried to murder
a girl, Torisse, with intent to rob her."

" I should like to speak to that man," I said.

* Sir," replied the governor, " I am here to take your
orders, but I cannot admit you into the condemned cell"

Why not ? "

" Sir, the police regulations do not permit us to intro-
duce everybody into the cells of the condemned."

I replied, " I am not acquainted with the conditions of
the police regulations, M. le Directeur de la Prison, but I
know what the law permits. The law places the prisons
under the authority of the Chambers, and the officials
under the surveillance of the Peers of France, who can be
called upon to judge them. Wherever it is possible that
an abuse may exist, the legislature may come in and
search for it. Evil may exist in the cell of a man con-
demned to death. It is therefore my duty to enter, and
yours to open it."

The governor made no reply, and led me forward.

We skirted a small courtyard in which were some
flowers, and which was surrounded by a gallery. This
was the exercise-ground of the condemned prisoners. It
was surrounded by four lofty buildings. In the centre
of one of the sides of the gallery there is a heavy door
bound with iron. A wicket opened, and I found myself
in a kind of ante-chamber, gloomy, and paved with stone.
Before me were three doors, one directly opposite me, the
others on either hand : three heavy doors, pierced with a
grating, and cased with iron. These three doors opened
into three cells, appropriated to the use of the condemned
criminals who awaited their fate after the double appeal
to the judge and to the Supreme Courts. This generally
means a respite of two months.

" We have never had more than two of these cells oc-
cupied at the same time," said the governor.
VOL. xxiv. 12

178 THINGS SEEN.

The door of the centre one was opened. It was that of
the condemned cell then occupied.

I entered.

As I crossed the threshold a man rose quickly and
stood up.

This man was at the other end of the cell. I saw him
at once. A pale gleam of daylight which descended from
a wide, deeply-set window above his head lighted it up
from the back. His head was bare, his neck was bare ;
he had shoes on and a strait-waistcoat, and pantaloons of
brown woollen stuff. The sleeves of this waistcoat, of
thick grey linen, were tied in front. His hand could be
distinguished resting on this, and holding a pipe quite
full of tobacco. He was on the point of lighting this
pipe at the moment the door was opened. This was the
condemned man.

Nothing could be seen through the window but a
glimpse of the rainy sky.

There was a moment's silence. I was too greatly
moved to be able to speak.

He was a young man, evidently not more than twenty-
two or twenty-three years old. His chestnut hair, which
curled naturally, was cut short ; his beard had not been
trimmed. He had beautiful large eyes, but his glance
was low and villainous, his nose flat, his temples promi-
nent; the bones behind the ears large, which is a bad
sign ; the forehead low, the mouth coarse, and to the left
of the cheek was that peculiar puffing which agony pro-
duces. He was pale; his whole face was contracted;
nevertheless, at our entry he forced a smile.

He stood upright His bed was on his left hand, a
kind of truckle-bed, in disorder, on which he had in all
probability been extended just previously, and to his
right a small table of wood, coarsely painted a yellow
hue, having for a top a plank painted to imitate marbla

THE CONDEMNED CONVICTS' PRISON. 179

On this table were glazed earthenware dishes containing
cooked vegetables and a little meat, a piece of bread, and
a leathern pouch full of tobacco. A straw chair stood
beside the table.

This was not the horrible cell of the Conciergerie. It
was a good-sized room, fairly light, coloured yellow, fur-
nished with the bed, table, and chair aforesaid, a faience
stove, and a shelf fitted in the angle of the wall opposite
the window laden with old clothes and old crockery. In
another corner there was a square chair, which replaced
the ignoble tub of the old prisons. Everything was clean,
or nearly so, in good order, swept and garnished, and had
that indescribable homeliness about it which deprives
things of their unpleasantness as well as of their attrac-
tiveness. The barred window was open. Two small
chains for supporting the sashes hung to two nails above
the head of the condemned man. Near the stove two
men stood, a soldier, armed only with his sword, and a
warder. Condemned criminals always have this escort
of two men, who do not leave him night or day. The
attendants are relieved every three hours.

I did not take in all these details at once. The con-
demned man absorbed all my attention.

M. Paillard de Villeneuve was with me. The governor
broke the silence. \

" Marquis," he said, pointing to me, " this gentleman is
here in your interest."

" Sir," I said, "if you have any complaint to make, I am
here to ent^tain it."

The condemned bowed, and replied with a smile which
sat ill upon him, " I have no complaints, sir ; I am very
well here. These gentlemen [indicating his guardians]
are very kind, and would willingly converse with me.
The governor comes to see me from time to time."

" How do they feed you ? " I asked.

180 THINGS SEEN.

"Very well, sir; I have double rations." Then he
added, after a pause, " We have a right to double rations ;
and then I have white bread too."

I glanced at the piece of bread, which was white.

He added, "The prison bread is the only thing to
which I have not been able to accustom myself. At
Sainte-Pelagie, where I was detained, we formed a society
of young men among ourselves, and so as not to mix with
the others, to have white bread."

I replied, " Were you better off in Sainte-Pelagie than
here?"

" I was very well at Sainte-Pelagie, and I am very well
here."

I continued, " You said that you did not wish to mix
with the others. What do you mean by * the others ' ? "

" There were a great many common people there," he
replied.

The condemned was the son of a porter in the Rue
Chabanais.

" Is your bed comfortable ? " I asked.

The governor lifted the coverings and said, "Yes, sir; a
hair mattress, two mattresses, and two blankets."

" And two bolsters," added Marquis.

* Do you sleep well ? " I asked.

He replied without hesitation, " Very well."

There was on the bed an open, torn volume.

You read ? "

" Yes, sir."

I took up the book. It was an " Abridgment of Geo-
graphy and History," printed in the last century. The
first pages and half the binding were wanting. The book
was open at a description of the Lake of Constance.

" Sir," said the governor to me, "I lent him that book"

I turned to Marquis.

* Does this book interest you ? "

THE CONDEMNED CONVICTS' PRISON. 181

"Yes, sir," he replied. "The governor has also lent
me the ' Voyages of La P^rouse ' and Captain Cook. I
am very fond of the adventures of our great explorers.
I have read them already, but I re-read them with pleas-
ure, and I will read them again in one year, or in ten."

He did not say I could read them, but I will read them.
For the rest, the poor young man was a good talker, and
was fond of hearing himself speak. " Our great explor-
ers " is textual. He talked like a newspaper. In all the
rest of his remarks I remarked this absence of natural-
ness. Everything disappears in the face of death except
affectation. Goodness vanishes, wickedness disappears,
the benevolent man becomes bitter, the rude man polite,
the affected man remains affected. A strange thing it is
that death touches you, but does not give you simplicity.

He was a poor, vain workman ; a bit of an artist, too
much and too little, who had been destroyed by vanity.
He had the idea of coming out and enjoying himself. He
had stolen a hundred francs from his father's desk, and
next day, after a course of pleasure and dissipation, he
had killed a girl in order to rob her. This terrible ladder,
which has so many steps that lead from domestic robbery
to murder, from the paternal reprimand to the scaffold,
criminals like Lacenaire and Poulmann take twenty years
to descend ; he, this young man, who was a lad but yes-
terday, had cleared them all in twenty-four hours ! He
had, as an old convict, a former school-master, said in the
courtyard, jumped all the steps.

What an abyss is such a destiny !

He turned over the leaves for a few minutes, and I con-
tinued : " Have you never had any means of existence ? "

He raised his head, and replied with some pride, " Yes,
indeed, sir."

Then he proceeded. I did not interrupt him.

" I was a furniture-designer. I have even studied to

182 THINGS SEEN.

be an architect I am called Marquis. I was a pupil of
M. Le Due."

He referred to M. Viollet Le Due, the architect of the
Louvre. I remarked, in the complacent sequence of the
word Marquis, "Le Due!" However, he had not yet
ended.

" I started a 'Journal of Design ' for cabinet-makers. I
had already made some progress. I wanted to give carpet-
manufacturers designs in the Renaissance style, made ac-
cording to the rules of the trade, which they never had.
They are forced to content themselves with engravings of
very incorrect styles."

" You had a good idea. Why did you not carry it out ? "

* It miscarried, sir."

He spoke the words quickly, and added : " However, I
do not mean to say that I wanted money. I had talent,
I sold my designs ; I would certainly have finished by
selling them at my own price/*

I could not help saying, " Then why "

He understood, and answered : " I really cannot say.
The idea crossed my mind. I should not be thought
capable of that at this fatal day."

At the words " fatal day " he stopped, then continued,
with a sort of carelessness :

" I am sorry I have not some designs here ; I would
show them to you. I also painted landscapes. M. Le
Due taught me water-colour painting. I succeeded in
the Cic^ri style. I did things which you would have
sworn were Cic&i's. I am very fond of drawing. At
Sainte-Pelagie I drew the portraits of many of my com-
panions in crayons only. They would not let me have
my box of water-colours."

" Why ?" I asked, without thinking.

He hesitated. I was sorry I had put the question, for
I divined the reason.

THE CONDEMNED CONVICTS' PBISON. 183

" Sir," he said, " it was because they fancied there was
poison in the colours. They were wrong. They are
water-colours."

" But/' remarked the governor, there is minium in the
vermilion ? "

" It is possible," he replied. " The fact is, they did not
permit it, and I had to content myself with the crayons.
The portraits were all good likenesses, too."

" And what do you do here ? "

" I occupy myself."

He remained deep in thought after this reply, then he
added, " I can draw well. This," indicating the strait-
waistcoat, " does not interfere with me. In an extreme
case one can draw." He moved his hand beneath his
bonds as he spoke. " And then these gentlemen are very
kind " (indicating the attendants). " They have already
offered to let me raise the sleeves. But I do something
else, I read."

" You see the chaplain, of course ? "

" Yes, sir ; he comes to see me."

Here he turned to the governor, and said, " But I have
not yet seen the AbW Montfes."

That name in his mouth had a sinister effect on me.
I had seen the Abb4 Months ouce in my life, one sum-
mer day on the Pont-au-Change, in the cart which was
carrying Louvel to the scaffold.

Nevertheless the governor replied, " Ah, dame ! He is
old ; he is nearly eighty-six. The poor man is in attend-
ance when he can."

"Eighty-six!" I exclaimed. "That is what is wanted
so long as he has a little strength. At his age one is so
near to God that one ought to speak very beautiful
words."

" I will see him with pleasure," said Marquis, quickly,

"Sir," said I, "we must have hope."

184 THINGS BEEN.

"Oh!* said he, "do not discourage me. First, I have
my petition to the Appeal Court, and then I have my de-
mand en grdce. The sentence which has been pronounced
may be quashed. I do not say that it is not just, but it
is a little severe. They ought to have taken my age into
consideration, and given me the benefit of extenuating
circumstances. And then I have signed my petition to
the king. My father, who comes to see me, bids me
be at ease. M. Le Due himself sent the petition to his
Majesty. M. Le Due knows me well; he knows his
pupil Marquis. The king is not in the habit of refusing
him anything. It is impossible that they will refuse me
a pardon I do not say a free pardon but "

He was silent.

"Yes," I said, "be of good courage; you have here
your judges on one side, and your father on the other.
But above you have also your father and your judge, who
is God, who cannot feel the necessity to condemn you
without at the same time experiencing the desire to par-
don you. Hope, then."

u Thank you, sir," replied Marquis.

Again silence ensued.

Then I asked, " Do you require anything ? "

" I would like to go out and walk in the yard a little
oftener. That is all, sir. I only am allowed out for a
quarter of an hour a day."

"That is not sufficient." I said to the governor,
"Why is it so?"

" Because of our great responsibility," he replied.

" Well I " I exclaimed, " put four guards on duty if two
do not suffice, but do not refuse this young man a little
air and sunlight A court in the centre of a prison,
stocks and bars everywhere, four lofty walls surrounding
it, four guards always there, the strait-waistcoat, senti-
nels at ever; wicket, two rounds, and two enceintes sixty

THE CONDEMNED CONVICTS' PRISON. 185

feet high, what have you to fear ? The prisoner ought to
be allowed to walk in the courtyard when he asks
permission."

The governor bowed, and said, " That is but just, sir.
I will carry out your suggestions."

The condemned man thanked me with effusiveness.

"It is time for me to leave you," I said. "Turn to
God, and keep up your courage."

" I shall have good courage, sir."

He accompanied me to the door, which was then shut
upon him. The governor conducted me into the next
cell on the right. It was longer than the other. It con-
tained only a bed and a utensil.

It was in here that Poulmann was confined. In the
six weeks which he passed here he wore out three pairs
of shoes walking up and down these boards. He never
ceased walking, and did fifteen leagues a day in his celL
He was a terrible man.

" You have had Joseph Henri ? " I asked.

" Yes, sir ; but in the infirmary only. He was ill. He
was always writing to the Keeper of the Seals, to the pro-
curator-general, to the chancellor, to the Great Eefoundary,
letters, letters of four pages, and in small close writing,
too. One day I said to him, laughingly, ' It is fortunate
that you are not compelled to read what you have writ-
ten.' No one ever read them, evidently. He was a
fool."

As I was leaving the prison the governor indicated to
me the two " rounds," or encircling paths : high walls, a
scanty herbage, a sentry-box every thirty paces. He
pointed out to me, under the very windows of the con-
demned cells, a place where two soldiers on duty had shot
themselves the year before. They had blown their brains
out with their rifles, and we could see the bullet-holes in
the sentry-box. The rain had washed away the blood-

186 THINGS SEEN.

stains from the wall. One man had killed himself
because his officer, seeing him without his rifle, which he
had left in the sentry-box, said to him in passing, " fifteen
days in the salle de police." We never found out why the
other man shot himself.

THE DUKE OF PRASLIN.

August 18, 4 P. M.

I HAVE this instant learned that the Duchess of Pras-
lin was assassinated last night in her own mansion,
No. 55 Rue St. Honon*.

August 20.

The Court of Peers is convened for to-morrow, to ar-
raign M. de Praslin.

SATURDAY, August 21. Written at this sitting.

At seven minutes past two the public sitting opens.
The Keeper of the Seals, Hubert, mounts the tribune, and
reads the ordinance which constitutes the Court of Peers.

There are women on the benches; a man, stout and
bald and white, of ruddy countenance, closely resembling
Parmentier, is in the west tribune, and for a moment
attracts the attention of the Peers.

The chancellor causes the tribunes to be evacuated;
the Procurator-general Delangle is introduced, and the
Advocate-general Bresson, in red robes. The chancellor
remarks that the tribunes are not all empty, those of the
reporters among others ; he gets angry, and gives orders
to the ushers. The tribunes are cleared with some
difficulty.

THE DUKE OF PBASLIN. 187

M. de Praslin was arrested yesterday, and transferred
to the prison of the chamber on the chancellor's warrant.
He was committed this morning at daybreak. He is in
the cell where M. Teste was.

It was M. de Praslin who, on the 17th of July, passed
over the pen to sign the warrant for the arrest of MM.
Teste and Cubiferes. A month after, exactly, on the 17th
of August, he signed his own warrant with his dagger.

The Duke of Praslin is a man of middle height, and of
rather commonplace appearance. He has a very gentle,
but a very false, manner. He has a villainous mouth, and
a horribly constrained smile. He is a fair, pallid man ;
pale, washed-out, like an Englishman. He is neither fat
nor thin, nor good-looking nor ugly. He has no signs of
breeding in his hands, which are fat and thick. He has
always the air of being about to say something which he
never does say.

I have only spoken to him three or four times in my
life. The last time we were ascending the great staircase
together. I had informed him that I would interrogate
the Minister of War if they did not pardon Dubois de
Gennes. whose brother had been the duke's secretary.
He said that he would support me.

He had not behaved well towards this Dubois de Gennes.
He had put him aside very cavalierly. The duke under-
took to present his petitions to the king with his own
hands, and he put them in the post !

M. de Praslin did not speak in the Chamber. He voted
sternly in the trial. He decided very harshly in the
Teste affair.

In 1830 I occasionally met him at the house of the
Marquis de Marmier, since duke. He was then only Mar-
quis de Praslin, as his brother was alive. I had noticed
the marquise, a good-looking stout woman, a contrast
to the marquis, who was then very thin.

188 THINGS SEEN.

The poor duchess was literally hacked to pieces with
the knife, and stunned by the butt of the pistol. Allard,
the successor to Vidocq, of the secret police, said, " It
was clumsily done ; trained assassins would have worked
better ; a man of the world did that ! "

The Comte de Nocd came up to me in the robing-room,
and said, " Do you understand ? He has made a fire to
burn his robe de chambre"

I replied, " He had something to burn ! It was not his
robe de chambre, it was his brain."

A month ago the army received a blow in the case of
General Cubiferes ; the magistrature, in President Teste ;
now the old nobility has had its turn in the Duke of
Praslin.

This must be put a stop to.

Sunday, 22.

At the present moment one can perceive, in the window
of Mile, de Luzzy, in Madame Lemaire's house, Kue du
Harlay, in the court, the melon, the bouquet, and the
basket of fruit which the duke brought from the country
the very evening before the murder.

The duke is seriously ill. People say he is poisoned.
Just now I heard a flower-girl say, " Mon Dieu, if only
they do kill him, it will amuse me very much to read all
the details in the paper every evening."

In his address to the Court, in secret sitting, the chan-
cellor said the duty which devolved upon the Court, and
upon him, was the most painful they had ever been called
upon to perform. His voice literally changed while he
spoke these words. Before the sitting commenced he
came into the reading-room ; I bade him good-morning,
and we shook hands. The old chancellor was overcome.

The chancellor also said, " Rumours of suicide and of
escape are in circulation. Messieurs les Pairs may rest

THE DUKE OF PRASLIK 189

assured. No precaution will be spared to ensure for the
culprit, if he be found guilty, the public and legal punish-
ment which he has incurred and deserves, and which he,
in that case, cannot by any means escape/'

They say that the procurator-general Delangle already
repeats to his intimates his little " effective bit " the
description of the room after the crime had been com-
mitted there, the sumptuous furniture, the golden fringe,
the silken hangings, etc. ; there a pool of blood ; here the
open window, the rising sun, the trees, the garden as far
as the eye could reach, the songs of the birds, the sun-
light, etc. ; then the corpse of the deceased duchess.
Contrast! Delangle is astonished at the effect before-
hand, and is dazzled by himself.

On the 17th Mile, de Luzzy had dined at Mme.
Lemaire's, at the under-teachers* table. She was pale,
and appeared to be suffering. " What is the matter with
you ? " asked Mile. Julie Rivifere, one of her companions.
Mile, de Luzzy replied that she did not feel very well ;
that she had fainted that day in the Rue St. Jacques, but
the doctor had not thought it necessary to bleed her.

Doctor Louis is the Praslin family practitioner. They
called him to see the duke. The prefect of police made
the doctor promise that he would only speak to the duke
concerning his health. The precaution turned out to be
quite needless. The duke would scarcely respond, even
by signs, to the doctor's questions. He was in a strange
torpor. M. Louis perceived that he had tried to poison
himself by swallowing a narcotic.

M. Louis did not think he ought to be moved on the
20th. He thought that if the chancellor had him dragged
to Luxembourg, notwithstanding his advice, it was in the
hope that the duke would die on the way. I do not
think so.

The populace is exasperated against the duke; the

190 THINGS SEEN.

family is still more indignant than the populace. If he
were to be judged by his family, he would be more
severely condemned than by the Court of Peers, and more
cruelly tortured than by the people.

August 21.

On Wednesday, when coming from the Academic with
Cousin and the Count of Saint- Aulaire, Cousin said, " You
will see Mile, de Luzzy ; she is a rare woman. Her letters
are masterpieces of wit and style. Her interrogatory is
admirable ; still, you will not read it except when trans-
lated by Canchy. If you had heard her you would have
been astonished. No one has more grace, more tact or
intelligence. If she wishes to write some day for us, we
will give her, par Dieu, the Montyon Prize. For the rest,
she is headstrong and imperious ; she is a woman at once
wicked and charming."

I said to Cousin, " Ah, so you are in love with her ? "

To which he replied, " H^e ! "

" What do you think of the affair ? " said M. de Saint-
Aulaire, addressing me.

" There must have been some motive. If not, the duke
is a madman. The cause is in the duchess or in the mis-
tress ; but she is in the swim, otherwise the fact is impos-
sible. There is at the bottom of such a crime as this
either a very powerful reason or a great folly."

That was, in effect, my opinion. As for the ferocity of
the duke, it is explained by his stupidity; he was a
beast and ferocious.

The populace have already coined the verb Prasliner
to Prasliner your wife.

The examining Peers visited the Praslin mansion the
day before yesterday. The bedroom is still in the state
it was left on the morning of the murder. The blood
from red has turned to black ; that is the only difference.

THE DUKE OF FRA8LIN. 191

This room gives one the horrors. One can see the terrible
struggle and resistance of the duchess as they actually
occurred. Everywhere are the prints of bloody hands
passing from wall to wall, from one door to another, from
one bell-pull to another. The unhappy woman, like a
wild animal caught in a snare, must have rushed round
and round the room, screaming and seeking an escape
from the dagger-blows of the assassin.

From the gate in the Rue de Vaugirard one can see in
the prison three windows which have hottes. These are
the only ones. Three months ago they had neither bars
nor hottes. The bars were placed for President Teste, and
the hottes for the Duke of Praslin. Doctor Louis told me :

" The day after the murder, at half-past 2 A.M., I was
called, and went to M. de Praslin's house. I knew noth-
ing 5 judge f my utter stupefaction. I found the duke
in bed ; he was already in custody. Eight women, who
relieved each other every hour, never took their eyes from
him. Four police agents were seated on chairs in a
corner. I had noticed his condition, which was terrible.
The symptoms declared cholera or poison. People accuse
me of not having said at once he is poisoned. That
would have denounced him and lost him. Poisoning is a
tacit confession of guilt. ' You should have said so,' the
chancellor remarked to me. I replied, * Monsieur le Chan-
cellor, where an opinion implies the condemnation of a
person a doctor will not give it.'

" For the rest," continued M. Louis, " the duke was
very gentle : he was passionately fond of his children, and
passed his life with one of them on his knee, and some-
times one on his back too. The duchess was beautiful
and intelligent ; she had become an enormous size. The
duke suffered terribly, but exhibited the greatest fortitude.
Not a word, not a complaint in the midst of the tortures
of the arsenic."

192 THINGS SEEN.

It would appear that M. dc Praslin was a very well
made man. At the post-mortem the doctors were much
struck. One of them exclaimed, "What a beautiful
corpse ! " He was a fine athlete, Doctor Louis told me.

The tomb in which they laid him bears a leaden plate,
on which is the number 1054. A number after his death,
as convicts have in life, is the only epitaph of the Duke
of Choiseul-Praslin.

Mile. Deluzy not De Luzzy is still in the Con-
ciergerie. She walks about every day for two hours in
the courtyard. Sometimes she wears a nankeen dress,
sometimes a striped silk gown. She knows that many
eyes are fixed on her at the windows. People who
watch her say she strikes attitudes. She is a source of
amusement for M. Teste, whose window looks into the
court. She was still in confinement on the 31st.

Granier de Cassagnac, who has seen her, has given
me a description of her. She has a very low forehead,
her nose turns up a great deal, her hair is very
light-coloured. Nevertheless, she is pretty. She looks
straight at all who pass, seeking observation, arid per-
haps to fascinate them.

She is one of those women who neglect the heart in
order to cultivate the wit. She is capable of follies,
not from passion but from egotism.

August 30.

A sitting in which the Court is dissolved. At a
quarter past one I enter the Chamber. There are but
a few Peers present, M. Villemain, M. Cousin, M.
TWnard; some generals,,General Fabvier among them ;
some former presidents, among thorn M. Barthe ; there
is also M. le Comte de Bondy, who bears a singular
resemblance to, with better characteristics than, the
Duke of Praslin.

THE DUKE OF PBASLIN. 193

I chat with General Fabvier, then for a long time
with M. Barthe, of everything, and of those of the
Chamber of Peers in particular. It is necessary to take
up the subject to make the people sympathetic with
it, and to make it sympathetic with the people. We
spoke of the suicide of Alfred de Montesquiou. In the
cloak-room it was the general topic, as well as another
sad incident : the Prince of Eckmiihl has been arrested
during the night for having stabbed his mistress.

At two o'clock the chancellor rose ; he had on his
right the Duke Decazes, and on his left the Viscount
Pont^coulant. He spoke for twenty minutes. The
attorney-general was introduced.

There are about sixty Peers. The Duke of Brancas
and the Marquis de Fontis are beside me.

M. Delangle laid down his brief for the prosecution,
holding that the Court was dissolved by the death of
the duke.

The attorney-general went out. The chancellor said,
"Does any one claim the right to speak?"

M. de Boissy rose. He partly approved of what the
chancellor had said. The poison had been taken before
the Court of Peers had assembled, consequently no re-
sponsibility rested on the Court. Public opinion accused
the Peers charged with the investigation of having
winked at the poisoning.

COUNT LANJUINAIS. An opinion without any foun-
dation.

BOISSY. But universal. [No, no.] I insist that it
may be proved that no responsibility for the poisoning
rests upon the chancellor, the * investigating Peers, nor
on the Courts.

THE CHANCELLOK, No one entertains such an opin-
ion ; the report of the post-mortem quite disposes of the
question.

VOL. XXIY. 18

194 THINGS SEEN.

M. Cousin agreed with the chancellor, and, while
sharing the anxiety of M. de Boissy, believed that there
was no foundation for the rumour.

M. de Boissy persisted. He believed there had been
complicity, but he did not accuse any of the officers of
the Court.

M. Barthe rose, and gave way to the Duke Decazes,
who related the circumstances of his interview with
M. de Praslin the Tuesday he died, at 10 A.M.

This is the interview :

" You suffer a great deal, my dear friend ? " M. Decazes
had said.

"Yes."

" It is your own fault. Why did you poison yourself ? "

Silence.

" You have taken laudanum ? "

"No."

" Then you have taken arsenic ? "

The sick man looked up and said, " Yes."

* Who procured the arsenic for you ? "

" No one."

" What do you mean ? Did you buy it yourself at the
chemist's ? "

" I brought it from Praslin."

Silence. The Duke Decazes continued : " This is the
time, for the sake of your family, your memory, your
children, to speak. You confess to having taken poison.
It is not to be supposed that an innocent person would
deprive his nine children of their father when they are
already motherless. You are guilty, then?"

Silence.

" At least you regret your crime. I beg of you to say
if you deplore it."

The accused raised his eyes and hands to heaven, and
said, with an agonized expression, " If I deplore it 1 "

THE DUKE OF PRASLIN. 195

"Then confess. Do not you wish to see the chan-
cellor?"

The accused made an effort, and said, " I am ready."

" Well, then," said the duke, " I will go and inform
him."

" No," replied the sick man, after a pause, " I am too
weak to-day. To-morrow. Tell him to come to-morrow."

At half-past four that afternoon he was dead.

This could not be put into the pleadings, as it was a
private conversation, which M. Decazes repeated because
the Court was, in a sense, informal.

M. Barthe called attention to the fact that the poison-
ing had taken place on Wednesday, the 19th, and had
not been renewed.

M. de Boissy wished to punish those who watched the
duke so carelessly. He poisoned himself on Wednesday,
at ten in the evening.

The chancellor said that M. de Boissy was mistaken ;
it was four in the afternoon. Besides, such things hap-
pen frequently in ordinary cases, and in the best-guarded
prisons.

The decree dissolving the Court was voted unanimously.

The Duke of Massa, after the vote, asked that the words
"his wife" should be inserted in the sentence. There
was a Dowager Duchess of Praslin. This was allowed.

The procurator-general was recalled, and the sentence
was read to him. The sitting broke up at five minutes
to three.

Many Peers remained to chat in the hall. M. Cousin
said to M. de Boissy, " You were right to ask for inform-
ation. It was excellent"

M, Decazes added to his former statement the follow-
ing details : When the duke was carried to the Luxem-
bourg he was clad in a dressing-gown and trousers.
During the journey he did not vomit; he only com-

196 THINGS SEEN.

plained of a consuming thirst When he arrived, at five
in the afternoon, they undressed him and put him to bed
at once. They did not give him back his dress until the
next day, when they moved him into an adjacent room
to be examined by the chancellor. After the exami-
nation they undressed him again, and put him to bed
once more. It is therefore impossible that, even if he
had some poison in his pockets, he could have taken it.
It is true they did not search him ; but that would have
been futile. They watched his movements closely.

September 18.

Here are, in this year, 1847, the pleasures of the
" bathers," the rich, noble, fashionable, intelligent, gener-
ous, and distinguished visitors to Spa :

1, Fill a bucket with water, throw into it a twenty-
sous piece, call a poor child, and say to him, " I will give
you that piece of money if you can pick it up with your
teeth." The child plunges his head into the water,
chokes, suffocates, and comes up all dishevelled and
shivering, with the piece of silver between his teeth ; and
they laugh. It is delightful !

2. Take a pig, grease its tail, and bet who will retain
his hold of the tail longest ; the pig pulls one way, the
gentleman another. Ten, twenty, a hundred louis are
staked on this.

Whole days are passed in such amusements.

However, old Europe is falling to pieces, jacqueries
germinate between the chinks and crevices of the old
social order ; the future is gloomy, and the rich are on
their trial in this century as the nobles were in the last

B*KANGBB. 197

B^RANGER.

November 4.

nPO-DAY the Normal School, in the Eue d'Ulm, was
JL opened. M. Dubois had requested me to be present.
As I was coming out I saw approaching me in the
corridor which leads to the staircase a man whom I did
not at first recognize. His face was round and red, his
eye clear and vivacious, long, greyish hair; sixty or
more years old ; a good, smiling mouth ; an old frock-coat
in very bad condition ; a great Quaker hat, with a broad
brim ; inclining to stoutness, and having some resem-
blance to my brother AbeL

It was B^rariger.

Ah ! Good-day, Hugo."

" Ah ! Good-day, B^ranger."

He took my arm. We proceeded together.

" I will go with you to the end of the street. Have
you a carriage ? "

"My legs/ 1

" Well, I have the same."

We went by the Estrapade towards the Rue Saint-
Jacques. Two men, dressed in black, approached us.

"Diable!" cried B^ranger, "here are two vulgar
pedants, the one a head-master of a school, the other a
member of the Academy of Sciences. Do you know
them?"

"No."

* Happy man. Hugo, you have always been in luck."

The two pedants merely bade us good-day. We pro-
ceeded by the Rue Saint-Hyacinthe.

Stranger continued :

"So you have been compelled during the last month
to eulogize a great man of an hour, killed between his
confessor, his mistress, and his cuckold."

198 THINGS SEEN.

" Ah !" I said, "you do not deserve to be a Puritan.
Do not speak thus of Frederic Souli, who had real
talent, and a heart without bitterness." ,

" The fact is," replied Stranger, " I said' a foolish thing
for the sake of being clever. I am not a Puritan. I
hate the breed. Whoever says Puritan says sinner."

And above all, "FooL" True virtue, true morality,
and true greatness are intelligent and indulgent.

We now passed the Place Saint-Michel, and entered,
still arm-and-arm, the Eue M. le Prince.

"You have done well," said Stranger to me, "to be
content with the popularity which one can regulate. I
have a great deal of trouble to withdraw myself from the
popularity which carries you with it. What slave is
there like the man who has the misfortune to be popular
in this fashion? Look at their Reformist banquets.
They kill me ; and I have the greatest difficulty in the
world to avoid them. I make excuses ; I am old, I have
a bad digestion, I never dine out, I cannot alter my rule,
etc. Bah ! "

"You owe it to yourself; a man like you must pay
this forfeit, and a hundred others in the same way. I
am exaggerating, eh ? Nevertheless, one must smile and
put the best face on it. Ah, yes ! but that is merely the
part of a Court jester. To amuse the prince, to amuse
the people the same thing. Where is the difference
between the poet following the Court and the poet fol-
lowing the crowd ? Marot in the sixteenth century,
Stranger in the nineteenth ; but, man cher, it may be the
same man. I do not consent to it. I lend myself to it
as little as possible. They make a mistake about me. I
am a man of opinion, and not of party. Oh, I hate their
popularity! I am very much afraid that our poor Lamar-
tine is going in for this popularity. T pity him. He
will see what it is. Hugo, I have some common-sense.

BARANGEB. 199

I tell you, be content with the popularity you have; it
is true, it is real. Now, I will give you another experi-
ence of mine. In 1829, when I was in La Force on ac-
count of my songs, how popular I was I There was not
a hosier, a pastry-cook, nor a reader of the * Constitutional'
who did not think it right to come to console me in my
cell. ' Let us go and see Bdranger ! ' They came. And
I, who was in the mood to muse upon the silliness of
poets, or was seeking for a refrain or a rhyme between
the bars of my window, was obliged, instead of finding
my verse, to receive my hosier! Poor devil popular-
ity ! I was not left alone in my prison. Oh, if it were
to happen again ! How they did bore me ! "

Chatting thus, we reached the Eue Mazarine and the
door of the Institut, whither I was bound.

It was the Academic day.

" Won't you come in ? " I asked my companion.

" Oh no, indeed ! That is for you to do."

And he ran away.

December SO.

They wished to make me a director of the Acad^mie.
I declined. They named Scribe. I said, "So long as
the Acaddmie chooses to keep one of its members 'in the
corner/ I will keep company with that member " (M. de
Vigny).

They would not nominate M. de Vigny either as direc-
tor or chancellor, because of his dispute with M. Mold.

200 THINGS SEEN.

THE DEATH OF MME. ADELAIDE.

December 81.

THIS lugubrious year, which opened on a Friday,
finishes on a Friday.

When I awoke, I was informed of the death of Mme.
Adelaide.

At three o'clock the Peers proceeded to the palace to
offer the king their condolence. We were a large as-
semblage. The chancellor was there in his robes, with
the antique three-cornered hat of the chancellors embel-
lished with an enormous gold tassel. Lagrende, Mornay,
Villemain, Barante ; Generals Scbastiani, Lagrange ; the
Duke of Broglie and M. de Markau, just appointed Ad-
miral of France, were all present, with others.

The king received the Peers in the throne-room ; he
was dressed in black, without any decorations, and was
in tears. The Duke of Nemours, M. de Joinville and
M. de Montpensier, were in black, without star or rib-
bon, like the king. The queen, the Duchess of Orleans,
Mesdames de Joinville and Montpensier were in deep
mourning.

The king came near to me, and said, "I thank M.
Victor Hugo ; he always comes to me on sad occasions."
Tears choked his utterance.

What a blow this is for the king ! His sister was a
friend to him. She was a woman of intelligence and
good counsel, who fell into the king's views without
ever upsetting them. Mme. Adelaide had something
manly and cordial about her, with considerable tact.
She had conversational powers. I remember one even-
ing she conversed with me for a long while, and intelli-
gently, respecting the " Ranc3 " of M. de Chateaubriand,

THE DEATH OF MME. ADELAIDE. 201

which was on the eve of publication. My dear little
Didine went with her mother one day to see her. Mme.
Adelaide gave her a doll. My daughter, who was then
seven years old, came back delighted. Some days after-
wards she happened to hear a great discussion respecting
the Philippists and the Carlists. All the while playing
with her doll, she said, in a low voice, "I am an
Ad&aidist."

So I have been an Ad&aidist also. The death of this
amiable old princess has caused me real grief.

She died in three days from inflammation of the lungs,
which supervened upon an attack of influenza. On
Monday she attended the royal party. Who could have
said that she would never see 1848 ?

Almost every morning the king had a long conversa-
tion, principally upon political matters, with Mme. Ad-
laide. He consulted her upon everything, and never
undertook any serious matter contrary to her advice.
He regarded the queen as his guardian angel : one might
say that Mme. Adelaide was his guiding spirit What a
loss this is for an old man ! A void in the heart, in the
house, in his habits. I was pained to see him shed tears.
One felt that the sobs came from the bottom of the
man's heart.

Her sister never left her. She had shared her exile,
she partook in a measure of her state : she lived devoted
to her brother, wrapped up in him ; for egotism she had
the / of Louis-Philippe.

She made M. de Joinville her heir ; Odilon Barrot and
Dupin are her executors.

The Peers quitted the Tuileries in great consternation
in consequence of all this sorrow, and uneasy regarding
the shock the king had received.

This evening all the theatres are closed.

Thus ends the year 1847.

1848.
THE FLIGHT OF LOUIS-PHILIPPE.

Fwas M. Cr^mieux who said to King Louis-Philippe
these sad words : " Sire, you must leave Paris."

The king had already abdicated. The fatal signature
had been written. He looked fixedly at M. Crdmieux.

The sharp firing in the Palais Royal was audible, the
Municipal Guards of the Chateau d'Eau were attacking
the barricades in the Rue de Valois and the Eue Saint-
Honor^.

Every moment wild shouts arose and drowned the re-
ports of the musketry. It was evident that the populace
was coming on the scene. From the Palais Royal to the
Tuileries it is but a pace for the giant who is called
Revolt.

M. Cr^mieux extended his hand in the direction of the
ominous shouts which came from without, and repeated
his warning : " Sire, you must leave."

The king, without saying a word in reply, and without
taking his eyes off of M. Cr&nieux, took off his general's
hat, which he handed to some one beside him at random,
doffed his uniform bearing the heavy silver epaulets,
and said, without rising from the great arm-chair in
which he had reclined, as if exhausted, for several hours,

" A round hat, a frock-coat."

They brought them. In an instant he was nothing
but an elderly tradesman.

Then he cried in a hasty tone, " My keys, my keys ! "

PortraH of Louis Philippe.

Steel Engraving by Gontttere, From Drawing
by Philippoteaux.

THE FLIGHT OF LOUIS-PHILIPPE. 203

The keys were not forthcoming.

Meanwhile the noise increased ; the firing seemed to be
approaching ; the terrible uproar increased.

The king kept repeating, " My keys, my keys ! "

At length the keys were found and brought to him.
He locked a portfolio which he carried in his arms, and a
still larger portfolio which his valet took charge of. He
displayed a kind of feverish agitation. All was hurry-
skurry around him. The princes and the valets could be
heard calling out, "Quick, quick! " The queen alone was
cool and proud.

They started. They traversed the Tuileries. The king
gave his arm to the queen, or, to speak more correctly,
the queen gave her arm to the king. The Duchess of
Montpensier was supported by M. Jules de Lasteyrie, the
Duke of Montpensier by M. Cr^mieux.

The Duke of Montpensier said to M. Cr^mieux, " Re-
main with us, M. Cr^mieux; do not leave us. Your
name may be useful to us."

In this manner they reached the Place de la R&volu-
tion. There the king turned pale.

He looked out for the four carriages which he had com-
manded from his stables. They were not there.

At the entrance to the stables the driver of the first
carriage had been shot, and at the time the king was
seeking them in the Place Louis XV. the people were
burning them in the Place du Palais Royal

At the foot of the obelisk a small hackney carriage
with one horse was stopped.

The king walked rapidly on, followed by the queen.

In the carriage were four women holding four children
on their knees.

The four ladies were Mesdames de Nemours and de
Joinville, and two ladies of the Court The four children
were the king's grandsons.

204 THINGS SEEN.

The king quickly opened the door, and said to the four
ladies, "Get out, all of you, all of you."

He only spoke these words.

The firing became more and more alarming. They
could hear the surging of the mob entering the Tuileries.

In the twinkling of an eye the four ladies were stand-
ing on the pavement, the same pavement whereon the
scaffold of Louis XVI. had been erected.

The king mounted or rather plunged into the empty
carriage, the queen followed him; Mme. de Nemours
mounted in front. The king still retained his portfolio
under his arm. He caused the larger, a green one, to be
placed within the cab. This was with some difficulty
accomplished. M. Crdrnieux pushed it in with his fist

" Go on," said the king.

The cab started. They took the Neuilly road.

Thuret, the king's valet, mounted behind. But he
could not hold to the bar which occupied the place of a
bracket-seat, and he attempted to bestride the horse, but
ended by running on foot. The carriage passed him.

Thuret ran as far as Saint-Cloud, thinking to find the
king there; but he found that he had proceeded to
Trianon.

At that moment the Princess Clementine and her
husband, the Duke of Saxe-Coburg, arrived by railway.

* Quick, madame," said Thuret ; " let us take the train
and go to Trianon. The king is there."

It was in this manner that Thuret proceeded to rejoin
the king.

Meanwhile, at Versailles, the king had succeeded in
procuring a berline and a kind of omnibus. He occu-
pied the carriage with the queen ; his suite, the omnibus.
They hired post-horses, and set out for Dreux.

As he continued his journey the king took off his false
hair and put on a cap of black silk, which he pulled

THE FLIGHT OF LOUIS-PHILIPPE. 206

down to his eyes. His beard had not been trimmed
since the previous day. He had had no sleep. He was
unrecognizable. He turned to the queen, who said, " You
look a hundred years old."

There are two roads to Dreux : that to the right is the
better, well paved, and is the road generally taken ; the
other is full of ruts, and is the longer.

The king said, " Postilion, take the left road."

He did well; he was hated at Dreux. Some people
were waiting on the high-road with hostile intentions.
In this manner he escaped the danger.

The sous-prefet of Dreux, who had been notified of his
approach, joined him, and handed him twelve thousand
francs half in notes and half in silver in bags.

The berline left the omnibus behind to do the best
it could, and proceeded towards Evreux, The king knew
that about a league from the town there lived a faithful
adherent, M. de .

It was dark night when the carriage reached the
mansion.

Thuret descended, rang for a long time ; at last some
one appeared.

Thuret asked for M. de .

He was away. It was winter. M. de was in
town.

His farmer, who had opened the door, explained this to
Thuret

" It does not matter,** replied Thuret " I have here
an old lady and gentleman, friends of his, who are very
tired. Just open the doors for us."

" I have not got the keys," said Renard.

The king was worn out by fatigue, suffering, and hun-
ger. Renard saw the old man, and had compassion on him.

"Monsieur et madame" he repeated, "pray come in.
I cannot open the chateau for you, but I can open the

206 THINGS SEEN.

farm-house. Come in. Meanwhile I will go in "search of
my master at Evreux."

The king and queen alighted. Renard conducted
them to the lower room in the farm. There was a fine
fire in it. The king was chilled to the bones.

" I am very cold," he said. Then he continued, " I am
very hungry."

Renard said, " Monsieur, would you like some onion-
soup ? "

" Very much," said the king.

They made some onion-soup, and produced the remains
of the farm breakfast, some cold stew or other, and an
omelet.

The king and queen seated themselves at table and
every one with them Renard, the farmer, his sons from
the plough, and Thuret the valet.

The king ate greedily what they gave him. The queen
did not eat anything.

In the midst of the repast the door opened. The new-
comer was M. de , who had hurried out from Evreux.

He perceived Louis- Philippe, and exclaimed, " The
king ! "

" Silence ! " cried the king.

But it was too late.

M. de reassured him. Renard was a worthy

fellow. They might trust him. They were all people to
be depended upon at the farm.

" Well," said the king, " I must proceed at once. How
shall I proceed ? "

" Where do you wish to go to ? " asked Renard.

" Which is the nearest seaport ? "

"Honfleur."

"Well, then, I will make for Honfleur,"

"All right," said Renard.

* How far is it from here ? "

THE FLIGHT OF LOUIS-PHILIPPE, 207

" Twenty-two leagues."

The king was alarmed, and exclaimed, "Twenty-two
leagues ! "

"You will reach Honfleur to-morrow morning," said
Benard.

Eenard had a " trap " in which he was accustomed to
go to market. He was a breeder and seller of horses.
He harnessed a pair of strong animals to this vehicle.

The king ensconced himself on one side, Thuret on
the other. Eenard, as coachman, seated himself in the
centre, a bag of corn was placed across the apron, and
they started.

It was seven o'clock at night.

The queen did not leave until two hours later, in the
carriage with the post-horses.

The king had put the bank-notes in his pocket The
money-bags worried him.

" More than once the king was on the point of telling
me to throw them away/' said Thuret to me later, when
narrating these details.

They passed through Evreux not without some trouble.
At the end of the town, near St. Taurin's Church, there
were some people collected, who stopped the carriage.

A man seized the bridle and said, " They say the king
is escaping this way."

Another man held a lantern to the king's face.

At length a sort of officer of the National Guard, who
for some moments had been handling the harness in a
suspicious way, cried out, "Hold there ! it is Pfere Benard ;
I know him, citizens."

He added, in a low voice, turning to Thuret, "I recog-
nize your companion in the corner. Get away quickly."

Thuret has told me since, " He spoke just in time, for,
as I fancied he was going to cut the traces, I was about
to stab him. I had my knife open in my hand."

208 THINGS SEEN.

Benard whipped his horses, and they left Evreux be-
hind them.

They kept on all night From time to time they
halted at the inns upon the road, and Benard baited his
horses.

He said to Thuret, " Get down. Be as much at your
ease as you can. Talk familiarly to me/' He also
"tuto/ed" the king.

The king pressed his black cap almost down upon his
nose, and maintained a profound silence. At 7 A.M.
they reached Honfleur. The horses had come twenty-
two leagues, without rest, in twelve hours. They were
knocked up.

" It is time," said the king.

From Honfleur the king reached Trouville. He hoped
to conceal himself iii a house formerly occupied by M.
Duch&tel when he caine to bathe in the vacation. But
the house was shut up. He was obliged to take shelter
with a fisherman.

General Bumigny came in in the morning, and all was
nearly lost ; an officer had recognized him on the quay.

At length the king was ready to embark. The Provi-
sional Government greatly assisted him.

Nevertheless, at the last moment, a commissary of
police wished to display his great zeal. He presented
himself on board the vessel in which the king was, in
sight of Honfleur and the bridge.

Between decks he watched the old gentleman and lady
who were seated in a corner, looking as if they were in-
tent upon their slender baggage. However, he did not
stir.

Suddenly the captain took out his watch, and said, " M.
le Commissaire de Police, do you intend to remain on
board or go ashore ? "

" Why do you ask ? " said the commissary.

THE FIFTEENTH OF MAY. 209

" Because if you are not in France in fifteen minutes
you will be in England in the morning."

You are about to sail, then ? "

" Immediately."

The commissary made up his mind to leave, very dis-
contented, and having vainly attempted to hunt down his
prey.

The vessel sailed.

It nearly foundered within sight of Honfleur. It col-
lided, the weather being bad and the night dark, with a
large ship, which carried away a portion of the mast and
bulwarks. These injuries were repaired as well as possi-
ble, and the next morning the king and queen were in
England.

THE FIFTEENTH OF MAY.

invasion of the 15th of May was a curious
sight. Let the reader picture the confusion in
the Senate. Swarms of ragged individuals descending,
or rather streaming, down the pillars of the lower tri-
bunes, and even of the upper ones, into the hall, the
thousands of flags waving in all directions ; the women
frightened, and supplicating ; the rioters perched in the
reporters' gallery; the crowded corridors; heads, shoul-
ders, howling mouths, extended arms, clinched hands,
everywhere; no one speaking, everybody yelling; the
representatives motionless ; and this going on for three
hours!

The president's desk, the secretary's platform, the tri-
bune, had disappeared, and were nothing but a heap of
men. Men were seated on the back of the president's
chair astride on the brass griffins, standing on the sec-

YOL. XXIT. 14

210 THINGS SEEN.

retary's table, on the short-hand writers' desks, on the
double staircase, on the velvet of the tribunes, the greater
number of them with naked feet \ but to make up for
this, they kept their heads covered.

One of them seized and pocketed one of the two small
clocks which were on either side of the tribune for the
use of the editors of the " Moniteur."

An astounding uproar! The dust hung about like
smoke ; the noise was like thunder. Half an hour was
consumed in making half a sentence audible.

Blanqui, pale and cold, in the midst of it all.

The rioters in the tribunes struck the bonnets of the
ladies with their flag-staffs ; curiosity struggled with fear.
The ladies stood it well for three-quarters of an hour, and
then they took flight and disappeared. One alone re-
mained some time longer ; she was pretty, well-dressed,
and wore a pink bonnet ; she was in great alarm, and was
ready to throw herself into the hall to escape the crowd
that stifled her.

A member, M. Duchaffaut, was taken by the throat and
threatened with a dagger. Many other representatives
were maltreated.

A ring-leader, who was not of the people, a man of sin-
ister appearance, with bloodshot eyes and a nose resem-
bling the beak of a bird of prey, exclaimed, " To-morrow
we will set up in Paris as many guillotines as we have
erected trees of liberty."

THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 211

THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY.

June 80.

I WENT to the National Assembly to-day for the first
time.

The hall is of rare ugliness. Beams in place of col-
umns ; partitions instead of walls ; distemper instead of
marble ; something like the theatre of Carpentras largely
magnified. The tribune, which bears the date of the
days of February, resembles the musicians' platform at
the Cafd des Aveugles. The members are seated on
planks covered with green baize, and write on a bare
board. In the midst of all this stands the old mahogany
bureau of the Peers' Chamber, with its four lacquered
brass caryatids, and its scales represented inside crowns.

I found many ushers from the Peers' Chamber there.
One of them gazed at me for a long time with a melan-
choly air.

The three first representatives who escorted me, and
with whom I shook hands, were MM. Boulay de la
Meurthe, Edgar Quinet, and Altaroche.

I seated myself in the place of Dupont de 1'Eure, who
is ill just now.

July.

Lamennais, with the face of a polecat and the eye of
an eagle ; a cravat of the colour of badly-dressed cotton ; a
frock-coat of a saffron-brown ; very large and very short
nankeen pantaloons ; blue socks, and large shoes. The
badge of a representative was in his button-hole. His
voice is so weak that those present had to group them-
selves round the tribune in order to hear what he was
saying, and even then they heard him with difficulty.

212 THINGS SEEN.

After the events of June, Blaise, the nephew of Lamen-
nais, went to see his uncle, to tell him " I am quite well"
Blaise was an officer of the National Guard. Directly
Lamennais perceived him, he shouted, without even giv-
ing Blaise a chance to open his mouth, " Go away ; you
are hateful to me; you have just fired upon the poor
people 1 "

The mot is a fine one.

Lamennais occupies the third place on the third bench
on the Eadical side, in the second bay to the left of the
president, beside Jean Beynaud. He has his hat before
him, and, as he is small, his hat hides him. He passes
his time trimming his nails with a penknife.

He resided for a long while in the Quartier Beaujon,
quite near to TWophile Gautier. Delaage visited them
both in turn. Gautier used to say to him, speaking of
Lamennais, " Go and see your old man in his clouds."

Proudhou is the son of a cooper at Besan^on. He was
born in 1805. Lately he has lived in the Rue Dauphine,
and published his journal, the " Representative of the
People," there. Those who had business with the editor
went up to see him there in a species of frame, and found
Proudhon editing in a blouse and wooden shoes.

The Assembly has to-day heard the details of the
Proudhon proposition from the author.

They saw appear in the tribune a man about forty-five
years old, fair, with little hair but ample whiskers. He
wore a black frock-coat and waistcoat He did not speak,
he read. He held his hands clinched upon the red velvet
of the tribune, his manuscript between them. His voice
is vulgar; his accent is common and hoarse; and he
wears spectacles.

The commencement was listened to with anxiety; then
the Assembly exploded in laughter and comments ; then
every one began to chatter. The Chamber began to

THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 213

empty ; and the orator ended, in the midst of inattention,
the discourse he had commenced in a sort of fright
Proudhon was deficient neither in talent nor in power/
Nevertheless, he succumbed visibly at his failure, and
displayed none of the sublime impudence of great
innovators.

Lamennais listened to the end of Proudhon's discourse,
with his red handkerchief pressed to his eyes as if in
tears.

THE ALL-NIGHT SITTING OF THE THIRD OF AUGUST.

Beading of the Eeport of the Commission of Inquiry
concerning the Days of May.

Caussidifere, who was absent at first, arrived at half-
past two, and seated himself in his place on the topmost
benches. He wore a white waistcoat and a black frock-coat

Louis Blanc was seated on the top benches beside Fer-
dinand Gambon, and passed his hand continually through
his hair.

Pierre Leroux is on the third bench below Louis Blanc,
beside Lamennais. Pierre Leroux and Lamennais have
opera-glasses. Leroux directs his upon the public tri-
bunes. Lamennais stoops, and seems to be reading.
From time to time he cleans his nails and plunges his
thumb into his snuff-box.

Cavaignac arrives later, and seats himself with folded
arms near M. Marie, on the ministerial benches. Lamar-
tine is in his usual place at the end of the second lower
bench of the second bay on the left, separated from Gamier-
Pages by Pagnerre. Lamartine folds his arms like Cav-
aignac : he is pale and calm in comparison with Ledru-
Rollin, who is above him, red and agitated. Ledru-Bollin
is a fat man, with good teeth, the ideal of Anne of Aus-
tria. He has fat, white hands, with which he caresses

214 THINGS SEEN.

his fringe of beard. Proudhon is seated beside Lagrange
at the last triangular bay on the left at the end of the
hall. The ladies of the diplomatic tribune above his
head regard him with a kind of horror, and remark audi-
bly, " What a monster ! " Proudhon crosses his legs,
grey trousers, brown frock coat, and is half reclining in
his place in such a fashion that his head is scarcely visi-
ble over the back of the seat. Lagrange, beside him, sits
bolt upright, his black coat tightly buttoned People
remark his angular features, honest and bewildered. He
has a turn-down collar and white cuffs.

Caussidifere is often agitated during the reading of
the report Louis Blanc asked in indignant tones to be
allowed to speak. Caussidiere cried, " It is shameful ! "
At the words " stupid people/' which the report attrib-
uted to him, he cried, " Calumny ! " During the reading
of the second part of the report Ledru-Rollin took a pen
and made notes. The reading of the first part lasted an
hour.

The rapporteur, Bauchart, an advocate of Saint-Quentin,
has the voice and gesture of the procurator-general.

During the reading of the report it was impossible for
me not to believe that I was listening to Franck-Carr4 in
the Court of Peers.

Odilon Barrot ascends the staircase and leaves the
Assembly. The tribunes remark his coat of russet-green
and his crown of white hair, like a bishop's tonsure.

A NIGHT SITTING.

Augnst 25.

Did Lotus Blanc and Caussidifere participate in the events
of May 15 and June 24 ? That is the grave question
which the Assembly had to decide in this night's sitting.

The tribunes are filled to overflowing ; every member is
in his place. The eight lamps and the seven chandeliers

THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 215

are lighted. There is a rumour of an outbreak in the
boulevards. There have been gatherings latterly in the
gardens of the Palais Royal " Why did they not shut
the gates ? " exclaimed M. de Champvans. They say that
the troops are ready for mischief. The tribune has a
sombre appearance. Eight o'clock strikes with the lugu-
brious sound of a tocsin. The hall is insufficiently
lighted. One can distinguish beneath the first lustre the
venerable and bowed head of Arago ; and, near him, the
pleasant, calm, and rigid profile of Lamartine.

As I was crossing the floor Lamartine called me. He
was seated, conversing with Vivien, who was standing.
He said to me, " What do you advise ? Shall I speak
or not ? "

I replied, " Do not say anything. Keep silence. You
have very little to do with it. The agitation is below.
Remain above it"

He replied, " That is quite my own opinion."

" It is also mine," said Vivien.

" So," replied Lamartine, " I will say nothing." Then,
after a pause, he resumed, " At least, if the discussion
does not concern me and damage me."

I replied, " Not even in that case, believe me. Keep
your cries of pain for the woes of France and not for our
little worries,"

" Thank you," said Lamartine, * you are right; " and I
returned to my place.

Cavaignac is in his place, the first on the left of the
ministerial bench, separated from Goudchaux and Marie
by his hat, placed on the ministerial bench. Caussidifere
and Ledru-Rollin have not yet arrived.

Louis Blanc began to speak.

During an interruption, caused by Louis Blanc compar-

216 THINGS SEEN.

ing himself to Lamartine, Caussidifere arrived, stepped up
to the desk of the president, and chatted with Marrast.
Then he went to his seat.

There was a man in his shirt-sleeves, a spectator, who
was perched up in the very roof of the hall, near the
opening of the lustre, and who listened and watched from
there.

The AbW Fayet, Bishop of Orleans, and General Lam-
oricifere, Minister of War, come in and seat themselves on
the ministerial bench beside MM. Goudchaux and Marie.
Towards the conclusion of Louis Blanc's speech Colonel
de Ludre, who came and sat beside me, and my other
neighbour, M. Archambaut, fell asleep in the midst of
the agitation of the Assembly.

Louis Blanc spoke for an hour and forty minutes. He
closed with an eloquent peroration, and with a protest
which came from the heart.

At ten o'clock the prefect of police, Ducoux, arrived,
and seated himself beside Cavaignac.

It was nearly midnight when Caussidifere appeared in
the tribune with an enormous roll of papers, which he
announced his intention to read. A murmur of appre-
hension rose in the Assembly. In fact, the manuscript
had many pages, but, as the writing was large, each page
contained but few words : the reason for this was because
Caussidi&re reads with difficulty, and he must have large
letters, like a child. Caussidifere wore a single-breasted
frock-coat, buttoned up to his necktie. His Tartar face,
his wide shoulders, and his enormous height were in
curious contrast with his hesitating accents and his
awkward attitude. There are both the giant and the
child in this man. Nevertheless, I believed he was
mixed up in those affairs in May ; nothing has been
proved as regards June.

THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 217

He read, among other extracts, a letter from Ledru-
Rollin, addressed to him on the 23d of April : to him as
prefect Ledru-Kollin, being minister. This letter ad-
vises him concerning a conspiracy to strangle him, and
ends with these words : " Good-night, as usual, but keep
wide awake."

In another moment Caussidifere, refusing to explain
himself, exclaimed, "The national tribune was not
instituted for the purpose of retailing tittle-tattle."

At one o'clock in the morning, in the midst of a pro-
found silence which fell suddenly upon the tumultuous
assembly, the president, Marrast, read a demand to au-
thorize the procurator-general, Cornu, to proceed against
Louis Blanc and Caussidifere.

This brought Louis Blanc to the tribune with an ener-
getic protest His protest was energetic, but his voice
had changed.

At times shouts arose from all parts of the Chamber ;
the spectators stood up in the tribunes. The chandeliers
were extinguished many times, and they had to be re-
lighted during the sitting.

At 2.30 A. M. Lamartine left, with -bent head, and with
his hands in his pockets. He crossed the hall from one
end to the other. He returned an hour later.

Just as the vetoes were about to be taken Caussidi&re,
who did not mistake the disposition of the Assembly,
approached the ministerial bench, and said to General
Cavaignac, "It is decided, then?" Cavaignac replied,
" It is my duty." " General," replied Caussidifere, " are you
going to have me arrested here in this manner ? I have
my mother and sisters yonder gue diable ! "

"What do you wish me to do?" asked General
Cavaignac.

218 THINGS SEEN.

" Give me eight and forty hours. I have business to
attend to. I must have time to turn round."

" Very well," replied Cavaignac ; " only arrange it with

The Minister of Justice consented to the forty-eight
hours, and Caussidifere took advantage of them to make
his escape.

At daybreak the Assembly was still sitting. The
lights were paling. Through the windows the grey and
murky dawn was visible. The window-curtains were
agitated by the morning breeze. It was very cold in the
Chamber. I could distinguish the profiles of men cast
upon the inside cornice of the casements, which were
thrown there by the increasing daylight.

The voting was carried on with blue and white tickets.
The white ones were for the accusation, the blue ones
contrary. Each ticket, as usual, bore the name of the
member voting.

At the last turn I saw blue tickets put in by nearly all
my neighbours, even M. Isambert, who was very indignant
against the inculpated representatives.

Urgency was voted by 493 to 292. The majority
necessary was 393 93 thus occurring twice.

The Assembly afterwards approved of the proceedings
being taken.

At six o'clock in the morning it was all over ; the ladies
in crowds descended from the tribunes by the single
staircase, the greater number seeking their husbands.
Journalists called to each other in the corridors, the
ushers chatted on business. It was stated that gen-
darmes had been seen in the salle des pas perdus. Eyes
were dim, faces were pale, and a magnificent sunrise
bathed the Place de la Concorde in its beams.

THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 219

September 21.

Two bishops spoke to-day, the Abbg Parisis, Bishop
of Langres, and the Abb Fayet, Bishop of Orleans. The
question was the freedom of instruction.

The Abb Parisis, a man of ruddy coim&enanoe,with
great round blue goggle-eyes, carries his fifty-five years
with an air which savours more of ecclesiastical gravity
and official humility than of gravity and humility pure.
He spoke from memory, with some pomposity, a few
sentences, which were received with cries of " Trh bien ! "
The effect of the cassock in the tribune is diverse : with
Parisis it inspires respect, with the AbW Fayet it carries
laughter. The AbW Fayet is an easy-going man, a reg-
ular " lady-bird," more like a cockchafer than a bishop.
In the Assembly he goes from bench to bench, sitting in
the ushers' chairs, laughing with the Blues, with the
Whites, with the Keds ; laughing with every one, and get-
ting laughed at by every one. He wears a skull-cap of
black velvet ; his white hairs make him venerable in spite
of himself. He has Gascon accent ; and he ascends the
tribune using an enormous coloured handkerchief, which
has all the appearance of an invalid's. They laugh at him.
He says, in exaggerated phrase, that the great danger of
the period is the romantic school. (Laughter.) He pro-
poses an amendment. (Laughter.) "Is it supported?'
" No, no ! " He descends, and blows his nose. (Laughter.
Such are our two bishops 1

October

M. Armand Marrast, who is, by the way, a man of
sense, and, I believe, a brave man, before he edited the
"Tribune," then the "National," had been master in a
school, I do not know which, Louis le Grand, I
believe. On the day he was elected president of the
Assembly people said of him, " Poor Marrast ! He presi-

220 THINGS SEEN.

dent of the National Assembly with his little thin
voice and his mean air ! He, that old usher ! He will
soon go to the bottom." Not at all! M. Marrast has
proved a remarkable president

Why ? Precisely because he had been a school-master.
He found that the habits of an usher fitted precisely the
president of an assembly. " Silence, gentlemen ! " " Mr.
So-and-So, go to your seat!" "Pass, pass, pass" (the
paper-knife slapping the table). " Monsieur de la Eoche-
jacquelin, I only hear you!" "Messieurs les Minis-
ters, you are talking so loud that one cannot hear
anything!" And so on.

This is very simple. School-boys or men, it is all the
same, because there is already something of the man in
the school-boy, and there is always the school-boy in
the man.

1849.
THE CHANCELLOR PASQUIER

February 9.

"V7ESTEEDAY, Thursday, as I was leaving the Acadtf-
1 mie, where we had been discussing the word
accompagner, I heard my name pronounced in the court

" Monsieur Hugo, Monsieur Hugo ! "

I turned round. It was M. Pasquier.

" Are you going to the Assembly ? "

"Yes."

" May I take you there ? "

" With pleasure, Monsieur le Chancelier."

I got into the carriage, which was a small brougham,
lined with grey velvet. He made a great dog, which
was there, lie down under his feet, and then we chatted.

" How are your eyes, M. le Chancelier ? "

" Bad, very bad."

"Is it cataract?"

" Which is thickening. Well, I am like the govern-
ments I am becoming blind."

I said, laughing, " Perhaps that is in consequence of
having governed."

He took the affair very well, and replied with a smile :

" It is not only myself who is going, it is every one.
You are all more ill than I am. I am eighty-two years
old, but you are a hundred. This republic, born in
February last, is more decrepit than I, who am no more
than an old fellow, and will be dead before I think of

222 THINGS SEEN.

dying. What things have I seen pass awayl I shall
see that go too."

As he was in the vein I let him proceed. I en-
couraged his reminiscences. " It seems to me that I am
hearing the past judging the present" He continued :

"Who said that about universal suffrage? It is the
scourge which has been our safety ; our only fear a year
ago, our only hope to-day. Providence has His own
ways. I have never been religious, I am a little bitten
by Voltaire ; but before the things which are coming, I
may say my Credo like an old woman."

" And your Confiteor a little also," I remarked.

" Oh, yes ! You are right ; nostra culpa, nostra maxima
culpa. What a year 1847 was ! How 1847 led up to
1848! Take only our Chamber of Peers Teste and
Cubi&res condemned for corruption. The word pick-
pocket attached to the epaulets of a general, and the word
thief to the robe of the president. And, then, Count
Bresson also cut his throat. The Prince of Eckmuhl
stabbed his mistress, an old prostitute, who was not
worth a kick. Count Mortier killed his children. The
Duke of Praslin murdered his wife. Is not there a fatal-
ity in all this ? The upper class of society staggering
the lower. Hold! the populace we have never di-
vested them of the idea that we poisoned the Duke of
Praslin, Thus the accused murderer and his poisoning
judges is the idea which is generally 'received of all this
affair. Others believe that we have saved this wretched
duke, and that we have substituted a corpse in his place.
There are people who declare that Praslin is in London.
He is there enjoying a hundred thousand a year with
Mile, de Luzzy. It is with all this gossip and chatter
that they undermine the old worm-eaten world. Now
this is done with. They have not gained much by it
All these follies have been launched at once. It's all the

THE CHANCELLOR PASQUIER. 223

same. I believe that 1847 has left a more sad impres-
sion than 1848. All those horrible trials. The Teste
case. I do not see it any more clearly now. I was
obliged to read all the documents, to have always behind
me M. de la Chauvinifere to be my eyes when I could no
longer use my own. You can imagine how tiresome it
is. Nothing is so wearing to the mind. I do not know
how I managed to preside over the affair. And those six
last hours over the Duke of Praslin. What a sight ! Ah,
you tragic poet, who seek for horror and for pity you
had them there ! That unhappy man, from whom every-
thing departed at once, who writhed in a double agony,
who had poison in his body and remorse in his souL It
was horrible. He renounced everything, and would have
attached himself to all. Occasionally he bit his hand
in agony; he looked at us and watched us with a fixed
stare; he seemed to be asking for life and demanding
death. I have never beheld such terrible despair. The
poison he swallowed was such as to increase his strength
at the last, one which gave him extra vitality while it
consumed him. As he was dying I said to Mm, ' Con-
fess, in pity to yourself. Are you guilty ? * He looked
at me in fear, and replied faintly, 'No/ That was a
fearful moment. He had a lie on his lips and truth in
his eyes. Oh, I would you had been there, M. Hugo !
But all is over now. The other day I had an idea of
going to see the Luxembourg."

He paused. 1 said, " Well ? "

"Well, they have spoiled it; all is rebuilt, that is to
say, all is defaced. I did not enter the palace ; but I
saw the garden. Everything is topsy-turvy. They have
made walks in the nursery, English alleys in the nur-
sery-ground ! Can you understand that? It is folly ! "

"Yes," I said, "it is characteristic of the time; small
follies are mingled with great ones/'

224 THINGS SEEN.

We had got so far when the carriage stopped at the
entrance to the Assembly. I got out. We had only
time to exchange our addresses.

" Where do you live now, M. Hugo ? "

"No. 37, Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne. And you,
monsieur ? "

" No. 20, Kue Royale."

" By the way," he said, as he shut the door, " it is still
called Rue Royale."

MLLE. GEORGES.

Aprils.

MLLE GEOEGES came to me the other day and
said, " I have come to you. I am in the last ex-
tremity. What you have said about Antonin Moyne has
pained me greatly. I assure you that one of these morn-
ings misfortune will overtake me. I have been to Boulay
de la Meurthe ; he was coming to breakfast with me when
I had Harel. He denied himself to me ; he would not re-
ceive me. He is a miser. He is very rich, as you may
imagine. Well, he would play himself for a copper, and
then cut it in quarters. I have been to see Jerome. He
received me. He said, ' What do you want, Georgina ? '
I replied, ' I want nothing. I believe I am still richer
than you, although I have not the sou. But walk before
me ; hold yourself up ; it seems to me that I can per-
ceive a little of the emperor. It is all I require.' He
laughed, and replied, ' You are right ; I am poorer than
you. You have no money, but you can eat potatoes.
But I have not a sou, and I must eat with people who
have truffles. Fancy, they send me candles by dozens of
pounds, and send me an account They say, " Beg." But

MLLE. GEORGES. 225

I reply, " I am accustomed to command, and not to en-
treat" ' Monsieur Hugo, so much for Jdrdme ! As for
the President, he is a simpleton. I detest him. In the
first place, he is very ugly. He rides and drives well ;
that 's all. I went to him. He replied he could not see
me. When he was only poor Prince Louis he received
me in the Place Vendome for two hours in succession,
and made me look at the column. The fool ! He has an
English mistress, a pretty blonde, who leads him all kinds
of dances. I do not know whether he is aware of it, but
everybody else is. He goes to the Champs- lyses in a
little carriage which he drives himself. He will be up-
set some day by his horses, or by the people. I told
Jerome I detested that soi-disant nephew of his. Jerome
put his hand on iny mouth, and said, ' Hold your tongue,
stupid.' I said, ' He speculates. Achille Fould sees him
there daily in the crowd, bulling and bearing. That is
safe for the last affairs of Piedmont. I know it.' Jerome
said to me, ' Don't talk of such things. Such chatter as
that ruined Louis-Philippe.' What is Louis-Philippe to
me, M. Hugo ? He never did anything for HareL That
is the truth. I am in misery. I plucked up courage,
and went to call on Rachel Mile. Rachel to ask her
to play " Eodogune " with me on my benefit. She did not
admit me, and requested me to write. Oh, certainly not !
I have not got to that yet I am a queen of the theatre
as well as she, and one day she will be a poor old pauper
like me. Well, I will not write to her. I will not ask
for alms from her. I will not wait in her ante-chamber.
But she does not remember that she was once a beggar.
She does not think what she will come to. A mendicant
in the caffa, M. Hugo, she sang, and they threw her cop-
pers. Good. Now she plays lansquenet with V&ron for
a louis, and wins or loses ten thousand francs a night
But in thirty years she will not have six liards, and she

VOL. XXIV. 16

226 THINGS SEEN.

will walk in the gutter with holes in Her shoes. In
thirty years she will not call herself Rachel as easily as
I call myself Georges. She will find that some child with
talent and youth will take her place, will distance her,
and she will lie down. She will be played out ; and the
proof of this is because she is insolent. No, I will not
go. No, I will not write to her. I have nothing to eat,
it is true. Toto earns nothing. He has a place in the
President's household which does not bring him anything.
I have a sister you know Babelle ? to take care of.
Hostein would not engage her at the Historique the
Th^fitre Historique for fifteen hundred francs. I have
been to Boulay's house, to the President, to Rachel's, and
found no one except you. I owe ten francs to my porter.
I was obliged to pawn and sell the diamond buttons
which the Emperor gave me. I play at the Thdfttre
Saint-Marcel ; I play at the Batignolles ; I play at the
banlieiie, and 1 have not money to pay a cab. Well, no ;
I will not write to Rachel I would rather drown
myself!"

185O.

AT THE ACADfeMIE.

January 14.

ALFEED DE VIGNY and I have frustrated the elec-
tion at the Academic.

Empis and Victor Leclerc were proposed. We would
have neither of them. We put in white tickets.

There were thirty-four voters ; majority, eighteen
voices. There were five ballots. M. Empis had fifteen
votes, M. Leclerc sixteen. There were votes given at
times to MM. femile Deschamps, Lamennais, Alfred de
Musset, and B^ranger. With our two votes we could
decide the election. We stood firm. It is necessary to
have another, and it is postponed for a month !

At the first turn, when the two white tickets were
announced, M. Flourens said, " There are two votes lost"

I replied, " Lost, you say ! Put out at interest ! " My
intention is to make one of the two parties come to an
arrangement with us, who are the make-weights, and to
nominate Balzac or Dumas in exchange for our votes. In
this way I got Alfred de Vigny nominated two years
ago.

Just so I took to task Dupin upon Balzac. He inter-
rupted me.

" Diable ! Dialle ! You would have Balzac enter the
Academic unopposed at the first attempt, like that!
You quote as examples Patin, Saint-Marc Girardin ; Sri*
faut; but they prove nothing. Eeflect now. Balzac
pitchforked into the Acaddmie ! You have not reflected."

" Is it possible ? But you do not think of one thing :
he deserves it ! '

228 THINGS SEEN.

THE DEATH OF BALZAC.

ON the 18th of August, 1850, my wife, who had been
during the day to see Mme. de Balzac, told me
that Balzac was dying. I hurried to him.

M. de Balzac had been suffering for eighteen months
from hypertrophy of the heart. After the revolution of
February he went to Kussia, and there married. Some
days before his departure I met him in the boulevard.
He was then complaining, and breathing noisily. In May,
1850, he returned to France, married, rich, and dying!
When he arrived, his legs were already swollen. Four
doctors held a consultation. One of them, M. Louis, told
me on the 6th of July, " He has not six weeks to live."
It is the same disease that killed Frederic Souli&

On August 18th my uncle, General Louis Hugo, was
dining with me. As soon as the table was cleared I left,
and took a cab to the Avenue FortunSe (No. 14), in the
Quartier Beaujon, where M. de Balzac lived. He had
purchased what remained of the mansion of M. de Beau-
jon, some portion having escaped demolition. He had
furnished it magnificently, and made it a very pretty
little house, having a carriage entrance in the Avenue For-
tune, and for garden a long and narrow court, in which
the pavement was here and there cut into flower-beds.

I rang. The moon was up, but obscured by clouds.
The street was deserted. No one came. I rang again.
The door opened. A servant appeared with a candle.
* What do you want, sir ? " she asked. She was crying.

I told her my name. She ushered me into a room on
the ground-floor, in which, on a console opposite the
?himney-piece, was a colossal bust of Balzac by David.
& wax candle was burning upon a splendid table in the

THE DEATH OF BALZAC. 229

centre of the salon, and which had for feet six statuettes,
gilt with the purest gold.

Another woman, who was also crying, came and said,
" He is dying. Madame has gone to her own room. The
doctors have not been here since yesterday. He has a
wound in the left leg. Gangrene has set in. The doctors
do not know what to do ; they say that the dropsy is a
couennous dropsy, an infiltration. That is what they
call it ; that the skin and the flesh are like lard, and that
it is impossible to tap him. Last month, when going to
bed, master ran against a decorated piece of furniture and
tore the skin of his leg, and all the water in the body ran
out The doctors were much astonished, and since then
they have made puncturations. They said, ' Imitate nature/
But an abscess of the limb has supervened. M. Roux oper-
ated. Yesterday they removed the dressing; the wound,
instead of having suppurated, was red, dry, and burning.
Then they said, ' He is lost/ and they have never re-
turned. Four or five have been sent for in vain. Every one
said, * It is no use. 1 He had a bad night. This morning
at nine Monsieur could not speak. Madame sent for a
priest; he came, and has given Monsieur extreme unction.
One hour after he shook the hand of his sister, Madame
de Surville. Since eleven o'clock the rattle has been in
his throat, and he can see no longer. He will not live
through the night If you wish, sir, I will go and look
for M. de Surville, who has not yet retired."

The woman left me. I waited for some minutes. The
candle scarcely lighted the room, its splendid furniture
and fine pictures by Porbus and Holbein. The marble
bust shows back vaguely in the gloom like the spectre of
the man who was dying. A corpse-like smell pervaded
the house.

M. de Surville entered and confirmed all that the
had said. I requested to see M- de Balzac,

230 THINGS SEEN.

We proceeded along a corridor, ascended a staircase
covered with red carpet and laden with objects of art
vases, statues, pictures, credence-tables and then an-
other corridor, and I perceived an open door. I heard a
loud and sinister rattling noise. I was in the death-
chamber of Balzac.

A bed stood in the middle of the room, a mahogany
bedstead having a suspensory arrangement at the head
and foot for the convenience of moving the invalid. M.
de Balzac was in this bed, his head supported on a pile
of pillows, to which had been added the red damask
cushions from the sofa. His face was purple, almost
black, and drawn to the right side ; his beard untrimmed,
his grey hair cut short, his eyes fixed and open. I saw
him in profile, and thus he resembled the Emperor.

An old woman, the nurse, and a man-servant stood at
each side of the bed ; a candle was burning behind the
head of the bed upon a table, another upon the drawers
near the door. A silver vase was placed on the night-
table. This man and this woman stood silent in fear,
and listened to the dying rattle of the invalid.

The candle behind the bed lighted up brightly the
portrait of a young man, ruddy and smiling, hanging
near the fireplace.

An unsupportable smell issued from the bed. I lifted
the counterpane and took the hand of Balzac. It was
clammy. I pressed it He did not respond to the
pressure.

This was the same room in which I had come to see
him a month previously. He was then cheerful, full of
hope, having no doubt of his recovery, showing his
swelled limb, and laughing. We had a long conversation
and a political dispute. He called me his demagogue.
He was a Legitimist He said to me, " How have you so
quietly renounced the title of Peer of France, the best

THE DEATH OF BALZAC. 231

after that of King of France ?" He also said, "I have
the house of M. de Beaujon without the garden, but with
the seat in the little church at the corner of the street
A door in my staircase opens into this church, one turn
of the key and I can hear Mass. I think more of the
seat than of the garden." When I was about to leave
him he conducted me to this staircase with difficulty,
and showed me the door, and then he called out to his
wife, " Mind you show Hugo all my pictures."

The nurse said to me, " He will die at daybreak."

I came downstairs again, bearing in mind the livid
face. Crossing the dining-room, I found the bust immov-
able, impassible, haughty, vaguely radiant, and I com-
pared death with immortality.

When I reached home it was Sunday. I found many
people awaiting me, among others Riza-Bey, the Turkish
Chargd d'Aflaires, Navarette the Spanish poet, and the
Count Arrivabene, the exiled Italian. I said to them,
"Gentlemen, Europe is on the point of losing a great
soul."

He died in the night. He was fifty-one years old.

They buried him on Wednesday.

He lay first in the Beaujon Chapel, and he was carried
thither by the door, the key of which was more precious
to him than all the beautiful gardens of the former
" Fermier G&i&aL"

Giraud took his portrait on the very day of his death.
They wished to mould his mask, but could not ; decom-
position was too rapid. The day after his death, in the
morning, the modellers who came found his face de-
formed and the nose fallen upon the cheek. They put
him in an oak and lead coffin.

The service was performed at Saint-Philippe du Eotde.
As I stood by the coffin I remembered that there my
tecond daughter had been baptized, and I had not been

THINGS SEEN.

in the church since. In our memories death touches
birth.

The Minister of the Interior, Baroche, came to the
funeral He was seated by me in church, near the bier,
and from time to time he spoke to me. He said, " He
was a distinguished man." I replied, "He was a genius."

The procession traversed Paris and went by way of the
boulevards to Pfere la Chaise. A few drops of rain fell
when we were leaving the church and when we reached
the cemetery. It was one of those days on which it
seems that the heavens must shed tears.

We walked all the way. 1 proceeded in front of the
coffin, holding one of the silver tassels of the pall ; Alex-
andre Dumas was on the other side.

When we came to the grave, which was some distance
up the hill, we found an immense crowd. The road was
rough and narrow; the horses had some difficulty in
pulling the hearse, which rolled back again. I found
myself imprisoned between a wheel and a tomb, and was
very nearly crushed. The spectators who were standing
on the tomb helped me up.

The coffin was lowered into the grave, which is close
to those of Charles Nodier and of Casimir Delavigne.
The priest said the last prayer, and I spoke a few words.
As I was speaking the sun set. All Paris appeared in
the distance enveloped in the splendid haze of the setting
orb. The earth began to fall into the grave almost at
my feet, and I was interrupted by the dull sound of this
earth dropping on the coffin.

1853.
HUBERT, THE SPY.

JEHSEY.
"WESTEKDAY, the 20th of October, 1853, contrary to

I. my custom, I went into the town in the evening.
I had written two letters, one to Schoelcher in London,
the other to Samuel in Brussels, and I wished to post
them myself. I was returning by moonlight, about half-
past nine, when, as I was passing the place which we
call Tap et Flac, a kind of small square opposite Gosset
the grocer's, an affrighted group approached me.

They were four refugees, Math, a representative of
the people ; Eattier, a lawyer ; Hayes, called Sans-Couture,
a cobbler; and Henry, called little Father Henry, of
whose profession I am ignorant.

" What is the matter with you ? " I said, seeing them
greatly agitated.

"We are going to execute a man," said Mathd, as he
waved a roll of paper which he held in his hand.

Then they rapidly gave me the following details.
Having retired since May from the society of refugees,
and living in the country, all these facts were new to me.

In the month of April last a political refugee landed
in Jersey. The innkeeper Beauvais, who is a generous-
hearted fellow, was walking on the quay when the
packet came alongside. He saw a man pale, exhausted,
and in rags carry a little bundle. " Who are you ? " said
Beauvais. "A refugee/' "What is your name?"
" Hubert/' Where are you going ? " "I <Jo not know,"

234 THINGS SEEN.

" You have no inn ?" "I have no money." "Come home
with me."

Beauvais took Hubert to his house, which is No. 20
Don Street.

Hubert was a man of about fifty, with white hair and
black moustache. His face was marked with small-pox.
His appearance was robust, his eye intelligent. He said
he had been a school-master and a surveyor. He came
from the department of the Eure ; he had been exiled on
the 2d of December. He reached Brussels, where he
came to see me ; driven from Brussels, he went to Lon-
don, and in London he lived in the last stage of misery.
He had lived five months, five winter months, in what
they call a Sociale, a sort of dilapidated hall, the doors
and windows of which permit draughts, and the roof ad-
mits the rain. He had slept the two first months side
by side with Bourillon, another refugee, on the stone
floor in front of the fireplace.

These men lay on the flags without mattress or cover-
ing, without even a handful of straw, their wet, ragged
clothes on their bodies. There was no fire. It was not
till the end of the two months that Louis Blanc and
Ledru-Rollin had given them some money to buy coal.
When these men had some potatoes they boiled them and
dined ; when they had none they ate nothing at all

Hubert, without money or bed, almost without shoes
or clothing, lived there, slept on the stone, shivered con-
tinually, ate seldom, and never complained. He took his
large share of the general suffering stoically, impassible,
and in silence. He was a member of the Delegation
Society ; then he had quitted it, saying, " Fdlix Pyat is
no socialist." Afterwards he joined the Revolutionary
Society ; but he left it, declaring that Ledru-Eollin was
not a Republican.

On the 14th of September, 1852, the Prefect of the

HUBERT, THE SPY. 235

Eure wrote to him to agree to send in his submission.
Hubert answered the prefect in a letter very outspoken,
and full, as regards his " Emperor," of the coarsest terms,
such as clique, canaille, miserable. He showed this letter,
dated the 24th of September, to all the refugees he met,
and posted it up in the room where the members of the
^Revolutionary Society used to meet

On the 5th of February he saw his name in the
"Moniteur" among the pardoned. Hubert was filled
with indignation, and instead of returning to France he
went to Jersey, declaring that there were better Re-
publicans there than in London. So it came to pass that
he disembarked at St. Heliers.

When he reached Beauvais's house, Beauvais showed
him a room,

" I told you I had no money," said Hubert. " It is all
the same," said Beauvais. " Give me a corner and a truss
of straw in the granary." " I will give you my room and
my bed in preference," said Beauvais.

At meal-time Hubert did not wish to take his place at
table. Many refugees were living in Beauvais's house,
where they breakfasted and dined for thirty-five francs a
month.

" I have not thirty-five sous," said Hubert u Give me
a morsel at once. I will eat it at a corner of the kitchen-
table."

Beauvais was annoyed. "By no means," he said;
"you will dine with us, citizen." "And pay you "
"When you can." "Never, perhaps." "Well, then,
never." 9

Beauvais procured for Hubert some pupils in the town,
to whom he taught grammar and arithmetic, and with
the produce of these lessons he compelled him to buy a
coat and some shoes. "I have shoes," said Hubert
"Yes, you have shoes, but they have not any soles."

236 THINGS SEEN.

The refugees were moved at seeing Hubert's condition,
and they assigned to him the ordinary assistance allotted
to the necessitous who had no wife or child, namely,
seven francs a week. With that and his lessons he
existed. He had no more. Many people, Gaffney among
others, offered him money, but he never would accept it.
" No," he would say ; " there are people more unfortunate
than I."

He made himself very useful in Beauvais's house,
occupying the least possible room, rising from the table
before dinner was over, drinking no wine or brandy, and
refusing to have his glass filled. For the rest, he was an
ardent communist, did not recognize any chief, declared
the Eepublic was betrayed by Louis Blanc, Fdlix Pyat,
and Ledru-Rollin ; by me, proclaiming at the fall of
Napoleon, whom he always called Badinguet, a six
months' massacre to finish up with ; compelling, by force
of suffering and sternness, even from those who avoided
him, a kind of respect, having about him some inde-
scribable token of rough honesty. A moderate said of
him to an enthusiast, " He is worse than Kobespierre."
The other replied, " He is better than Marat."

Now the mask was about to fall. The man was a spy.

The fact was discovered in this wise.

Hubert, among the refugees, had an intimate friend
named Hayes. One day, in the beginning of September,
he took Hayes aside, and said to him, in a low and
mysterious tone, " I am going away to-morrow/ 1 " You
going away ? " " Yes." " Where are you going to ? " " To
France/' " What, to France ?" "To Paris/' "To Paris?"
" They expect me there." " What for ? " " For a blow."
" How will you enter France ? " "I have a passport."
"From whom?" "From the consul." "In your own
name?" "In my own name." "That is very odd."
" YOU forget that I was pardoned in February." " That '$

HUBEBT, THE SPY. 237

trae ; and the money ? " "I have some." " How much ? "
" Twenty francs." " Are you going all the way to Paris
with twenty francs ? " " As soon as I reach Saint-Malo
I will go as I can, on foot, if necessary. If necessary
I will not eat anything. I will go straight on by the
shortest way."

Instead of taking the shortest, he took the longest
way. From Saint-Malo he went to Rennes, from Rennes
to Nantes, from Nantes to Angers, from Angers to Paris,
by the railway. He took six days on the journey. As
he proceeded he saw in every town the democratic
leaders, Bou at Saint-Malo, Roche, Dr. Gudpin and
the Mangins at Nantes; Bioteau at Angers. He an-
nounced himself everywhere as being on a mission from
the refugees of Jersey, and he easily gained assistance
everywhere. He neither hid nor displayed his poverty ;
people could see it. At Angers he borrowed fifty francs
from Eioteau, not having enough to go to Paris.

From Angers he wrote to a woman with whom he had
lived in Jersey, one M^lanie Simon, a seamstress, lodging
at No. 5, Hill Street, and who had actually lent him
thirty-two francs for his journey. She had concealed
this money from Hayes. He told this woman that she
might write to him to No. 38, Rue de Tficole de
M^decine ; that he did not lodge there, but he had a
friend who would forward his letters.

Arrived in Paris he went to see Goudchaux ; he found,
one knows not how, the dwelling of Boisson, the agent of
the Ledru-Rollin faction. The said Boisson lived con-
cealed in Paris. He presented himself to Boisson as an
envoy from us, the refugees of Jersey, and entered into
all the combinations of the party called the Party of
Action.

Towards the end of September he disembarked in
Jersey from the steamer "Rose." The day after his

238 THINGS SEEN.

arrival he took Hayes aside and declared that a blow was
about to be struck, and that if he, Hubert, had arrived
some days sooner in Paris, the blow would have been
struck then ; that his advice, which had almost been ac-
cepted, had been to blow up a railway bridge while
Badinguet's train was passing ; that men and money were
both ready, but that the people had no confidence except
in the refugees, and that he was going to return to Paris for
this purpose. As he had taken part in every blow dealt
since 1830, he was not the man to back out of this ; but
he himself was not sufficient, he required ten refugees,
of good will, to put themselves at the head of the people
when the time for action arrived, and he had come to
seek them in Jersey. He ended by asking Hayes if he
would be one of the ten. "Parbleu!" replied Hayes.

Hubert saw the refugees, and made them the same
confidences with the same mystery, saying, " I have told
no one but you." He enrolled, among others besides
Hayes, Jego, who was recovering from typhoid fever, and
Gigoux, to whom he declared that his name, Gigoux,
would raise the masses. Those he enlisted thus, with a
view of taking them to Paris, said, " But the money ? "
"Best easy," replied Hubert, "they have it. They will
await you on the landing-stage. Come to Paris, the rest
will settle itself. They will undertake to find a place for
you."

Besides Hayes, Gigoux, and Jego, he interviewed
Jarass^, Famot, Rondeaux, and others.

Since this dissolution of the General Society two
societies of refugees were formed in Jersey, the
" Fraternelle * and the " FraternM"

Hubert belonged to the " Fraternite," of which Gigoux
was treasurer. He drew from it, as I have said, seven
francs a week. He claimed from Gigoux that he should
be paid the fourteen francs for the two weeks he was

HUBERT, THE SPY. 23d

away, as he had been absent in the service of the
Eepublic.

The day Hubert and those I have mentioned were to
leave was fixed for Friday, the 21st of October.

However, a refugee named Battier, a lawyer of Lorient,
being one morning in the shop of Hurel, the tobacconist,
saw entering a shop a man to whom he had never spoken,
but whom he knew by sight. This man, perceiving him
to be a Frenchman, said to him, "Citizen, have you
change for a hundred-franc note?" "No," replied
Rattier. The man unfolded a yellow paper, which he
was holding in his hand, and presented it to the tobacco-
nist, requesting change. The shopkeeper had not suffi-
cient. During the colloquy Battier recognized the paper
as a Bank of France note for one hundred francs. The
man went away, and Rattier said to Hurel, " Do you
know that man's name ? " " Yes," replied Hurel, " he is
a French refugee named Hubert."

Almost at the same time Hubert, when paying for his
lodgings, took from his pocket a handful of shillings and
half crowns.

M^lanie Simon claimed the thirty-two francs ; he re-
fused to pay her, and at the same time, by a strange sort
of contradiction, he permitted her to see a pocketbook
full, as M^lanie said afterwards, of yellow and blue
papers. "These are bank-notes," said Hubert to her.
" I have here three thousand five hundred francs."

Now the contradiction was explained. Hubert, about
to return to France, wished to take M&anie Simon with
him ; he refused to pay her, in order that she might go
with him ; and that she might go without anxiety, he
showed her that he was rich.

MSlanie Simon did not wish to leave Jersey, and again
demanded her thirty-two francs. Disputes arose ; Hubert
still refused, "Listen to me," said M&anie; "if you do

240 THINGS BEEN.

not pay me, I have seen your money, I suspect you are a
spy, and I will denounce you to the refugees."

Hubert laughed.

" Make them believe that of me," said he. "Allans done' 9

He hoped to disabuse M&anie Simon of this idea by
putting a good face on the matter.

" My thirty-two francs," said M&anie.

" Not a sou," replied Hubert.

M&anie Simon went to find Jarassg, and denounced
Hubert

It seemed at first sight that Hubert was right Among
the refugees the idea was divided.

" Hubert a spy ? " they said. " Nonsense ! "

Beauvais recalled his sobriety and Gaffney his disin-
terestedness, Bisson his republicanism, Seigneuret his
communism, Bourillon his five months they slept on the
stones, Gigoux the assistance they had given him, Rou-
milhac his stoicism, and all of them his misery.

" I have seen him without shoes," said one.

" And I without a home," said another.

" And I without bread," added a third.

" He was my best friend," remarked Hayes.

Then Rattier related the incident of the one-hundred-
franc note ; the details of Hubert's journey leaked out by
degrees. They asked themselves why this curious jour-
ney had been undertaken ? They learned that he had
passed from place to place with wonderful facility. A
resident of Jersey declared that he had seen him walking
on the quay of Saint-Malo among the custom-house offi-
cers and the gendarmes without their noticing him.
Suspicion was awakened : Melanie Simon proclaimed it on
the house-tops ; the wine-growing poet, Claude Durand,
who was respected by all the proscribed, shook his head
when speaking of Hubert

M&anie Simon told Jarassd of Hubert's letter, giving

HUBERT, THE SPY. 241

his address in Paris at No. 38, Kue de l']cole de Mde-
cine, where a friend received his letters. Now, the son of
Math6, the representative, when he went to Paris some
months before, had by a curious coincidence lodged in
that very same house.

Jarassd having shown to Math Hubert's letter to
M&anie, the address and the friend attracted the atten-
tion of Math's son, who was present, and who declared
that it was the house in which he had lodged. Among
the lodgers there had been an agent of police named
Philippi.

A portentous rumour began to circulate among the
refugees.

Hayes and Gigoux, Hubert's friends, whom he had
enrolled for Paris, said to him,

"People are certainly talking." "About what?" said
Hubert. "About M^lanie Simon and you." "Well,
they say she is my mistress, I suppose." " No, they say
that you are a spy." "Well, what of that?" " It will pro-
voke an inquiry," said Hayes. " And a judgment," said
Gigoux.

Hubert made no answer. His friends frowned.

Next day they pressed him again. He was silent
They returned to the charge. He almost refused to
speak. The more he hesitated, the more they insisted.
They finished up by declaring that he must clear the
matter up.

Hubert, having no means of avoiding the inquiry, and
perceiving that suspicion grew stronger, consented.

The refugees held their club meeting at Beauvais's
house, in No. 20, Don Street

Those idle and those out of work met there in a com-
mon room. Hubert posted in this room a declaration
addressed to his brothers in exile, in which, with refer-
ence to the infamous calumnies spread concerning him,

VOL. XXIV. 16

242 THINGS SEEN.

he placed himself at the disposal of all present seeking
an inquiry, and demanding that he should be judged by
all the refugees.

He wished the inquiry to take place immediately,
reminding them that he wished to leave Jersey on Fri-
day, the 21st of October, and concluded by saying, "The
justice of the people ought to be prompt."

The last words of this proclamation were, " The day is
approaching. Signed, Hubert."

The society " Fraternity " to which Hubert belonged
assembled, called an inquiry, and nominated five of its
members to institute this dramatic process of proscrip-
tion, namely, Math, Rattier, Rondeaux, Henry, and
Hayes. Mathd, since his son's surprised exclamation,
was convinced of the culpability of Hubert.

This commission, a regular judicial one, called wit-
nesses, heard Gigoux and Jego, who had been enrolled by
Hubert for Paris, Jarass3, Famot, to whom Hubert had
spoken of the six months 1 massacre to finish up; col-
lected the reports of Eattier and Hayes ; called M^lanie
Simon, confronted her with Hubert ; read in evidence the
letter written by Hubert from Angers, which, though
torn, was pieced together ; drew up an official report of
everything. When confronted with Hubert, M^lanie
Simon confirmed all her statements, and told him plainly
that he was a Bonapartist spy.

Suspicions abounded, but the proofs were wanting.

Math3 said to Hubert, " You are going away on Fri-
day?" "Yes." "You have a trunk?" "Yes." "What
do you carry in that trunk?" "My old clothes and
the copies of the Socialist and Republican publications."
" Will you permit your trunk to be searched ? " " Yes."

Rondeaux accompanied Hubert to Beauvais's house,
where he lodged, and where his trunk was. It was
opened. Rondeaux found in it some shirts and hand-

HUBERT, THE SPY. 243

kerchiefs, an old pair of trousers, and an old coat Noth-
ing more.

The absence of positive proof weakened the suspi-
cions, and the opinion of the refugees went rather in
Hubert's favour.

Hayes, Gigoux, and Beauvais defended him warmly.

Kondeaux told what he had found in the trunk.

" And the Socialist publications ? " asked Math&

" I did not see any of them," replied Kondeaux.

Hubert said nothing.

However, the report of the searching of the trunk got
about, and a carpenter of Queen Street said to Jarass^,
I think it was. " But have you opened the double bot-
tom?" "What double bottom?" "The double bottom
of the trunk." " Do you mean to say that the trunk has
a false bottom ? " " Certainly." " How do you know ? "
" Because I made it"

This was repeated to the commissioners. Math said
to Hubert, " Your trunk has a false bottom ? " " No doubt"
" Why this double bottom ? " " Parbleu ! To hide the
democratic writings which I carry about" "Why did
you not tell Rondeaux of it ? " "I did not think about
it" " Will you permit us to see it ? " " Yes."

Hubert gave his consent in the calmest manner in the
world, giving answers in monosyllables and scarcely re-
moving his pipe from his mouth. From his laconic
answers his friends argued his innocence.

The commissioners decided that they would all be
present at this inspection of the trunk. They set out
It was Thursday, the day before that fixed by Hubert
for his departure. "Where are we going?" asked
Hubert

"To Beauvais's house," said Rondeaux, "since your
trunk is there." Hubert replied :

"We are a numerous body ; it will be necessary to

244 THINGS SEEN.

break open the false bottom with a hammer ; that will
cause some commotion at Beauvais's house, where there
are always a number of refugees. Let two of you come
with me and carry the trunk to the carpenter's house,
while the others await us there. As the carpenter made
the false bottom, he will be able to remove it better than
anybody else. All will then pass in the presence of the
commission without scandal/'

They consented to this. Hubert, assisted by Hayes
and Henry, carried the trunk to the carpenters shop ; the
false bottom was opened, a quantity of papers was
found; they were Republican writings, my speeches,
the "Bagnes d'Afrique" of Kibeyrolles, the "Couronne
Imp^riale " of Cahaigne. They found there three or four
passports of Hubert's, the last issued in France on his
order. They found a complete set of documents relative
to the interior organization of the revolutionary society
organized in London by Ledru-Rollin, all that packed in
with a mass of letters and old documents.

Among the latter they found two letters which seemed
singular.

The former, dated the 24th of September, was addressed
to the Prefect of the Eure, rejecting the amnesty offered
with a prodigality of epithets. This was the letter which
Hubert had shown to the refugees in London, and fixed
up in their meeting-room.

The second letter, dated the 30th, only six days later,
was addressed to the same person, and contained, under
the guise of asking for money, clear offers of service to the
Bonapartist Government

These two letters contradicted each other ; it was evi-
dent that only one of them was intended to be sent, and
it appeared probable that this was not the former. Ac-
cording to all appearance, the second was the true letter ;
the first was merely a blind.

HUBERT, THE SPY. 245

They showed them to Hubert, who continued to smoke
his pipe calmly.

They put the letters on one side, and continued their
examination of the papers..

A letter in Hubert's writing, commencing "My dear
mother," fell into the hands of Rattier. He read the
opening sentences, but as it seemed a family letter he
was about to throw it down, when he perceived that the
sheet was double. He opened it almost mechanically,
and he felt as if lightning had flashed in his eyes. His
gaze fell on the head of the second sheet on these words,
in Hubert's handwriting, " To M. de Maupas, Minister of
Police. Monsieur le Ministre."

Then followed the letter which they were about to read,
a letter signed "Hubert."

To M. de Maupas, Minister of Police at Paris.

M. LE MINISTRE, I have received, under date of 14th of
September last, with the view of making me return to
France, a letter from M. le Pr&et de 1'Eure.

On the 24th and 30th of the same month I wrote two let-
ters to M. le Preset, neither of which has been answered.

Since then my name has figured in the "Moniteur" in
the list, according to the decree of the 5th of this month
(February), but I was not ready to go at that time, as I
wished to finish in London a pamphlet entitled "The Re-
publican Refugees, and the Republic impossible by these
same pretended Republicans." This pamphlet, full of truths
and facts which no one could deny, will produce, I think,
some effect in France, where I wish to have it printed. I
had my passport vise for France yesterday; nothing of impor-
tance will keep me in England except that before leaving, if
they will give me what is due to me, what I claim by my
letter of the 30th of September.

M. le Pr&et de PEure, who was begged to communicate
this letter to the proper person, should have laid it before the

246 THINGS SEEN.

Government. I am waiting the solution of the matter, but
seeing that so long a time has elapsed and I have received
nothing, I have decided to address this letter to you, in the
hope of obtaining an immediate settlement.

My address in London, England, is 17 Church Street, Soho
Square.

And my name, Hubert Julien Damascene, geometrical
surveyor of Henqueville, near Andelys (Eure).

(Signed) HUBERT.

25th of February, 1853.

Battier raised his eyes and looked at Hubert.

He had dropped his pipe. The perspiration stood on
his forehead in great beads.

" You are a spy ! " said Kattier.

Hubert, pale as death, fell into a chair without
replying.

The members of the commission tied up the papers and
went immediately to report the result to the Fraternity
Society, which was then assembled.

It was on their way thither that I met them.

When these facts came to light, a sort of electric shock
thrilled the refugees in the town. They ran about the
streets, they ran against each other; the most excited
was the most stupefied. That Hubert, whom they had
trusted!

One fact added to the excitement. Thursday is the
post-day when the papers from France arrive in Jersey.
The news which they brought threw a lurid light upon
Hubert Three hundred arrests had been made in Paris.
Hubert had seen Rocher of Nantes at Saint-Malo ; Roeher
had been arrested. He had seen Gudpin and the Man-
gins at Nantes; the Mangins and Gudpin had been
arrested. He had seen Rioteau at Angers, and had
borrowed money from him; Rioteau was arrested. He

HUBBBT, THE SPY. 247

had seen Goudchaux and Boisson at Paris ; Goudchaux
and Boisson were arrested.

Facts and memories came in shoals. Gaffney, one of
those who to the last moment had supported Hubert,
related that, in 1852, he had forwarded contraband from
London to Havre a parcel containing eighty copies of
"Napoleon the Little." Hubert and an attorney of
Rouen, a refugee named Bachelet, were in his room when
he closed the parcel. He had made in their presence a
calculation, from which it resulted that the parcel was to
be sent to his mother's house to him, Gaffney, on the day
when a friend previously notified would come and take it
away. Hubert and Bachelet went out After their
departure Gaffney rectified his calculation, and found out
that the parcel would arrive at his mother's house at
Havre a day too soon. He wrote accordingly to his
mother and his friend. The parcel arrived, and was
taken away by his friend. On the day following, which
had been fixed by Gaffney in the presence of Hubert and
Bachelet, the police searched Madame Gaffhey's house,
with a view of finding the books which they said had
been sent to her from London.

About ten o'clock in the evening twelve or fifteen
refugees were assembled at Beauvais's house. Pierre
Leroux, and a Jersey gentleman, M. Philippe Asplet, a
constabulary officer, were seated in a corner. Pierre
Leroux conversed with M. Asplet about table-turning.

Suddenly Henry entered and told them about the false
bottom in the trunk, the letter to Maupas, the arrests in
France; Hayes, Gigoux, and Rondeaux confirmed his
statements.

At that moment the door opened and Hubert appeared.
He came back to sleep, and as usual took his key from a
peg in the common room.

* There he is ! " cried Hayes.

248 THINGS SEEN.

They all rushed upon Hubert.

Gigoux struck him, Hayes seized him by the hair,
Heurtebise held him by the throat, Beauvais drew his
knife, Asplet arrested Beauvais's arm.

Beauvais told me an hour later that, if it had not been
for M. Asplet, Hubert would have been a dead man.

M. Asplet, in his official capacity, intervened, and took
Hubert from them. Beauvais threw away his knife;
they left the spy alone. Two or three went into the
corners, dropped their faces into their hands, and wept.

Meanwhile I had gone home.

It was close on midnight, as I was going to bed, that I
heard a carriage stop at the door. The bell rang, and the
moment afterwards Charles came into my room and told
me that Beauvais had come.

I went downstairs. All the refugees had united to
pronounce sentence on Hubert. They kept him in cus-
tody, and they had sent Beauvais to seek for me. I hesi-
tated. To judge this man in this nightly sitting, this
Vehmgericht of the refugees, all that appeared strange
and repugnant to my habits. Beauvais insisted.

"Come," said he to me; "if you do not, I cannot
answer for Hubert."

Then he continued, " I cannot answer for myself. If it
had not been for Asplet, I should have stabbed him."

I followed Beauvais, taking with me my two sons.
As we proceeded we were joined by Cahaigne, Ribeyrolles,
Frond, Leffevre the cripple, Cauvet, and many other refu-
gees who lived at Havre-des-pas.

Midnight was striking when we reached our destination.

The room in which they were going to try Hubert is
called the Refugees' Club, and is one of those large, square
rooms which one finds in almost all English houses.
These rooms, not much appreciated by French people,
overlook the two facades of the mansion, back and front

HUBERT, THE SPT. 249

This one, situated on the first floor of Beauvais's house,
No. 20, Don Street, has two windows looking into an
inner court, and three upon the street opposite the large
red front of the building destined for the public halls,
which is here called Hdtel de Ville. Some of the inhabi-
tants of the town, aroused by the rumours in circulation,
were chatting in low tones beneath the windows. Kefu-
gees were arriving from all directions.

When I entered, they had nearly all assembled. They
were distributed in the two compartments of the room,
and spoke to each other in grave tones.

Hubert had come to see me in Brussels and in Jersey,
but I had no recollection of him. When I entered I
asked Heurtebise where Hubert was.

" Behind you," said Heurtebise.

I turned round and saw, seated at a table with his
back to the wall, near the street, beneath the centre
window, a pipe in front of him, his hat on his head, a
man of about fifty years old, ruddy, marked with small-
pox, with very white hair and black moustaches. His
eyes were steady and calm. From time to time he
raised his hat and wiped his forehead with a large blue
handkerchief.

His brown paletot was buttoned to the chin. Now
that one knew what he was, one discovered the mien of
a serjeant-de-ville.

People passed and repassed before him and round him
speaking of Kim.

" There is the coward," said one.

" Look at the bandit," said another. He heard these
remarks exchanged, and seemed as indifferent to them
as if they had been spoken of some one else.

Although the room was crowded by the new arrivals,
there was a space left near him. He was alone at the
table and on that bench. Four or five refugees stood

250 THINGS SEEN.

upright by the window guarding him. One of them was
Boni, who teaches us to ride on horseback.

The proscription was nearly complete, although the
convocation had been arranged hastily in the middle of
the night when the greater number of the refugees were
in bed and asleep.

Nevertheless, one remarked some absentees. Pierre
Leroux, having assisted at the first collision of Hubert
and the refugees, had gone away and had not returned ;
and of all the numerous family which they call here the
Leroux tribe, Charles was the only member present.
There were also absent the greater number of those
whom we call Us exaltes, and among them the author
of the manifesto entitled " Du Coruit^ Itevolutionnaire,"
Seigneuret.

They sent for the commission which had started the
proscription. It arrived. Mathd, who had just got out
of bed, seemed still half-asleep.

Among the refugees present an old man, grown aged in
conspiracy, was conversant with these sorts of summary
processes among refugees in the catacombs, a kind of
free-justice meetings, where mystery does not exclude
solemnity, and where he more than once had pronounced
terrible sentences, which all sanctioned and some carried
out. This old man was Cahaigne. Old in face, young
in heart, flat nose buried in a grey beard, and white hair,
a republican with the face of a Cossack, a democrat with
the manners of a gentleman, a poet, a man of the world,
a man of action, a fighter at barricades, a veteran in con-
spiracy. Cahaigne is a personage.

They called on him to preside. For secretaries they
gave him Jarassd, who is of the "Fraternit^" Society,
and Heurtebise, of the " Fraternelle " Society.

These societies do not live fraternally together.

The sitting was opened. A deep silence prevailed.

HUBERT, THE SPY. 251

The room at this moment presented a strange aspect
In the two compartments, each lighted, and very feebly,
by two gas-jets, were arranged and grouped, seated, stand-
ing up, stooping, leaning on their elbows, on benches,
chairs, stools, tables, on the window-sills, some with arms
folded leaning against the wall, all pale, grave, severe,
almost sinister, were the seventy refugees in Jersey.
They filled the two compartments of the room, leaving
only in the compartment with three windows looking
into the street a small space occupied by three tables,
the table by the wall where Hubert sat alone, a table
close by, at which were Cahaigne; Jarassd, and Heurte-
bise, and opposite a very small one, on which Rattier,
the reporter, had placed his note-book. Behind this
table a bright fire was burning in the grate, and was
from time to time attended to by a lad. On the mantel-
piece above a pipe-rack, amid a crowd of bills emanating
from the refugees, between the announcement of Charles
Leroux, recommending his sewing establishment, and
the placard of Ribot, inaugurating the hat manufactory
of the Chapeau rouge, was exhibited, stuck up with some
wafers, the placard calling for an inquiry and " prompt
justice," signed, Hubert.

Here and there upon the table were glasses of brandy
and pots of beer. All round the room hung on hooks
were glazed caps, straw and felt hats, and an old draught-
board, the white squares of which were scarcely whiter
than the black ones, was hanging on the wall above
Hubert's head.

I was seated with Ribeyrolles and my sons in an angle
near the chimney.

Some of the refugees were smoking, some pipes,
others cigars, so there was little light and much smoke
in the room. The upper part of the windows, en guiUo-
tines English fashion, were open to let out the smoke.

252 THINGS SEEN.

The proceedings commenced by the interrogation of
Hubert. At the first words Hubert doffed his cap.
Cahaigne questioned him with a somewhat theatrical
gravity ; but which, whatever the tone, one felt lugubri-
ous and serious.

Hubert gave his two Christian names, Julien Damas-
cfcne.

Hubert had had time to regain his presence of mind.
He answered precisely and without delay. At a certain
time, when they were speaking to him concerning his
return by the department of the Eure, he rectified some
little mistake of Cahaigne's : " Pardon me, Louviers is
on the right bank and Andelys on the left" Beyond
that he confessed nothing.

The interrogation finished, they passed to the reading
of the official report of the commission, the witnesses,
and the proofs.

This reading commenced amid profound silence, which
was succeeded by a murmur which increased in volume in
proportion as the black and odious facts were dragged
to light. Stifled murmurs were audible. "Ah, the ras-
cal, the scoundrel, why do not we strangle this black-
guard on the spot?"

In the midst of this volley of imprecations the reader
was forced to raise his voice. Rattier was reading.
Math passed him up the sheets of paper. Beauvais
was holding a candle to him ; the tallow kept dropping
on the table.

After the depositions of the witnesses had been read,
Rattier announced that he had arrived at a decisive piece
of evidence. Silence was renewed, a feverish, restless
silence. Charles whispered to me, " One may learn how
to treat a spy."

Rattier read the letter from Hubert to Maupas.

So long as the letter was being read the audience con-

HUBERT, THE SPY. 253

tained itself, hands were clinched, some men bit their
handkerchiefs.

When the last word had been read, " The signature ? "
cried old Fombertaux.

Rattier said, " It is signed, Hubert."

Then the uproar broke out. The silence had only
been caused by the expectation mingled with a sort of
hesitation to believe such a thing possible. Some had
even doubted up till then and said, " It is impossible."
When this letter appeared, written by Hubert, dated by
Hubert, signed by Hubert, evidently real, indubitable be-
fore every one, within every one's reach, the name of
Maupas written by Hubert, conviction fell into the mid-
dle of the assembly like a thunder-bolt

Furious faces were turned towards Hubert. Many
individuals leaped upon the benches ; threatening hands
were raised against him. There was a frenzy of rage
and grief ; a terrible light filled all eyes.

Nothing was heard but cries of " Scoundrel ! " " Ah,
the miserable Hubert 1 " " Ah, you brigand of the Eue
de Jerusalem ! "

Fombertaux, whose son is at Belle Isle, exclaimed,
"Those are the scoundrels to whom we give twenty
years."

" Yes," added another, " it is, thanks to such creatures
as he, that the young are in prison and the old in
exile."

A refugee, whose name I forget, a fine, fair-haired
young man, leaped upon the table, pointed to Hubert,
and cried, " Citizens, death ! "

" Death ! death ! " shouted a chorus of voices. Hubert
looked about him with a bewildered air.

The same young man continued :

" We will keep hold of him, so that he shall not escape
us."

254 THINGS SEEN.

One cried, " Throw him into the Seine."

At this there was an explosion of sardonic laughter.

" Do you think that you are still on the Pont Neuf ? "

Then they continued, "Throw the spy into the sea,
with a stone round his neck ! "

"Let us send him where all is blue," said Fombertaux.

During the turmoil, Mathd had handed me Hubert's
letter, and I was examining it with Ribeyrolles. It was
actually, written on the second page of a family letter in
a rather long, neat, legible hand, with some erasures, but
altogether in Hubert's hand. At the bottom of this rough
draft, after the manner of an illiterate man, he had signed
his name in full.

Cahaigne proclaimed silence, but the tumult was in-
describable. Every one spoke at the same time, and it
seemed as if a single mind was hurling from sixty
mouths the same malediction upon the miserable man.

" Citizens," cried Cahaigne, " you are judges I "

This was sufficient. All was silent, raised hands were
lowered, and each man, folding his arms or resting his
elbow on his knee, resumed his place with lugubrious
dignity.

"Hubert," said Cahaigne, "do you recognize this let-
ter?"

Jarassd presented the letter to Hubert, who replied,
"Yes."

Cahaigne continued, " What explanation have you to
give?"

Hubert was silent.

"So," pursued Cahaigne, "you confess yourself a
spy?"

Hubert raised his head, looked at Cahaigne, struck his
fist upon the table, and said, " That no ! "

A murmur pervaded the audience like an angry shiver.
The explosion, which had only been suspended, very

HUBERT, THE SPY. 255

nearly recommenced, but as they saw that Hubert was
about to continue, they kept silence.

Hubert declared, in a thick, broken voice, but which
had, nevertheless, a certain firmness and, sad to say, sin-
cerity in it, that he had never done any one any harm ;
that he was a Republican ; that he would die ten thou-
sand deaths before he brought to the ground by his own
fault a hair from the head of a Republican. That, if
arrests had been made in Paris, he was innocent of them ;
that they had not paid sufficient attention to the first
letter to the Prefect of the Eure. That, as regards the
letter to Maupas, it was a draft, a project ; that he had
written it, but had never sent it. That they would recog-
nize the truth too late, and would regret their action.
That, as for the pamphlet, " The Republic impossible be^
cause of Republicans," he had written that too, but had
not published it.

They all cried out, " Where is it ? "
He calmly replied, " I have burned it"
" Is that all you have to say ? " inquired Cahaigne.
Hubert shook his head and continued :
" He owed nothing to M&anie Simon ; those who had
seen money in his possession were mistaken. The citizen
Rattier was deceived ; he (Hubert) had never been in the
shop of the tobacconist Hurel. His passports were a very
simple matter ; being amnestied, he had a right to them.
He had paid back the fifty francs to Rioteau of Angers ;
he was an honest man ; he had never had a bank-note.
The money he had expended he had received from the
woman, about one hundred and sixty francs in all. He
had met Citizen Boisson in Paris at a cheap restaurant.
It was there he gave his address. If he had intended to
bring the refugees to Paris, it was with a view to over-
turn Badinguet, not to betray his friends. If the gen-
darmes had allowed him to move about freely in France,

256 THINGS SEEK.

it was not his fault Definitely, there was an under-
standing among them to get rid of him, and all were
victims of it."

He repeated two or three times, without their being able
to understand to what this phrase referred, " The carpenter
who made the false bottom is here to say so."

" Is that all ? " said Cahaigue again.

"Yes," said he,

This word was received with a shudder. They had
heard the explanations, but they had explained nothing.

" Take care I " continued Cahaigne. " You yourself
have said we can judge you ; we do judge you ; we can
condemn you."

" And execute you," cried a voice.

"Hubert," continued Cahaigne, "you risk all the dangers
of punishment. Who knows what will happen to you ?
Take care! Disarm your judges by candid confession.
Our friends are in the hands of Bonaparte, but you are
in ours. Tell the facts clearly to us. Aid us to save our
friends, or you are lost. Speak."

" It is you," said Hubert, raising his head, " it is you
who lose * our friends ' in Paris by speaking their names
as loudly as you do in an assembly" (and he looked round
him) "in which there are evidently spies. I have nothing
more to say."

Then the uproar was renewed, and with such fury that
it was feared some would pass from words to acts.

The cries " To death ! " arose anew from a number of
angry mouths.

There was in the Assembly a shoemaker of Niort, an
old non-commissioned officer of artillery, called Guay, a
fanatical Communist, but an excellent and honest work-
man, nevertheless, a man with a Jong black beard, a
pale face, rather sunken eyes and slow speech, of grave
and resolute demeanour. He rose and said :

HUBERT, THE SPY. 257

* Citizens, it seems that you wish to condemn Hubert
to death. That surprises me. You forget that we are in
a country which has laws that we must not violate, nor
attempt anything contrary to them. Nevertheless Hubert
must be punished, both for the past and for the future,
and impress on him an ineffaceable stigma. So, as we
must do nothing unlawful, this is what I propose. We
will seize Hubert and shave his hair and beard, and as
hair will grow again we will cut a small piece out of his
right ear. Ears do not grow again."

This proposition, enunciated in the gravest tone and in
the most convinced way, was received in that lugubrious
assembly with a shout of laughter which continued for
some time, and which added another horror to the dread
realities of the scene.

Near Guay, at the entrance to the other compartment
of the room, beside Dr. Barbier, was seated a refugee
named Avias. Avias, a non-commissioned officer in the
army of Oudinot, had deserted before Borne, not wishing,
as a Republican, to overturn a Republic. He had been
caught, tried by court-martial, and condemned to death.
He had succeeded in making his escape the day before the
execution was to have taken place. He took refuge in
Piedmont. On December 2, he crossed the frontier, and
joined the Republicans of the Var in arms against the
coup (fftat. In an engagement a bullet broke his ankle.
His friends carried him out of action with great difficulty,
and his foot was amputated. Expelled from Piedmont
he went to England, and thence to Jersey, When he
arrived he came to see me. Some friends and myself
assisted him, and he had finished by setting up as a dyer
and scourer, and so lived*

Avias seemed to have been well acquainted with Hu-
bert. While the extracts were being read he continued

to cry, " Ah, coquin ! ah, j / / Say that he

VOL. xxiv. 17

258 THINGS SEEN.

told me Louis Blanc is a traitor! Victor Hugo is a
traitor ! Ledru-Kollin is a traitor ! "

When Guay sat down, Avias rose and stood on his
bench, then on the table.

Avias is a man thirty years old, tall, with a wide red
face, projecting brows, goggle-eyes, a large mouth, and a
Provencal accent With his furious eyes, his hands dis-
coloured by dye, his foot beating time on the table,
nothing more savage than this giant with the harsh voice,
and whose head nearly touched the ceiling, can be
conceived.

He exclaimed, " Citizens ! none of this ; let us finish.
Let us draw lots who is to give this traitor his coup-de-
grdce. If no one will, then I will volunteer."

A shout of assent arose : " All ! all ! "

A small young man with a fair beard, who was seated
in front of me said, " I will undertake it. The business
of the spy will be settled to-morrow morning."

" Not so," said another, in the opposite corner. " There
are four here who will charge themselves with this."

" Yes," added Fombertaux, extending his fist close to
Hubert's head. " Justice upon that rascal death 1 "

Not a dissenting voice was raised. Hubert, himself
terrified, bent his head and seemed to say, " It is just."

I rose.

" Citizens," I said, " in a man whom you have fed, sup-
ported, and made friends with, you have found a traitor.
In a man you have accepted as a brother you find a spy.
This man is still wearing a coat you bought for him, and
the shoes with which you provided him. You are shiver-
ing with indignation and regret. This indignation I
partake, this sorrow I can understand. But take care I
What mean these shouts for death? There are two
beings in Hubert, a spy and a man. The spy is in-
famous, the man is sacred."

HUBERT, THE SPY. 259

Here a voice interrupted me, the voice of a fine
fellow named Cauvet, who is rich and sometimes tipsy,
and who abused anything pertaining to Ledru-Eollin, to
show himself a fanatic for the guillotine. A deep silence
supervened. Cauvet said, in a low voice, " Ah, yes ! that 's
it, always for soft measures."

" Yes," said I, " for moderation. Energy on one side,
mildness on the other. Those are the arms which I wish
to place in the hands of the Republic."

I resumed :

"Citizens, do you know what belongs to you in Hu-
bert ? The spy, yes ! the man, no ! The spy is yours ;
the home of the traitor, the name of the traitor, his
moral being, you have the right to do as you please with
that ; you have the right to crush that, to tear out that,
to tread that under foot, yes, you have the right to
tear the name of Hubert to pieces, and to scrape up the
hideous fragments in the mud. But do you know what
you have no right to touch ? not a hair of his head."

I felt the hand of Eibeyrolles pressing mine.

" What MM. Hubert and Maupas have tried to do here
is monstrous. To support a spy out of your poor-funds ;
to keep in the same pocket the police bank-note and the
brotherly coins of the refugees ; to throw our money in
our eyes to blind us; to arrest the men who help us
in France by the man we feed in Jersey ; to pursue the
proscribed in ambush ; not to even leave the exile in
peace; to attach the thread of an infamous plot to the
holiest fibres of our heart ; to betray us and rob us at
the same time ; to pick our pockets and sell us, that
is the snare in which we find the hands of the Imperial
police.

"What have we to do? Publish the facts! Take
France, Europe, the public conscience, universal probity
to witness. Say to the whole world, It is infamous/

260 THINGS SEEK.

Sad as the discovery may be, the occasion is fortunate.
In this business the moral advantage lies with the pro-
scribed, with the democracy, with the Republic. The
situation is excellent Do not let us spoil itl

" Do you know how we may spoil it ? By misconceiv-
ing our rights, and behaving like the Venetians of the
sixteenth century, instead of like Frenchmen of the nine-
teenth, in acting like the Council of Ten, in killing a
man.

" In principle I am no more anxious about the death
of a spy than of a parricide, I assure you. In fact, it is
absurd !

" Touch this man, wound him, only beat him, and to-
morrow the opinion that is with you will be against you.
The English law will arrest you. From judges you will
become the accused. M. Hubert gone, M. de Maupas
gone, and what remains? You proscribed Frenchmen
before a British jury.

" And instead of saying, ' Look at the baseness of that
police/ they will say, 'Look at the brutality of those
demagogues.'

"Citizens," I added, extending my arms towards Hu-
bert, "I take this man under my protection, not for
the man's sake, but for the Republic. I oppose any one
who will do him harm now or in future, here or else-
where. I sum up your rights in a word : Publish, do
not kill I Punishment by publicity, not by violence. A
deed in open day, not by night. The skin of Hubert !
Great God, what is it worth ? What can you do with
the skin of a spy ? I declare no one shall touch Hubert,
no one shall ill-treat him. To poniard M. Hubert would
be to disgrace the poniard To whip M. Hubert would
only sully the whip."

These words, which I reproduce from memory, were
listened to with profound attention and increasing adhe-

HUBERT, THE SPY. 261

sion at each moment. When I reseated myself the ques-
tion was decided. To tell the truth, I did not think
Hubert was in any danger during the sitting ; but the
morrow might have been fatal.

When I seated myself I distinctly heard a refugee
behind me, named Fillion, who had escaped from Africa,
say, " That is it. The spy is saved. We should act and
not talk. That will teach us to chatter ! "

These words were drowned in a general cry of "No
violence! Publish the facts, appeal to public opinion,
hold the police and Hubert up to execration ; that is
what we '11 do."

Claude, Durand, Bulier, Rattier, Ribeyrolles, Cahaigne
congratulated me warmly. Hubert looked at me with
a mournful gaze. The sitting had been, as it were, sus-
pended after my speech. The proscribed of the terrorist
school looked at me angrily.

Fillion came up to me and said, "You are right."
From the moment they had spoken nothing was more
likely. Is it necessary that when you execute a traitor
you should proclaim the fact on the house-tops ? We
are sixty here, fifty-six too many. Four would suffice.
In Africa we had a similar case. We discovered that a
man named Auguste Thomas was a detective an old
Republican too and in every plot for the past twenty
years. We had proofs of the facts at nine P.M. Next
day the man had disappeared, without any one knowing
what had become of him. That is the way those things
should be managed."

As I was about to reply to Fillion the business was
resumed. Cahaigne raised his voice and said, "Seat
yourselves, citizens. You have heard Citizen Victor
Hugo. What be proposes is moral punishment"

"Yes, yes. Very good," exclaimed a multitude of
voices.

262 THINGS SEEN.

Cauvet, the man who had interrupted me, moved upon
the table on which he was seated.

" Parbleu ! that is beautiful, a moral punishment,
and you will let him off I To-morrow he will go to
France to denounce and sell all our friends. We ought
to kill the cur ! "

This was one great objection. Hubert at liberty was
dangerous.

Beauvais interfered.

" There is no need to kill him, and you need not let
him go. I have kept Hubert since April, and lodged him
for almost nothing. I was willing to help a refugee, but
not to feed a spy. Now M. de Maupas must pay me M.
Hubert's expenses, eighty-three francs. To-morrow
morning M. Asplet shall arrest M. Hubert and drop him
into prison for debt, at least, unless he produces the
bank-notes which M. de Maupas gave him. I shall be
glad to see them."

There was laughter at this. Beauvais had in fact
settled the question.

" Yes," cried Vincent, " but he will be off to-morrow
morning."

" We will guard him," said Boni.

" Search him," cried Fombertaux.

" Yes, yes, search the spy."

A number of men precipitated themselves on Hubert

"You have neither the right to guard him nor to
search him. To guard him is to curtail his liberty, to
search him is to assault him."

The searching, moreover, was senseless. It was evi-
dent that Hubert, since the investigation, had nothing
compromising about him.

Hubert cried, "Let them search me; I consent to
it"

This was a little astonishing.

HUBERT, THE SPY. 263

"He consents/' they cried. "He consents. Let us
search him."

I stopped them, and asked Hubert, "Do you consent?"

"Yes."

"You must give your consent in writing."

" I am quite willing."

JarassS wrote the consent, and Hubert signed it
Meantime he was being searched, for they had not the
patience to wait for the signature.

His pockets were emptied and turned out. Nothing
was found except a few coppers, his large handkerchief,
and a piece of the " Jersey Chronicle."

" His shoes, search his shoes."

Hubert pulled off his shoes, and put them on the table.

" There was nothing in them," he said, " but the feet of
a Republican."

Cahaigne then spoke. He put my proposition, and it
was adopted nem. con.

While the proposition was being signed, Hubert had
put on his shoes and his hat, he had taken up his pipe,
and seemed as if he wanted some one to give him a
light.

At this moment Cauvet approached him and said, in a
low voice, " Would you like a pistol ? "

Hubert made no answer.

" Would you like a pistol ? " repeated Cauvet

Hubert kept silence. Cauvet began again : " I have a
pistol at home, a good one. Will you have it ? "

Hubert shrugged his shoulders, and pushed the table
with his elbows.

"Will you?" said Cauvet

" Leave me alone," said Hubert

" You don't want my pistol ? "

"No."

"Then shake hands."

264 THINGS SEEN.

And Cauvet, quite drunk, held out his hand to Hubert,
who did not take it.

Meanwhile I was talking with Cahaigne, who said to
me, " You have done well to put them off, but I am
afraid that to-morrow their anger will break out again,
in two or three like Avias, and that they will kill him
in some corner or other."

I had not signed the deposition. All had signed
except me.

Heurtebise handed me the pen.

" I will sign in three days/ 1 I said.

" Why ? " asked several.

" Because I am afraid of blows. I will sign in three
days, when I shall be sure that the threats have not
been carried out, and that no ill has come to Hubert."

They shouted on all sides, " Sign, sign ; we will not
harm him."

" You will guarantee it?"

" We promise you."

I signed.

Half an hour after I reached home ; it was six o'clock
A.M. The sea-breeze whistled about the Rocher des
Proscrits. The first rays of dawn were lighting up the
sky. Some little silver clouds played amid the stars.

At that same hour M. Asplet, directed by Beauvais,
arrested Hubert, and put him in prison for debt

On the morning of October 21, about six o'clock, Sieur
Lament, who is the French vice-consul here, came to M.
Asplet's house. He came, he said, to claim a Frenchman
illegally imprisoned.

" For debt," replied M. Asplet. He then produced the
order of arrest signed by the deputy, Vicomte M. Horman.

" Will you pay the amount ? " said M. Asplet

The consul bowed, and went away.

It seems to be Hubert's destiny to be fed at the

HUBERT, THE SPY. 265

refugees' expense. At this moment they are keeping
him in his prison at an expense of sixpence a day.

Looking over my papers, I found a letter from Hubert.
There is in this letter a sad phrase : " Hunger is a bad
counsellor ! "

So Hubert has been hungry.

1858.
TAPNER

GUERNSEY, December 6-12.

MMAETIN, the queen's provost iu Guernsey,
came to see me on my arrival I returned his
visit on the 5th of December, 1858. He offered to
accompany me to the prison, which I was desirous to see.

We had gone by the streets which rise behind the
Royal Court. When strolling about Saint Peter's Port,
I had already remarked in the town, midway, a high
wall, in which was a high gate with a G carved in the
granite on the top of it. I said to myself, " That ought
to be the prison. So it is."

The jailer received us. He is named Barbet ; so the
Guernsey malefactors call the prison the Hotel Barbet.
This man had the same frank, firm face, the same pleasant
and determined manner which I had already remarked in
many other jailers. His wife and daughter were prepar-
ing soup in the corner.

Barbet took a heavy key, opened a grated door, and in-
troduced us into a vast empty court, bounded on three
sides by the high wall which had already attracted my
attention. On the south the court is dominated by a new
building of grey granite, the two-storied front of which is
composed of two rows of seven arches superposed. Be-
neath the arches are the windows. Through the glass
we perceive the heavy bars, painted white. That is the
prison and those are the cells.

TAPNEB. 267

"Guernsey is an honest island," said the provost a
distinguished and intelligent man a Non-conformist, an
Independent, as Cromwell and Milton were. And he
added, " We have at present only three prisoners, two
men and a woman, out of a population of forty thousand."

One of the prisoners entered the court at that moment.
He was a young man with a pleasing face, condemned to
ten years of Botany Bay for robbery. He was dressed in
cloth trousers, a small blue paletot, and a cap.

The provost, who is also called the sheriff, and who in
this capacity is governor of the prison, and accompanies the
condemned to the scaffold a circumstance which makes
him averse to capital punishment explained to me that
the young man would not be transported, and that he
would be free in a few years from his cellular prison.

The English " cellular prison," imbued and penetrated
by the glacial spirit of English Protestantism, proves that
severity and cold can be carried to a ferocious pitch. In
one of the prisons Millbank, I think silence is im-
posed. The sheriff told me that when visiting that
prison he found in a cell a young man from Guernsey,
whom he knew, who had been convicted of theft When
he saw the provost he clasped his hands and cried,

"Ah, monsieur, is my grandmother still alive ?"

The provost had scarcely time to reply, when the jailer
said to the agonized prisoner, " Hold your tongue ! "

The young man died soon after. He passed from the
prison to the tomb : from one silence to the other, and
scarcely would perceive the change.

Beneath the seven arcades on the ground-floor are the
debtors' cells. We entered them. They were unoccupied.
A wooden bed, a paillasse, and a rug are all the prison
authorities give to a debtor. The last debtor imprisoned
was a Guernsey man, whose name has escaped ma He
was put there by his wife, who kept him there ten years,

26S THINGS SEEN.

gaining her own liberty by his imprisonment. At the
end of ten years the husband paid his wife and got out.
They lived together again, and the provost says do very
well together.

There was no prisoner for debt there at the time ; I
must repeat this.

This prison is a silent testimony of approval to the
Guernsey population. It contains twelve cells : six for
debtors, six for ordinary offenders, besides two punish-
ment-cells. There are also for the women two cells only,
of which one is a punishment-cell.

One of the seven chambers on the ground-floor is the
chapel, a small room without an altar, having a wooden
pulpit for the chaplain in the left corner ; and in front of
the door, back to the window, four or five wooden benches
with desks, upon which are scattered a few prayer-books.

On the first floor the criminals are imprisoned. We
ascended. The jailer opened a well-lighted cell, furnished
only with a wooden bed. At the foot of the bed the cov-
erings were rolled up, and the blankets, like the counter-
panes, are of coarse wool, only they seemed to me knitted.
The paillasse had been removed, so that one could see the
bed-board, on which a number of names and inscriptions
had been cut and scratched with knives or nails. These
formed a forest of almost obliterated letters. We distin-
guished among others the following words, which were
more legible than the others :

GUERRE.

HI8TOIRE.

CAIN,

Is not all crime included in those words ? In a corner
of the board there were some rudely-sketched ships in
outline.

The cell behind this is a punishment-cell. There is

TAFNEB. 269

only a plank bed in it, and a small window opening to
the north. The last occupant had chalked on the wall a
species of labyrinth, which made the jailer very angry.
They had soiled the whiteness of his sepulchre for him.

All the cells were whitewashed.

The range of arcades in front of the cells form a sort of
gallery, open to the air and southern sun, where the
prisoners take exercise in wet weather.

There is in this gallery an old dilapidated bedstead, on
which they mount, and can overlook the sea. " That is a
great enjoyment for them," said the jailer. I stood upon
the bedstead. I could see the island of Sark, and vessels
on the horizon. I was desirous of visiting Tapner's celL
The sheriff conducted me thither.

This cell, and the punishment-cell near it, compose the
female side.

When one is in the court facing the prison one sees
that the first of the seven upper arcades to the left is
barred towards the court and walled up towards the
gallery. The small space between the railing and the
wall was the special paddock of Tapner. There he paced
backward and forward all day like a wild beast in a cage,
in view of the other prisoners, but separated from them.
The window looking into this cage is the window of
his cell.

The door is thick, painted black, and bound with iron.
Two great bolts above and below and a lock midway.

The jailer opened this door and let us in.

The cell, of the same dimensions as the others, about
ten feet square, is clean, white, and well-lighted. The
chimney at the bottom of the left angle cantwise, a
bucket, a plank fixed to the wall facing the door ; on the
right of the door under the window is a wooden bedstead,
of which one of the four posts is broken. On the bed a
paillaase, a rug, and coarse woollen blankets.

270 THINGS SEEN.

This pallet was Tapner's bed. After his death it was
given up to the women.

No fire might be lighted in the chimney without the
doctor's orders.

At the moment we entered a woman was seated, or
rather crouched, upon the bed, with her back to the door.
I took my hat off. Mr. Tyrrell, a young English painter,
who accompanied me, did the same.

This woman, the only prisoner at the time, was so
the sheriff told me a thief, and more than that, an
Irishwoman, added the jailer. She was a youngish
woman, and kept on darning an old stocking, without
appearing even to see us.

This woman, in whom the last curiosity was extinct,
seemed to personify the sombre indifference of misery.

Tapner suffered in this cold, white, clear cell.

This John Charles Tapner, a kind of gentlemanly em-
ploy d of the government, not having made use of the
advantages of his education, reached the stages of rob-
bery and assassination by drinking and debauchery. He
was born of good family and of religious parentage, at
Woolwich, in 1823. He died before he was thirty-one,
on the 10th of February, 1854.

He lived with two sisters married to one, the lover
of the other. He had insured his life for the full value
of his appointment, X150 sterling, which absorbed all
his income, and appeared to announce his intention of
living by crime. The assurance was in his wife's name
and his own, for the benefit of the survivor.

I asked, " Did the company pay it ? "

" Eh ? No," replied the sheriff.

" Has it relinquished or given to the poor the annual
premiums which it received from Tapner ? "

" Oh no."

Under the virtuous pretext that there had been a
crime, the company robbed the widow.

TAPNEB. 271

"Tapner appeared indifferent/' said the provost, and
he therefore concluded the man did not suffer. " That is
a mistake/' I said. "Do you not believe one is cold
under the ice?"

The day before his death his likeness was taken. The
apparatus was placed in the cage opening from his cell
where there was plenty of sunlight. Tapner could not
help laughing as he posed himself. A death's-head
might as well have laughed

" Do not laugh," said the provost to him ; " keep seri-
ous. They will not recognize your portrait You cannot
laugh to-day ; it is not possible."

It was so possible that he was laughing.

One day the provost lent him a prayer-book. " Read
this, Tapner," said he, " if you are guilty." " I am not
guilty," replied Tapner. "In any case," replied the
provost, " you are a sinner, as we all are. You have not
served God. Read this book." Tapner took it, and
when the provost entered the cell an hour later he found
him, book in hand, bathed in tears.

" His last interview with his wife was most distress-
ing," said the provost. " Nevertheless, the woman was
aware of his love-affair with her sister. But who can
fathom all the mysteries of pardon?"

The night before my visit to the prison Mr. Pearce,
one of the two chaplains who had attended Tapner. on
the day of his death, came to see me at Hauteville House
with the provost I asked Mr. Pearce, a very venerable
and dignified gentleman, " Did Tapner know that I was
interested in him ? "

"Certainly, sir," replied Mr. Pearce. "He was touched,
and very grateful for your intervention, and he particu-
larly wished you to be thanked on his behalf."

I note, as a characteristic detail of the liberty of the
English Press, that at the time of Tapner's execution all
the journals in the island had more or less demanded it,

272 THINGS SEEN.

and were very much shocked by my letter to Lord Palin-
erston, agreeing in passing over in silence the facts which
Mr. Pearce revealed to me.

" There is," said the provost to me, " another thing of
which you are ignorant, and which was also passed over
in silence. You think you completely fail in your inter-
vention, and, nevertheless, you have gained an enormous
victory, of which you have no idea. This island is like
all England, a country of tradition. What has been
done yesterday must be done to-day, and done again to-
morrow. Now, tradition ordained that the condemned
man should go to the gallows with a cord round his neck.
Tradition ordained that the gibbet should be erected on
the beach, and that the condemned, to reach it, should
march through the most public thoroughfares of the
town, there had not been an execution for twenty-five
years, and had been so arranged. So of course Tap-
ner's execution must take place in the same way. After
your letter they did not dare to do so. They said, let us
hang the man, but in secret. They were ashamed ; you
did not tie the hands of Death, but you made him blush.
They gave up the cord round the neck, the gibbet on the
beach, the procession through the streets, and the crowd.
They decided that Tapner should be hanged in private in
the prison garden. Nevertheless, the law willed that
the execution ought to be in public, and the matter was
arranged by my signing tickets of admission for two
hundred people. Feeling the same distress as they, and
more, I agreed to all they decided. I signed the tickets
for those who wanted them. Nevertheless, a difficulty
presented itself, the garden adjoining the prison is
separated from it by the very wall of the open cell. The
door of this garden is in College Street; to reach this
door it was necessary for the condemned to leave the
prison and walk about one hundred paces in public.

TAPNEB. 273

They did not dare to have this done ; so, to avoid it, they
made a hole in the wall and let Tapner pass through it
Discretion prevailed."

I do not produce here the exact words of the sheriff,
but the sense is the same.

" Well," said I, " conduct me to the garden."

" The breach is closed ; the wall is rebuilt ; I will take
you round by the street."

At the moment of leaving the prison the jailer brought
me some of the soup which is supplied to the prisoners,
and inviting me to taste it, handed to me a large and
very clean tin spoon. I tasted the soup, which is good
and wholesome. The bread is excellent I compared it
in my mind to the horrible bread of the French prisons
which they showed me at the Conciergerie, which is
earthy, damp and viscous and fetid ; often full of worms
and mouldy.

It was raining ; the weather was grey and lowering.

It was not really more than a hundred paces from the
prison to the entrance of the garden. We turned to the
left, up College Street, along the high black wall. All
at once the provost stopped in front of a rather low door.
On the panels of the door, which leads to the place where
the man lost by drunkenness and ignorance met his
death, there are several strips of old bills, yellow,
white, green, relating to all kinds of things, and on
which the rain that effaced them, and the weather that
had torn them to pieces, had only left two words distin-
guishable, UNIVERSAL EDUCATION TEMPERANCE.

The provost had a great key in his hand, and unlocked
the door, which probably had not been opened since the
day of the last execution, and which grated noisily on its
hinges* We entered.

The provost shut the door behind us. We found our-
selves in a narrow, square space, shut in on three sides

YOL. XXIV. 18

274 THINGS SEEN.

by high walls, and opening on the fourth side on a steep
staircase, which was dark, though in the open air. Op-
posite the staircase the provost pointed out to me the
repaired breach in the wall. Through that breach Tap-
ner had passed ; the staircase was the first ladder to the
gibbet. He had mounted it. We mounted it. I do not
know why I counted the steps at that moment; there
were fourteen of them. This staircase leads to an oblong
and narrow garden, overlooked by another, which forms
a terrace. We ascend to this by seven granite steps like
the fourteen we have already traversed.

At the top of these seven steps we are in full view of
an enclosed open space, a hundred feet square, sur-
rounded by low walls cut by two alleys, which form a
cross in the centre. This is what they call the garden.
Here Tapner was hanged.

The December sleet continued to fall; a few briers
rustled in the wind. There were no flowers nor verdure
in the garden, but only one little, thin, stunted fruit-tree
at one of the four corners formed by the intersection of
the walks. The whole appearance was heartrending.
It was one of those sad places which the sun makes
melancholy and the rain lugubrious.

There is no house in the garden. It is nobody's gar-
den, except that of the spectre they have left there ; it is
deserted, abandoned, uncultivated, tragic. Other gardens
surround and isolate it. It has no touch with the town,
with life, with men only with the prison. The houses
in the low streets which surround it are visible afar off,
and seem to have the appearance of looking over the wall
into this ill-omened place.

Seeing on one side a sort of little walk, low, narrow,
long, and rather deep, on which abutted the first fourteen
steps, and on the other this funereal garden, intersected
by those two transversal alleys, it was impossible not to

TAFNEB. 275

think of a ditch near which might be extended the mor-
tuary cloth with the cross.

We have on our right a wall which is as high as the
great wall where the gate is, and of which one sees the
back from the street. A walk lower than the rest of the
garden skirts this wall. A range of thick, rusty tenter-
hooks, and of long, thin wooden rods, silvered and pol-
ished by the frost, were fixed vertically to the wall at
intervals of six to eight paces, indicating that formerly
there had been an espalier here. It has now disappeared,
and nothing of the rods is left, except a sort of skeleton.

A few paces on we reach a flight of three steps, which
leads from the garden to the walk. Here we remark
more rods on the wall. They reappear again a little
farther on, leaving a space of fifteen feet unoccupied.

Here the provost stopped in silence. I saw that the
rods were wanting, and I understood. This was where
the scaffold had been erected. Looking up, one sees
nothing except the broken glass upon the wall, and
the round tower of the neighbouring church painted
yellow and grey.

The scaffold was raised here. Tapner turned to the
left, took the middle walk, and reached by one of the
arms of the cross which the walks form the steps of
the gibbet placed immediately above the three steps I
have mentioned. He mounted on the platform, and
thence, while he was saying his last prayers, he could
see the sea-birds flying in the distance ; the pale clouds
of February, the ocean, the immensity yonder; and at
the same time, by the opening in his mind at that dark
hour, he could perceive the mystery, the unknown
future, the escarpments of the tomb God the immen-
sity on high.

The gibbet was composed of two supports and a cross-
bar ; in the centre of this bar a rope with a knot at the

276 THINGS SEEN.

end hung over a closed trap-door. On this trap, the
snare of the law, Tapner was placed, and remained stand-
ing while the noose was adjusted round his neck. From
the street behind the wall, from the College garden at
the other side of the street, might have been seen the
supports of the gibbet, the cord, the knot, and they could
see the back of the condemned man until the trap-door
was opened and he fell. Then he disappeared from the
view of the spectators outside.

From the interior of the garden, and from the houses
of which I have already spoken, they could see the rest.

The punishment was this frightful thing, as I said in
my letter to Lord Palmerston. The provost recalled it
to my mind, and confirmed all the details. He consid-
ered I had rather softened it down than amplified them.

At the moment Tapner fell the cord tightened, and he
remained fifteen or twenty seconds motionless, and as if
he were dead. The queen's proxy, the chaplain, the
magistrates, believing that it was all over, or fancying
that it had not commenced, hurried away, and the provost
remained alone with the criminal, the executioner, and
the curious spectators. I have described the agony of
the unhappy wretch, and how the executioner had to
drag him down by the feet.

Tapner dead the law satisfied. It is now the turn
of the superstitious ; they never failed to come to the
rendezvous which the gallows gives them. Epileptics
came, and could not be prevented from seizing the con-
vulsive hand of the dead man and passing it frantically
over their faces. The dead man was cut down in an
hour, and then it was a question who should steal the
cord. The assistants threw it down, and each one claimed
a piece ; but the sheriff took it and threw it in the fire.

When it was burned, the people came and collected
the cinders.

TAPNER, 277

The wall against which the gibbet was erected sup-
ported a hut which occupied the south-east angle of the
garden; thither they carried the corpse. They made
ready a table, and a plasterer whom they found there made
a cast of the man's face. The visage, violently deformed
by strangulation, was recomposed, and had the expression
of sleep. The cord removed, calmness returned. It ap-
pears as if death, even through punishment, wishes
always to be kind, and that its last word should be peace.

I went to this hut ; the door was open ; it was a miser-
able cell, scarcely plastered, which served as a garden
shed. Some tools were propped against the wall This
chamber was lighted by a window opening into the
garden, and by another looking into the street, which
had been closed up when Tapner was brought thither,
and had not since been reopened. With the exception
of the table, which had disappeared, the place was the
same as when the corpse had been there. The closed
window was then clo'sed ; the shutter which had been
put up by the hangman remained shut. In front of this
window was a piece of furniture, full of little drawers,
some of which were missing. On this, beside a broken
bottle and some dried flowers, stood one of these drawers
full of plaster. It was the same plaster which had been
used. I opened at hazard another drawer, and found
more plaster, with the imprints of fingers. The floor
was littered with yellow herbs and dead leaves. A net
was thrown into a corner on a heap of dust. Near the
door, in an angle of a wall, was a shovel, the gardener's
shovel, probably, or the grave-digger's.

Towards four o'clock in the afternoon, the body being
nearly cold, the sheriff put Tapner in the coffin. They
did not bury him. They did not go to the expense of a
winding-sheet; they simply nailed him down with his
clothes on. In Guernsey the clothes of the deceased are

278 THINGS SEEN.

his own property ; not, as in London, the hangman's per-
quisite. At nightfall, ten or twelve persons only being
present, they carried the coffin to the cemetery, where a
grave had been dug in the morning.

" You must see everything," said the provost ; so we
went out, and I followed him. We plunged into the
poor thoroughfares, and arrived in a narrow, steep, angu-
lar street lined with hovels, at the corner of which I read
Lemarchand Street. The provost left me, went down a
dark alley, and came back with the key, which seemed
larger than the key of the garden. An instant after we
stopped in front of a great black door opening in the
centre.

My conductor opened this door, and we found ourselves
in a sort of dark and lofty shed.

"Sir," said the provost, "look up; overhead is the
gibbet of Beasse."

This Beasse, who was hanged in 1830, was a French-
man ; he had passed as a non-commissioned officer through
the Spanish war of 1823 under the Duke of Angoul&me ;
then, enriched by inheritance or otherwise, he retired to
Guernsey. There, with his income of fifteen thousand
francs, he was a gentleman. He bought a fine house,
and became a grandee. In the evening he visited the
bailiff, M. Daniel le Brocq.

When one went to see Beasse one found a man work-
ing in his garden sometimes. This gardener was the
hangman. The hangman of Guernsey was a skilful hor-
ticulturist, isolated, and avoided by all. His fellow-crea-
tures having shunned him, he turned to Nature, and
was no less skilful in the garden than on the gallows.
Beasse, having no prejudices, employed him.

Beasse then was in a good position on account of his
money, even in view of the haughty aristocracy of Guern-
sey, even of the forty and the sixty.

TAPNEB. 279

One day they noticed that his servant was very stout.
Then they saw that she was thinner. What had become
of the child? The neighbours were aroused; rumours
were circulated. The police paid Beasse a visit ; two consta-
bles came with a doctor. The doctor visited the servant,
who was in bed ; then the constable said to Beasse, " The
woman has been confined. There was a child ; we must
find it." Beasse, who up to that moment had declared
he did not know what they wanted, took a shovel, went
into a corner of his garden, and began to dig furiously.
One of the constables, thinking that he wished to give
a blow with the spade to the object and pass the mark as
an accidental wound, took the spade himself and con-
tinued to dig more carefully. In a moment or so the
child was discovered. The poor little thing had one
larding-pin buried in its throat and another in the anus.
Beasse denied that he was the father of the child. He
was tried, condemned to be hanged, and it was his friend
the bailiff, Daniel le Brocq, pronounced.

His goods were confiscated.

The provost, after relating this horrible narrative, said:
" Beasse was deficient in coolness. By going himself to
dig up the ground where the body was, he lost himself.
He could easily have saved himself. He had only to say,
' The child is dead. I gave it to a beggar who passed to
bury it. I gave him a sovereign. I don't know who he
is, and I should not know him again/ No one could
have proved the contrary. No one would have known
what had become of the child, and they could not have
condemned him ; Guernsey being still ruled by the Nor-
man custom, which insists on material proof corpus
delicti before condemnation."

The provost asked me, "Would you have advanced
the question of the inviolability of human life for
as you did for Tapner ? "

280 THINGS SEEN.

"Unquestionably," I said. "This Tapner and this
Beasse are miserable creatures, but the principles never
assert their grandeur and beauty so well save when they
defend those whom even pity does not defend."

At the time that Beasse was condemned the Revolution
of 1830 broke out. He then said to the same M. Martin,
now provost, " I would rather remain in France to be
shot than in Jersey to be hanged."

Here is a detail. The bailiff was a friend of his, and
had to pronounce on him ; his gardener was the hangman
who executed him. The bailiff did not hesitate. But
the gardener was different. Perhaps the gardener had
lost touch of hanging. Perhaps his hands, after training
roses and lilies, were incapable of making nooses. Per-
haps, quite honestly, this legalized slayer was kinder
than the law, and was disinclined to stretch the neck of
the man with whom he had broken bread. At any rate,
the day after the sentence the hangman of Guernsey dis-
appeared. He escaped in some smuggling cutter, and left
Saint-Peter's. They sought for him; they searched the
island ; but he never returned.

It became necessary to advertise.

A man, an Englishman, was in prison for some offence.
They offered him pardon if he would become the execu-
tioner, and hang Beasse as a commencement. Men call
that a pardon. The man accepted. Justice breathed
again. She had seen a moment when her death's-head
had nothing to devour, not that the upper jaw, the judge,
had failed, but because the lower jaw, the hangman, had
disappeared.

The day of execution arrived.

They brought Beasse to the gallows, with the cord
round hie neck, through the streets on to the beach. He
was the last who suffered in this way. On the scaffold,
at the moment when the white cap was being pulled over

TAPNEE. 281

his eyes, he turned towards the crowd, and as if he wished
to leave one agony behind him, he threw at the specta-
tors this phrase, which might have been spoken by a
guilty as well as an innocent man: "It is only crime that
dishonours ! "

The platform was long in falling. They had no trap-
door, and had to knock out a whole piece. It was fas-
tened at the extremities to the planks by cords which it
was necessary to cut on one side while it remained sus-
pended on the other. The hangman, the pardoned
prisoner, the same inexperienced wretch who, thirty-
five years later, hanged Tapner, took an axe and cut
the cord; but as he was nervous, he was a long time
about it. The crowd murmured, and did not think of
saving the culprit, though they nearly stoned the
hangman.

I had this scaffold over my head.

I looked up, as the provost requested me to do.

The hut in which we were had a pointed roof, of which
the interior framework was naked. Under the beams of
this roof, and precisely overhead, were placed two long
joists, which had been the support of Beasse's gibbet
At the upper end of these one could see the holes in
which the transversal bar had been inserted, to which
the cord was fastened. This bar had been taken out,
and was lying with the joists. About the centre of these
beams were nailed two kinds of wooden cushions, the
projecting parts of which had sustained the platform of
the gallows. These two beams, supported by the timber-
work of the roof, themselves supported a massive, long,
narrow plank, from the ends of which ropes hung. This
plank was the platform of the gibbet, and those cords
were the same which the hangman had been so long cut-
ting. Behind one could perceive a kind of step-ladder,
with flat wooden steps, lying near the platform* Beasse

282 THINGS SEEN.

had mounted this. All this hideous machine supports,
cross-beams, platform, ladder were painted iron-grey,
and seemed to have been used more than once. The im-
pressions of ropes could be seen on the beams here and
there ; two or three long ladders of the ordinary form
were leaning against the wall.

Near these ladders, in an angle to our right, the pro-
vost showed me a species of wooden trellis composed of
many panels.

" What is that ? " I asked him. " One would say it is a
cage. It is, in fact, a cage."

" It is the pillory," he replied. " It is fifteen or twenty
years since they used to put that up in the market-place
and expose criminals in it. It is now out of date."

Like the gallows of Beasse, this cage was painted a
dark grey. Formerly the cage was of iron ; then it was
made of wood, and painted black to resemble iron ; then
it was done away with. That is the history of all the
old penalty, the future included.

Dust and darkness now cover this apparatus of terror.
It might be one of the dark corners of oblivion. Spiders
have found this pillory-cage a very good place to spin
their webs in and to catch flies.

The platform of the old gibbet having acted badly for
Beasse, they built a new one for Tapner. They adopted
the English system of the trap, which opens under the
patient. "An officer of the garrison invented for the
opening of this trap a very ingenious mechanism," said
the provost, "and he was executed."

I returned to the scaffold of Beasse. Looking again
at one of the ends of the cord, I could see the grooves
which the axe in the trembling hands of the hangman
had made.

"Now, sir," said the provost, "turn round."

He pointed out in the other compartment of the shed,

TAFNEB. 283

still up in the roof, a collection of beams having the red
colour of the fir-tree. This was like a bundle of planks
and beams thrown pell-mell together, among which one
could distinguish a long and heavy ladder, with flat steps
like the other, and which appeared to me enormous.
They were all clean, new, fresh, and forbidding. This
was the scaffold of Tapner.

One could see the beams, one might distinguish the
cross-beam, one could count the planks of the platform
and the steps of the ladder. I was considering from the
same point of view the ladder which had borne Beasse
and the ladder which Tapner had climbed. My eyes
could not detach themselves from those steps, which
spectres had ascended, and to which they joined in
the distance, in my mind's eye, the sombre steps of the
Infinite.

The shed in which we were is composed of two build-
ings, the geometrical plan of which presents a right angle,
forms a T square. The opening of the square is occupied
by a little triangular court, which makes one think
of the knife of the guillotine. Grass grows between
the paving-stones. The rain was falling there; it was
formidable.

This funereal shed formerly served as a stable for the
country magistrates when they come to sit in the town.
One can still see the numbers on the boxes in which
they stabled their horses while they were on the bench.
I stopped between the two posts marked 3 and 4. An
old broken basket was lying on the ground at the bottom
of the stall between the two posts ; above this stall they
had placed the largest beams of the gibbet

" Why do they keep them there ? " I said to the pro-
vost. "Why, what you have them do? They would
warm a poor family for the whole winter."

Between the figures 3 and 4 one could perceive high

284 THINGS SEEN.

up on the roof a startling object the trap that opened
under the feet of Tapner. One could see it underneath,
the massive black bolt, the hinges that turned upon
eternity, and the two black joists which united the
planks. One also distinguished the ingenious mechan-
ism of which the provost had spoken. It is this too
narrow trap which causes the agony. The culprit is
caught by the shoulders and suspended. It is scarcely
three feet square, which is not sufficient space, because
of the oscillations of the cord. However, the provost
explained that Tapner had been badly pinioned, that he
had been permitted the movement of his arms; better
tied, he would have fallen straight and would not have
moved. The guardian of the shed had entered and joined
us while the provost was speaking. When he had fin-
ished the man added, " Yes, it was the bad pinioning of
Tapner that did the mischief, otherwise it would have
been magnificent."

Coming out of the shed, the provost begged to take
leave of me, and Mr. Tyrrell offered to conduct me to the
house of the plasterer who had taken a cast of Tapner.
I accepted.

I know still so little of the streets of the town, which
seems to be a labyrinth.

We traversed many of the high streets of Saint Peter
Port, in which grass grows, and we descended a wide
street which plunges into one of the four or five ravines
by which the town is intersected. Opposite a house,
before which two cypresses, trimmed in the shape of
cones, are growing, there is a stone-mason's. We entered
the yard. At first sight, one is struck by the number
of crosses and tomb-stones standing in the passage or
against the walls. A workman, the only one in the shed,
was fastening together some squares of faience. Mr. Tyr-
rell spoke to him in English. " Yes, sir/' replied the

TAPNER. 285

workman, and he went to the planks in tiers at the end
of the shed, searched among the plaster and the dust, and
brought back in the one hand a mask, and in the other a
head. These were the mask and the head of Tapner.
The mask had been coloured pink the plaster of the
head remained white. The mask had been modelled on
the face having still the whiskers and the hair clinging
to it ; then they had shaved the head and had moulded
the skull, the face and the neck naked. Tapner was
as celebrated in Guernsey as Lacenaire had been in
Paris.

As the provost had said, his face was strangely carved.
It recalled to me, in a singular way, the admirable Hun-
garian violinist liem^nyi. The physiognomy was youth-
ful and grave, the eyes shut as if in sleep, only a little
foam sufficiently thick for the plaster to have taken the
impression had remained at the corner of the upper lid,
which gives to the face, when regarded for a long while,
a sort of ironical sneer. Although the elasticity of the
flesh made the neck at the moment of moulding very
nearly the natural size, the mark of the cord was plainly
visible, and the running knot, distinctly imprinted under
the right ear, had left a hideous swelling.

I wanted to carry away this head. They sold it to me
for three francs.

It remained to me to make the third pause on this
dolorous way, for crime has its own as well as virtue.

" Where is Tapner's grave ? " I asked Tyrrell.

He made a gesture and walked on ; I followed him.

At Guernsey, as in all English cities, the cemetery is in
the town in the midst of the streets. Behind the col-
lege, a massive building in English Gothic, which domi-
nates the whole town, there is one of these cemeteries,
the largest, perhaps, in Saint Peter Port A street had
been cut through it in the early years of the century, and

286 THINGS SEEN.

it is now in two parts. On the western side lie the
Guernsey people, on the eastern side the strangers.

We passed up the street through the cemetery, which,
planted with trees, has scarcely any houses in it, and
above the walls which border it one can see tomb-stones
upright or flat on either side.

Mr. Tyrrell showed me an open door on the right, and
said to me, " It is here."

We passed through into the strangers* portion of the
cemetery.

We found ourselves in a long parallelogram, enclosed
by walls, grass-grown, in which some tombs are scattered.
There was no rain, the grass was damp, and the long grey
clouds were sweeping slowly along the sky.

As we entered we heard the sound of a pickaxe. The
noise ceased, and a living bust seemed to emerge from
the ground at the end of the cemetery, and regard us in
astonishment.

It was the grave-digger, who was digging a grave, and
standing in it waist-deep.

He ceased working when he saw us, not being accus-
tomed to the entrance of living bodies, and not being the
landlord except in an hotel of the dead.

We walked towards him over the tombs. He was a
young man. There was behind him a stone already
mossy, and on which one could read :

A ANDR JASINSKI,

16M June, 1844.

As we were approaching him he resumed his work.
When we reached the edge of the grave he looked up,
saw us, and tapped the ground with his spade. The
ground sounded hollow. The man said to us, " There is
a dead body there which bothers me." Then we under-

TAPNEB. 287

stood that he had met with an old grave in the course of
digging a new one.

Having said that, without waiting our reply, and as if
he were talking less to us than to himself, he bent down
and commenced to dig without troubling himself any
more about us. One would have said that his eyes were
full of the darkness of the grave, and he could see us no
longer.

I spoke to him.

" Are you the man," I said, " who buried Tapner ? "

He straightened himself, and looked at me like a man
who was searching in his memory.

"Tapner? "said he.

"Yes."

" The fellow who was hanged ? "

" Yes ; did you bury him ? "

" No," replied the man. " It was Mr. Morris, the care-
taker of the cemetery. I am only a digger myself."

There seems to be a hierarchy among grave-diggers.

I resumed,

" Can you point out the grave to me ? "

"Whose grave?"

" Tapner's."

The man replied,

" Close to the other man who was hanged.**

" Show me the place."

He stretched his arm out of the grave, and indicated
a spot near the gate by which we had entered, a grassy
corner, about fifteen paces square, where there were no
tombs. The tomb-stones which filled the cemetery ex-
tended to the borders of this funereal square, and stopped
there, as if it were a line it could not pass even in death.
The nearest stone backed against the wall of the street
bore this epitaph, below which one might read four lines
in English, which were hidden by the bushes :

288 THINGS SEEN.

TO THE MEMORY
OF

AMELIA,
DAUGHTER OF

JOHN AND MARY WINNECOMBB.

I entered into the solitary square which the grave-
digger pointed out. I advanced slowly, my gaze bent on
the ground. Suddenly I felt under my feet a hillock,
which I had not seen because of the height of the grass.
This was where they had buried Tapner.

Tapner's grave is very near the entrance to the ceme-
tery, at the foot of a small hut, where the grave-diggers
leave their tools. This hut adjoins, gable fashion, to a
large building, of which the high door occupies the whole
side. The wall which skirts the square in which Tapner
is buried is skirted by a penthouse, under which are sus-
pended four or five kdders, fastened with chains and
padlocked. At the place where the ladders cease the
tombs commence. The benediction and the malediction
are side by side in the cemetery, but they do not mingle.
Wear the shed one distinguishes another eminence, more
elongated, and not so prominent as that of Tapner. This
is where Beasse is buried.

I spoke to the grave-digger.

" Do you know where the hangman lives who hanged
Tapner ? "

" The hangman is dead," he replied

"When did he die?"

"Three months after Tapner/'

" Did you bury him ? "

"No."

"Is he here?"

TAPNXE. 289

"I don't think so/*
"Do you know where he is ?"
" I do not know."

I snatched a handful of grass from the grave of Tap-
ner, put it in my pocket-book, and came away.

VOL, zxiv. 19

1871.

THIERS AND ROCHEFORT.

October 1.

I WENT to see M. Thiers for Rochefort. At half-past
twelve left for Versailles. In the train a man with
yellow gloves seemed to recognize me, and regarded me
sternly.

Reached Versailles at half-past one. Rain and sun-
shine. At two o'clock I entered the prefecture where M.
Thiers lives. I was conducted into a room draped with
crimson silk.

Thiers entered immediately afterwards. He shook
hands with me, and led me to a private room where was
a fire, where we chatted for a long while cordially. I
congratulated him on what he had done for the liberation
of the country, and added, " But there is a great gulf be-
tween my opinion and yours. Between us there are dis-
cords, but an approach of mind is possible. We cannot
hope for any official commutation for Rochefort, but in
default of that we may have a commutation in fact."
That is what I obtained from Thiers for Rochefort.

Rochefort will not be sent away yet. He will undergo
his punishment in a French fortress. I have appealed
again against a fortress, against Belle Isle, against Mont
Saint-Michel.

Thiers has said, " I take note of your wishes ; I will do
my best" I requested Nice. Rochefort will be able to
see his family as much as he pleases. So as he must
live, he will be able to write the history of Napoleon IIL

THIERS AND ROCHEFORT. 291

as he wishes to do ; and then, in six or seven months, the
amnesty will be proclaimed and he will be free.

I must say that Thiers has gone a good deal into de-
tail. He has particularly related to me the private
scenes in the Assembly and in the councils of war, and
his conversation with the Emperor of Austria about the
Emperor of Germany, whom the Emperor of Austria calls
" my uncle." Suddenly he stopped and remarked, " I
have said too much." Then continuing, he remarked, " No ;
I know I have an honest man to deal with," and I told
him he might rest assured. For this reason I do not
relate the conversation more in detail.

He said, " I am, like you, a conquered man with the
air of a conqueror. I discount, like yourself, all these
injurious attacks. A hundred journals drag my name in
the gutter every morning, but I do not read them." I
replied, " That is precisely my case, and," I added, " to
read offensive articles is to breathe the bad odour of your
reputation." He laughed and shook me by the hand.

I called his attention to the atrocities already com-
mitted, and I pledged him not to execute any of the
condemned.

I begged that he would muzzle those people in epaulets.
I insisted on an amnesty, and he replied, " I am only a
poor devil of a dictator in a black coat."

The interview began at a quarter-past two, and lasted
until half-past three.

At four o'clock I started for Paris.

In the train were two young officers fresh from Saint-
Cyr, and .a young woman with a young man, probably
her husband. She was reading a paper, probably the
" Eclipse," in which was a caricature of Henry V. by
Gill. I was looking at Sfevres and the woods of Meudon.
Suddenly the young woman pointed to a line in the
paper, and said, " Ah ! d la bonne hcure, Victor Hugo."

292 THINGS SEEN.

" Take care," said the young man, " he is there." And he
pointed me out discreetly. The young woman took my
hat, which was in the rack, kissed the crape on it, and
then she said to me,

" You have suffered greatly, sir. Continue to defend
the vanquished." Then she wept

I kissed her hand. She was a charming creature, and
had beautiful eyes.

I assisted her to descend from the train at Paris, and
after saluting her we lost ourselves respectively in the
crowd.

1875.

A RETROSPECT.

December 31.

I HAVE had for friends and allies, I have seen succes-
sively pass before me, and according to the changes
and chances of destiny, I have received in my house,
sometimes in intimacy, chancellors, peers, dukes. Pas-
quier, Pont^coulant, Montalembert, Bellune; and cele-
brated men, Lamennais, Lamartine, Chateaubriand ;
presidents of the Republic, Manin ; leaders of revolution,
Louis Blanc, Montanelli, Arago, Heliade ; leaders of the
people, Garibaldi, Mazzini, Kossuth, Microslawski ; artists,
Rossini, David d'Angers, Pradier, Meyerbeer, Eugfene
Delacroix; marshals, Soult, Mackau; Serjeants, Boni,
Heurtebise; bishops, the Cardinal of Besanc^on, M. de
Rohan, the Cardinal of Bordeaux, M. Donnet ; and come-
dians, Frederick Lemaitre, Mile. Rachel, Mile. Mars, Mme.
Dorval, Macready; ministers and ambassadors, Moli,
Guizot, Thiers, Lord Palmerston, Lord Normanby, M. de
Ligne ; and of peasants, Charles Durand ; princes, impe-
rial and royal highnesses and plain highnesses, such as
the Duke of Orleans, Ernest of Saxe-Coburg, the Princess
of Canine, Louis Charles Pierre, and Napoleon Bonaparte;
and of shoemakers, Guay ; of kings and emperors, Jerome
of Westphalia, Max of Bavaria, the Emperor of Brazil ;
and of thorough revolutionists, Bourillon. I have had
sometimes in my hands the gloved and white palm of the
upper class and the heavy black hand of the lower class,

294 THINGS SEEN.

and have recognized that both are but men. After all
these have passed before me, I say that Humanity has a
synonym Equality; and that under Heaven there is
but one thing we ought to bow to Genius ; and only
one thing before which we ought to kneel Goodness.

ESSAYS.

Portrait of y<*liaire.

Original Etching by S, A. Schoff.

ESSAYS.

VOLTAIRE.

December, 1823.

FRANCOIS MARIE AROUET, so celebrated under
the name of Voltaire, was born at Chatenay on
the 20th of February, 1694. His family belonged to the
magistracy. He was educated by the Jesuits at the
college of Louis le Grand, and one of his teachers, Father
Lejay, we are told, predicted that he would be the
corypheus of deism in France.

Hardly had Arouet left college, where his faculties
had sprung to life with all the strength and ingenuous-
ness of youth, when he encountered an inflexible father
on the one hand, and a suave corrupter on the other.
The latter was his godfather, the Abb de Ch&teauneuf.
The father condemned all literary studies without know-
ing why, and consequently with insurmountable ob-
stinacy. The godfather, on the contrary, encouraged
the essays of Arouet, and showed a great liking for
verses, especially such as breathed a decided savour of
licentiousness or impiety. The one would imprison the
poet in a lawyer's office ; the other led, or rather misled,
the young man into all the salons. M. Arouet forbade
all reading to his son. Ninon de Lenclos bequeathed a
library to the pupil of her friend Ch&teauneuf. Thus
at its birth the genius of Voltaire was unfortunately
subjected to two opposite and equally fatal forces, one

298 ESSAYS.

tending to stifle that sacred fire which cannot be extin-
guished; the other feeding it thoughtlessly at the ex-
pense of all that is noble and worthy in the intellectual
order as well as in the social order. These are the two
contrary impulses, stamped at the same time on the first
flight of this powerful imagination, which vitiated its di-
rection forever. At least we may attribute to them the
first aberrations of the talent of Voltaire, vexed in this
fashion at once by the bridle and the spur.

We need not be astonished then, if at the very be-
ginning of his career, certain verses, poor and point-
less enough, were attributed to him and lodged him in
the Bastille, a somewhat rigorous punishment for bad
rhymes. It was during this enforced leisure that Vol-
taire, at the age of twenty-two, sketched the outline of
his tiresome poem the "Ligue," afterwards the "Hen-
riade," and finished his noteworthy drama "Oedipe."
After some months in the Bastille, he was freed and
pensioned at the same time by the Regent Orleans, whom
he thanked for taking care of his board, but begged that
he might be allowed henceforth to take care of his
lodging himself.

"Oedipe" was played with success in 1718. Lamotte,
the oracle of the period, deigned to consecrate the
triumph by a few sacramental words, and the fame of
Voltaire began its course. To-day, Lamotte is immortal
only perhaps because he is named in the writings of
Voltaire.

The tragedy of " ArWmise " succeeded the " Oedipe."
It fell flat. Voltaire went on a trip to Brussels to see
J. B. Rousseau, to whom, oddly enough, the epithet great
has been attached. The two poets were full of respect
for each other before meeting. They separated enemies.
It has been said that they were mutually jealous, which
could hardly be a sign of superiority in either.

VOLTAIBE. 299

" Artemise," recast and played in 1724 under the name
of " Marianne," had considerable success, though its new
form was by no means an improvement on the old.
France had not so far had an epic poem ; but the " ligue "
or the " Henriade " appeared at this time. Voltaire sub-
stituted Mornay for Sully in his work, because he had
grounds of complaint against the descendant of the great
minister. The vengeance seems hardly worthy of a
philosopher ; there is, however, some excuse for Voltaire,
who had been insulted in a cowardly fashion in front of
the Hotel de Sully by a certain Chevalier de Rohan, and
finding no redress in the law, he adopted the only
retaliation in his power.

Justly indignant at the refusal of the courts to deal
with his contemptible antagonist, Voltaire, who was now
a celebrity, withdrew into England where he devoted
himself to the study of some of the sophists of that
nation. Still all his leisure was not wasted ; he com-
posed two new tragedies, "Brutus" and"Csar," many
scenes of which Corneille might have acknowledged.

After returning to France, he gave in succession the
" ISryphile," which was a failure, and " Zaire," a master-
piece planned and finished in eighteen days. It is de-
fective only in local colouring and from the absence of a
certain severity of style. The success of "Zaire" was
prodigious, and it was well deserved. The tragedy of
" Adelaide du Guesclin " (afterwards the " Due de Foix ")
succeeded " Zaire," but was far from attaining the same
success. Some publications of a less important charac-
ter, the "Temple du Gofit," "Lettres sur les anglais,"
etc., troubled the life of Voltaire for several years.

However, his name was already spreading over Europe.
Retiring to Cirey, where he lived in the household of the
Marquise du Chatelet, a lady, in the words of Voltaire,
fit for all sciences except the science of life, he tried to

300 ESSAYS.

dull his fine imagination by studying algebra and geome-
try, wrote "Alzire," "Mahomet," the sprightly "His-
toire de Charles XIL," collected materials for the " Sifecle
de Louis XIV," prepared the " Essai sur les moeurs des
nations," and sent madrigals to Frederick, Crown Prince
of Prussia. "Mdrope," also composed at Cirey, set the
seal on the dramatic reputation of Voltaire. He thought
he might now present himself for admission to the
French Academy and fill the chair of Cardinal de Fleury.
He was not received. So far he had nothing but genius
to back him. But some time after, he set himself the
task of flattering Madame de Pompadour, and this with
such obstinate and complacent servility that he obtained,
at the same time, the academic chair, the post of gentle-
man of the bedchamber, and the office of historiographer
of France. His favour was not of long duration. Vol-
taire found a refuge now at Lun&ville with Stanislas, the
good King of Poland and Duke of Lorraine ; now with
Madame du Maine, at Sceaux, where he wrote the " S^mi-
ramis, Oreste," and " Home Sauvde ; " and again at Berlin
with Frederick, become King of Prussia. He passed
several years in the last retreat with the title of cham-
berlain, the Prussian cross of merit and a pension. He
was admitted to the royal suppers along with Mauper-
tuis, D' Argens, and Lamettrie, atheist of the king, of
that king, who, like Voltaire himself, lived without
court, without council, and without worship. It was not
the sublime friendship of Aristotle and Alexander, of
Terence and Scipio. A few years of friction sufficed
to wear out all that the soul of the despot philosopher
and the soul of the sophist poet had in common. Vol-
taire wished to escape from Berlin. Frederick hunted
him.

Dismissed by Prussia, rejected by France, Voltaire
spent two years in Germany, where, to oblige the

VOLTAIRE. 301

Duchess of Saxe-Gotha, he compiled and published the
"Annales de 1'Empire;" then he planted himself at
the gates of Geneva with his niece, Madame Denis.

The " Orphelin de la Chine," a tragedy in which nearly
every characteristic of his talent is conspicuous, was
the first fruit of this retreat, in which he would have
lived in peace, if greedy booksellers had not pub-
lished his odious " Pucelle." It was also at this period
and in his different residences of Les Ddlices, Tournay,
and Ferney, that he wrote the poem on the " Earthquake
of Lisbon," the tragedy of " Tancrfede," some tales, and a
number of his minor productions. It was then he de-
fended, with a generosity in which there was too great an
admixture of ostentation, Galas, Sirven, La Barre, Mont-
balli, and Lalli, those lamentable victims of judicial mis-
takes. It was then he quarrelled with Jean Jacques,
gained the friendship of Catherine of Russia, for whom he
wrote the history of her ancestor Peter the Great, and
became reconciled to Frederick. It is from the same
time that his co-operation in the " Encyclopedic " dates,
a work in which men who tried to show their strength
have only shown their weakness, a monstrous monument
of which the " Moniteur " of our Revolution is the fright-
ful sequel.

When borne down by the weight of years, Voltaire
wished to see Paris once more. He returned to that
Babylon which was in sympathy with his genius. Hailed
by universal acclamations the unhappy old man was en-
abled to see before his death how much his work had
advanced, was enabled to be delighted or terrified by his
glory. His vital power no longer sufficed to support the
emotions of the journey, and Paris witnessed his death on
the 30th of May, 1778. The freethinkers claimed that he
carried with him his^ infidelity to the tomb. We shall
not follow him there.

302 ESSAYa

We have related the private life of Voltaire : we must
now try to paint his public and private existence.

To name Voltaire is to characterize the whole eighteenth
century; it is to fix at one stroke the historical and
literary physiognomy of this epoch, which was, after all,
only a period of transition, for society as well as for
poetry. The eighteenth century will always appear in
history as a century stifled between the age that pre-
cedes and the age that follows it. Voltaire is its principal
and in some sort its typical representative, and, however
prodigious the man may be, his proportions seem paltry
enough between the great image of Louis XIV. and the
gigantic figure of Napoleon.

There are two beings in Voltaire. His life had two
influences. His writings had two results. It is on this
twofold action, controlling literature on the one side,
manifested in events on the other, we wish to dwell for
a moment We shall study separately each of these two
influences of the genius of Voltaire. We must not forget,
however, that their double power was intimately co-ordi-
nated, and that the effects of this power, rather inter-
mingled than interlinked, have always had something
simultaneous and common. If, in this note, we examine
them separately, it is solely because it would be beyond
our strength to embrace at a single glance a unity that
eludes our grasp. In this we imitate the artifice of those
oriental artists, who, finding that they are incapable of
representing an entire face, succeed in giving a tolerable
idea of the human countenance by painting two profiles
and enclosing them in a frame.

In literature Voltaire has left one of those monuments
whose appearance is astonishing from its size rather than
imposing from its grandeur. There is nothing august in
the edifice he has constructed. It is not the palace of
kings, nor is it the shelter of the poor. It is a bazaar, vast

VOLTAIRE. SOS

and elegant, irregular and convenient; making a dis-
play of countless wealth amid surrounding filth ; supply-
ing all interests, all vanities, and all passions with what
exactly suits them ; dazzling and fetid ; an exchange of
prostitutions and pleasures ; peopled by vagabonds, mer-
chants, and idlers, but seldom the resort of the priest or
of the needy. Here, you see brilliant galleries thronged
incessantly by astonished crowds ; there, secret caverns
which no one cares to boast of having entered. Under
these sumptuous arcades you will find a thousand master-
pieces of taste and art, everything resplendent with gold
and diamonds ; but do not look for the statue of bronze
with its antique and severe lines. You will find orna-
ments for your salons and boudoirs ; do not look for
such decorations as beseem the sanctuary. And woe to
the weakling whose soul is his entire fortune, if he expose
it to the seductions of this magnificent den, this mon-
strous temple in which there are testimonies for all that
which is not truth, adoration for all that which is not
God!

Certainly though we may wish to speak of a monu-
ment of this kind with admiration, we cannot be required
to speak of it with respect.

We would pity a city in which the bazaar was crowded,
and the church deserted ; we would pity a literature that
abandoned Corneille and Bossuet to run in the traces of
Voltaire.

Far from us the thought, nevertheless, of denying the
genius of this extraordinary man. It is because of our
conviction that this genius was perhaps one of the finest
ever bestowed on a writer that we deplore with the
greater bitterness its frivolous and destructive employ-
ment. We regret, for his own sake as well as for the
sake of literature, that he turned against Heaven the in-
tellectual power he had received from Heaven. We

804 ESSAYS.

bewail the glorious genius that did not comprehend its
sublime mission. We sorrow over the ingrate who has
profaned the chastity of his Muse and the sanctity of his
country, over the deserter who did not remember that
the tripod of the poet has its place close by the altar.
And, it is a profound and inevitable truth, his very
crime contained its chastisement. His glory is much
less great than it might have been, because he aimed at
every species of glory, even at that of Erostates. He
has cleared all fields, he cannot be said to have cultivated
any. And because he had the guilty ambition of sowing
in them nutritive germs and venomous germs with equal
impartiality, to his eternal shame, it is the poisons that
have borne most fruit. The "Henriade," as a literary
composition, is very inferior to the " Pucelle," which
does not at all mean that this vicious work is among the
best, even of its shameful class. His satires, sometimes
branded with an infernal impress, are very much superior
to his most innocent comedies. His lighter verses, often
instinct with shameless cynicism, are preferred to his
lyric poems, in which religious and weighty verses are
occasionally found. 1 His tales, in fine, so cheerless in
their incredulity and scepticism, are far above his his-
tories, where the same defect is felt a little less percep-
tibly, but where the perpetual absence of dignity is out
of harmony with the very nature of this class of litera-
ture. As to his tragedies, in which he really shows
himself a great poet, often finding the true touches of

1 Count de Maistre; in his severe and remarkable portrait of Voltaire,
observes that his odes are worthless, and attributes this worthlessness
with reason to his want of enthusiasm. Voltaire, in fact, applied himself
to lyric poetry with reluctance, and solely for the purpose of justifying
his claim to universality. All real enthusiasm was foreign to him ; he
knew no true emotion except that of anger, and even his anger never
went as far as indignation, that indignation which makes the poet, as
Juvenal says, facit indtgnatio vertum.

VOLTAIRE. 305

character and words fresh from the heart, it cannot be
denied that, in spite of some admirable scenes, he is still
very far from Racine, and still farther from Corneille.
And our opinion on this point will be the less suspected,
as a deep study of the dramatic work of Voltaire has
convinced us of his signal superiority on the theatre.
We are inclined to believe that if Voltaire, instead of
scattering the colossal forces of his thought over twenty
different points, had combined them in one single direc-
tion, tragedy, he might have surpassed Racine and, per-
haps, equalled Corneille. But he expended his genius in
witty sallies. He was, therefore, marvellously sprightly
and sparkling, and the seal of his genius is impressed
rather on the vast entirety of his works than on any one
of them in particular. Ever absorbed by his age, he was
too neglectful of posterity, that austere image which
should tower above all the meditations of the poet En-
gaged in a capricious and frivolous struggle with his
capricious and frivolous contemporaries, he wished at
once to please and flout them. His Muse, who would
have been so beautiful if she had been content to rely on
her beauty, often borrowed her charms from the colours
of the paint-box and the grimaces of coquetry, and we
are constantly tempted to address her in these words of
the jealous lover :

" Why give yourself such trouble ? Art for you was not
invented, you require it not"

Voltaire appeared to ignore the fact that there is much
grace in strength, and that whatever is sublimest in the
works of the human intellect is also, perhaps, that which
is most simple. Imagination can reveal its heavenly
origin without having recourse to foreign artifices. She
has but to walk to show that she is a goddess. Et vera
incessu patuit dea.

If it were possible to summarize the manifold idea
. xxr?. so

306 ESSAYS.

which the literary existence of Voltaire presents, we
could only class it among those prodigies which the
Latins call monstra. Voltaire, in truth, is a phenomenon,
a phenomenon perhaps unique which could only arise
in France and in the eighteenth century. There is this
difference between his literature and that of the great
century preceding him, that Corneille, Molifere, and Pascal
belonged more to society, Voltaire to civilization. We feel,
when reading him, that he is the writer of an enervated
and feeble age. He has a certain pleasantness but no
grace, a certain brilliancy but no real charm, a certain
lustre but no majesty. He can flatter but he cannot con-
sole. He fascinates but does not persuade. Except in
tragedy, which was his native element, he lacks tender-
ness and sincerity. We feel that everything is the
result of an organization, and not the effect of an inspira-
tion ; and, though it is an atheist physician who tells you
that all Voltaire was in his sinews and in his nerves, you
acknowledge with a shudder that he is right. Moreover,
like another ambitious personage of later days, who
aspired to political supremacy, it is in vain that Voltaire
has aimed at literary supremacy. Absolute monarchy is
not suitable to man. If Voltaire had understood what
is true greatness, he would have placed his glory in unity
rather than in universality. Strength is not revealed by
a perpetual changing of place, by indefinite metamor-
phoses, but rather by a majestic immobility. Force is
Jupiter not Proteus.

Here begins the second part of our task; it will be
shorter, because, thanks to the French Revolution, the
political results of Voltaire's philosophy are unfortu-
nately frightfully notorious. It would, however, be su-
premely unjust to attribute that -fatal revolution to the
writings of the " patriarch of Ferney " alone. We must
above all see in it the effect of a social decomposition

VOLTAIBB. 307

commenced long before. Voltaire and the age in which
he lived may reciprocally accuse and excuse each other.
Too strong to obey his time, Voltaire was also too weak
to control it. From this equality of influence there re-
sulted a perpetual reaction between himself and his
century, a mutual exchange of impieties and follies, a
continual flux and reflux of innovations, which in their
oscillations always carried away some old pillar of the
social edifice. Let us only consider the political features
of the eighteenth century, the scandals of the Eegency,
the turpitudes of Louis XV. ; violence in the ministry,
violence in the parliaments, force nowhere ; moral cor-
ruption descending by degrees from the head to the
heart, from the great to the people ; the prelates of the
court and the abb^s of the boudoir; the ancient mon-
archy, the ancient society staggering on their common
foundation, and no longer opposing to the attacks of the
innovators anything except the magic of that glorious
name Bourbon ; l let us fancy Voltaire flung into this
society in dissolution like a serpent into a swamp, and
we shall no longer be astonished at seeing the contagious
action of his thought hasten the end of that political
order which Montaigne and Rabelais in vain assailed in
its youth and vigour. It was not he who rendered the
disease mortal, but it was he who developed its germ,
and increased the malignity of the outburst All the
venom of Voltaire was needed in order to set this dung-
heap in effervescence; and, therefore, a great many of
the monstrous occurrences of the Revolution may be
justly attributed to this unhappy man. As to the Revo-
lution itself, it was natural that it should be unprece-
dented. Providence wished to place it between the most

1 The universal demoralization must have cast its roots deep, when
Heaven sent withont avail, towards the end of this century, Lonis XVL,
that venerable martyr, whose virtue rose even to sanctity.

ESSAYS.

formidable of the sophists and the most formidable of
the despots. At its dawn, Voltaire appeared in a fune-
real saturnalia; 1 at its decline, Bonaparte arose amid

1 Translation of the remains of Voltaire to the Pantheon*
*ThatofSaint-Roch.

SIR WALTEE SCOTT.

APROPOS OF QUENT1N DUEWAED.

Jane, 1823.

SURELY there is something strange and marvellous
in the talent of this man, who disposes of his
reader as the wind disposes of a leaf ; who leads him at
his will into all places and into all times; unveils for
him with ease the most secret recesses of the heart, as
well as the most mysterious phenomena of nature, as
well as the obscurest pages of history ; whose imagina-
tion caresses and dominates all other imaginations, clothes
with the same astonishing truth the beggar with his
rags and the king with his robes, assumes all manners,
adopts all garbs, speaks all languages; leaves to the
physiognomy of the ages all that is immutable and
eternal in their lineaments, traced there by the wisdom
of God, and all that is variable and fleeting, planted
there by the follies of men ; does not force, like certain
ignorant romancers, the personages of the past to colour
themselves with our brushes and smear themselves with
our varnish; but compels, by his magic power, the con-
temporary reader to imbue himself, at least for some
hours, with the spirit of the old times, to-day so much
scorned, like a wise and adroit adviser inviting ungrateful
children to return to their father. The skilful magician
desires above all, however, to be correct He does not
refuse his pen to any truth, not even to that which
springs from the portraiture of error, that daughter of

310 ESSAYS.

men who might be believed immortal if her changing
and capricious humour left us at all in doubt as to her
claims to eternity. Few historians are as faithful as
this romancer. We feel that he wishes his portraits to
be pictures and his pictures portraits. He paints for us
our forefathers with all their passions, their vices, and
their crimes, but in such sort that the instability of
superstition and the impiety of fanaticism but serve to
show forth more vividly the perpetuity of religion and
the sanctity of beliefs. We delight in finding again our
ancestors with their prejudice, often so noble and salu-
tary, as well as with their splendid plumes and stout
breastplates.

Walter Scott has been able to draw from the springs
of nature and truth an unknown species. It is new to
us, because he makes himself as ancient as he wills. He
unites to the minute exactness of the chronicles the
majestic grandeur of history and the all-compelling inter-
est of romance. His potent and curious genius divines
the past ; his true pencil traces a faithful portrait after
a confused shadow, and forces us to recognize even what
we have not seen ; his flexible and solid mind takes the
peculiar impress of every age and of every country, like
soft wax, and preserves this impress for posterity like
imperishable bronze.

Few writers have so well fulfilled as Walter Scott the
duties of the romancer in relation to his art and to his
age; for it would be an almost culpable error in the
man of letters to believe himself above the general inter-
est and above national needs, to exempt his mind from
all action over the minds of his contemporaries, and to
isolate his life from the great life of the social body.
What voice is likely to rise in the tempest if not that of
the lyre which can calm it? And who will brave the
hatreds of anarchism and the disdain of despotism, if not

SIB WALTER SCOTT. 311

he to whom ancient wisdom assigned the task of recon-
ciling nations and kings, and to whom modern wisdom
has given that of dividing them ?

It is not, then, to mawkish gallantries, to paltry in-
trigues, or coarse adventures that Walter Scott devotes
his talent Warned by the instinct of his glory, he has
felt that something else was needed by a generation that
has just written with its blood and with its tears the
most extraordinary page of all human histories. The
times which immediately preceded and immediately fol-
lowed our convulsive Revolution were such periods of
weakness as persons in a fever experience before and
after their paroxysms. Then books the most stupidly
atrocious, the most vapidly impious, the most monstrously
obscene, were greedily devoured by a diseased society,
whose depraved tastes and blunted faculties rejected all
palatable and healthy nourishment. It is this which
explains those scandalous triumphs, awarded at the time
by the plebeians of the drawing-room and the patricians
of the coffee-house to certain insipid or obscene writers
whom we disdain to name, who are to-day reduced to the
necessity of begging the applause of lackeys and the
smiles of prostitutes. Now, popularity is no longer dis-
tributed by the populace ; it springs from the only source
that can impress on it a character of immortality as well
as of universality, from the suffrage of that minority of
discriminating minds, of exalted souls and sober heads,
that represent morally all civilized peoples. It is this
which Scott has obtained, borrowing as he does from the
annals of nations compositions made for all nations, and
from the records of ages works written for all ages. No
romancer ever hid so much teaching under so much
witchery, so much truth under so much fiction. There
is a visible alliance between the form he has made his
own and all the literary forms of the past and of the

312 ESSAYS.

future, and the epic romances of Scott may be considered
as a transition from the literature of the present to the
grand romances, the grand epics in verse or in prose
which our poetic era promises and will give us.

What should be the intention of the romancer ? It
should be to express through the medium of an interest-
ing fable a useful truth. And when once this fundamen-
tal idea is chosen, this explanatory action is invented,
should not the author seek for its development a method
of execution which gives to his romance the semblance
of life, which gives to the imitation the likeness of its
model ? And is not life a singular drama in which the
good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, the high
and the low are intermingled, a law whose power only
expires beyond creation ? Should, then, the writer limit
himself, like some Flemish painters, to the composition
of pictures altogether dark, or like the Chinese, to that
of pictures entirely luminous, since Nature everywhere
shows the struggle between light and darkness ? Now
romancers, before Walter Scott, adopted two distinctly
antagonistic methods of composition ; both vicious pre-
cisely because they are antagonistic. The one class gave
to their work the form of a narrative arbitrarily divided
into chapters, without very well knowing why, or for
the purpose of relaxing the tension of the reader, as the
title descan&o (rest), placed at the head of his chapters
by an old Spanish author, innocently confesses. 1 The
others unfold their fable in a series of letters, supposed
to be written by the different actors in the romance. In
the narrative, the characters disappear, the author is ever
in front ; in the letters, the author passes out of sight so
that the characters alone may come into view. The nar-
rative romancer cannot give place to natural dialogue, to
real action; he must substitute for these a certain monoto-
* Kara* Obregon de la Honda.

SIR WALTER SCOTT. 313

nous movement of style, which is as it were a mould in
which the most diverse events take the same form, and
under which the most elevated creations, the most pro-
found inventions, are lost, just as the inequalities of a
field are levelled under the roller. In the romance by
letters, the same monotony springs from another cause.
The several characters arrive each in their turn with
their several epistles after the manner of those strolling
actors, who, as they can only appear after one another,
appear in succession with a big placard above their heads
which informs the public of their various roles. Again,
the romance by letters may be compared to those labo-
rious conversations of deaf-mutes who write in turn what
they have to say to each other, so that to express their
anger or their joy they must have constantly a pen in the
hand and a note-book in the pocket. Now I ask, where
is the appropriateness of a tender reproach which you
must carry to the post-office? And is not the stormy
explosion of passion a little hampered between the obli-
gatory preamble and the polite formula which are the
vanguard and the rearguard of every letter written by
the well-born ? Do you believe that the procession of
the compliments and the baggage of the civilities acceler-
ate the progress of the interest and hasten on the march
of the action ? Ought we not, then, to suppose some
radical and insurmountable defect in a kind of composi-
tion which has sometimes succeeded in chilling even the
eloquence of Rousseau ?

Now let us assume that for the narrative romance, in
which everything would seem to be thought of except the
interest, in which the absurd custom is adopted of usher-
ing in every chapter by a summary, often very detailed,
the story of a story as it were; let us assume that for the
epistolary romance, whose very form forbids all vehe-
mence and all rapidity, some creative mind should sub-

314 ESSAYS.

statute the dramatic romance, in which the dramatic
action is unfolded in true and varied tableaux, just as the
events of real life are unfolded ; which should know of
no other division than that of the different scenes to be
developed ; which, in fine, would be a long drama, where
descriptions take the place of decorations and costumes,
where the characters are delineated by themselves, and
represent, by their various and multiplied movements, all
the forms of the individual idea of the work. You will
find in this new species the advantages of the two old
species united without their drawbacks. Having at your
disposal the picturesque and, in some sort, magical activi-
ties of the drama, you can leave behind the scene those
thousand tedious and transitory details which the mere
narrator, obliged to follow his actors step by step, as if
they were children in leading strings, must expound at
length, if he does not wish to be obscure ; and you can
turn to account those intense and sudden strokes more
fruitful for meditation than entire pages flashing from the
movements of a scene, but excluded by the rapidity of a

After the picturesque but prosaic romance of Walter
Scott, another kind of romance will have still to be cre-
ated, in our opinion of a finer and more finished kind.
It will be the romance which is at once dramatic and
epic, picturesque but poetic, real but ideal, true but grand,
Walter Scott and Homer in combination.

Like every creator, Walter Scott has up to the present
hour been assailed by infuriate critics. He who drains
a swamp must resign himself to the croaking of the frogs
around him.

For our part, we fulfil a conscientious duty in placing
Sir Walter Scott very high among romancers, and " Quen-
tin Durward " in particular, very high among romances.
It would be hard to find a book better interwoven, and

SIB WALTER SCOTT. 315

one in which the moral effect is better linked with the
dramatic effect.

The author has wished, in our view, to demonstrate how
much more certain loyalty, though found among the
obscure, the young and the poor, is likely to obtain its
purpose than perfidy, though aided by all the resources
of power, riches, and experience. The first of these rDles
is embodied by a young Scotchman, Quentin Durward,
an orphan, wrecked on all kinds of shoals, exposed to the
best laid snares, without other compass to guide him than
the love of one whom to love is madness ; but it often
happens that when love resembles insanity it is really
a virtue. The second is intrusted to Louis XI., a king
more adroit than the most adroit of courtiers, an old fox
armed with the lion's claws, powerful and crafty, served
in the shadow as well as in the light, covered by his
guards as by a buckler, and accompanied by his execu-
tioners as by a sword. These two personages, so differ-
ent in all respects, act and react on each other so as to
express the fundamental idea with singularly striking
truth. It is by his faithful obedience to the King that
the loyal Quentin serves without knowing it, his own
interests, while the projects of Louis XL, of which Quen-
tin was to be at once the instrument and the victim, all
turn out to the confusion of the cunning old man and the
advantage of his simple-minded agent.

A superficial examination would at first sight lead to
the belief that the primary intention of the poet is shown
in the historic contrast, painted with such talent, of the
King of France, Louis of Valois, with Charles the Bold,
Duke of Burgundy. This fine episode is perhaps after
all a defect in the composition of the work, as it rivals
in interest the subject of the romance. But this fault,
if it be a fault, in no way diminishes the imposing and
comical aspects of the situation in which these two

316 ESSAYS.

princes are set in opposition ; the one, a subtle and ambi-
tious despot, despising the other, a harsh and warlike
tyrant, who would scorn him if he dared. They both hate
each other. But Louis braves the hatred of Charles,
because it is rude and savage ; Charles dreads the hatred
of Louis, because it is caressing. The Duke of Burgundy,
in the midst of his camp and his states, is disturbed by
the presence of the King of France, who is defenceless, as
the blood-hound is in the neighbourhood of the cat. The
cruelty of the duke springs from his passions, that of
the king from his character. The Burgundian is loyal,
because he is violent ; he never dreams of hiding his bad
deeds; he feels no remorse; for he has forgotten his
crimes as speedily as his angers. Louis is superstitious,
perhaps because he is a hypocrite ; mere religion does not
suffice the man who is tormented by his conscience and
who will not repent ; but it is vain for him to believe
in useless expiations ; the memory of the evil he has done
ever lives within him close to the thought of the evil
he is about to do, because we always remember what we
have long meditated on, and crime, when it has been a
desire and a hope, becomes also a memory. The two
princes are very devout; but Charles swears by his
sword before swearing by God, and Louis tries to gain
the good-will of the saints by gifts of money or offices at
court, mingles diplomacy with his prayers, and intrigues
even with Heaven. In case of war, Louis is measuring its
danger, while Charles is already resting after victory.
The policy of the one is in the might of his arm, but the
eye of the other reaches farther than the arm of the duke.
In fine, Walter Scott proves, by engaging the two rivals
in action, that prudence is stronger than daring, and that
he who appears to dread nothing is really afraid of him
who seems to fear everything.

what art the illustrious writer paints for us the

SIB WAI/TEB SCOTT. 317

King of France when, by a refinement of trickery, he pre-
sents himself to his fair cousin of Burgundy, and asks his
hospitality at the very moment the haughty vassal was
about to make war on him ! And what can be more
dramatic than the news of a revolt fomented in the states
of the duke by the agents of the king falling like a thun-
derbolt between the two rulers at the very moment when
the same table united them ! Thus fraud is foiled by
fraud, and the prudent Louis is delivered into the hands
of an enemy justly irritated. History tells us something
about this ; but at this point I prefer to believe in romance
rather than in history, because I count moral truth more
desirable than historic truth. A still more remarkable
scene perhaps is that where the two princes, whom the
safest counsel has failed to bring together, are reconciled
by an act of cruelty imagined by the one and executed by
the other. For the first time they burst into a laugh of
mutual cordiality and enjoyment. And this laugh, excited
by the torture of a poor wretch, effaces for a moment their
discord. This terrible idea makes the reader thrill with
admiration.

We have heard the picture of the debauch criticised as
hideous and revolting. It is in our opinion one of the
finest chapters of the book. As Walter Scott had under-
taken the task of painting that famous cut-throat, sur-
named the Boar of Ardennes, his description would have
been a failure if it did not excite horror. We must
always enter frankly into a dramatic idea, and in every-
thing search out the end to be attained. In this, emotion
and interest have their source. It belongs only to timid
spirits to capitulate with a strong conception and recoil
before the path they themselves have traced.

We shall justify on the same principle two other pas-
sages which do not seem to us less worthy of meditation
and praise. The first is the execution of Hayraddin, a

318 ESSAYS.

singular personage whom the author might perhaps have
made more of. The second is the chapter in which Louis
XL, arrested by the Duke of Burgundy, arranges with
Tristan THermite in his prison the punishment of the
astrologer who has deceived him. It is a singularly fine
idea to show us this cruel king finding his dungeon even
wide enough for his vengeance, seeking for agents to deal
justice on those who were lately his servants, and testing
all the authority left him by an execution.

We might multiply these observations and try to show
in what direction the new drama of Sir Walter Scott
seems to us defective, particularly in the denouement ; but
the romancer could doubtless supply much better reasons
for his justification than we could for attacking him, and
against such a formidable champion our weak arms would
scarcely be at an advantage. We shall confine ourselves
to saying that the witticism put in the mouth of the
Duke of Burgundy's fool on the arrival of King Louis
XL at Peronne, really belongs to the fool of Francis I.,
who uttered it at the time of the passage of Charles V.
through France in 1535. As the immortality of this
poor Triboulet depends entirely on this quip, it is but
{BIT to let him have it. We think also that the ingenious
expedient imagined by Galeotti for the escape of Louis
XL had been tried a thousand years before by the philos-
opher who wished to put Dionysius of Syracuse to death.
We do not attach to these remarks more importance than
they deserve ; a romancer is not a chronicler. We are as-
tonished only that the king should, in the council of Bur-
gundy, address certain knights of the Holy Ghost, as this
Order was not founded for a century later, by Henry III.
We believe that even the Order of Saint Michael, with
which the noble author decorates the brave Lord Craw-
ford, was not instituted by Louis XL until after his
captivity. Sir Walter Scott must permit us these little

SIR WALTER SCOTT. 319

chronological quibbles. By winning a slight triumph of
a somewhat pedantic kind over so illustrious an antiquary t
we are not able to refrain from feeling some of that harm-
less delight which transported his Quentin Durward,
when he unhorsed the Duke of Orleans and held Dunois
in check, and we are tempted to ask his pardon for our
victory in the words of Charles V. to the Pope : Sanctis-
sime Pater, indulge victori.

LORD BYRON.

APROPOS OF HIS DEATH.

WE are in June, 1824. Lord Byron has just died.
We have been asked our opinion on Lord Byron,
and on Lord Byron dead. What does our opinion matter?
What is the good of writing, unless it is assumed that it
is impossible for any one whatever not to say some words
worth listening to in presence of so great a poet and so
great an event ? If we are to believe the ingenious fables
of the East, a tear becomes a pearl when it falls into the
sea.

In the peculiar existence which a love of letters has
created for us, in the calm region in which a passion for
independence and poetry has placed us, it were natural,
that the death of Byron should strike us, in some sort,
as a domestic calamity ; for us it has been one of those
misfortunes which touch the deepest springs of feeling.
The man who devotes his days to the worship of letters
feels the circle of his physical life contract around him
in proportion as the sphere of his intellectual existence
is enlarged. The tenderest affection of his heart is given
to a little society of much-loved beings, while all poets,
dead and living, strangers and fellow-countrymen, share
in the affections of his souL Nature gave him a family.
Poetry gives him one also. His sympathies, awakened by
so few of his associates, go out, through the eddies of
social relations, beyond time, beyond space, in search of
certain men whom he comprehends and by whom he feels
he is comprehended. While, amid the monotonous rota-

LORD BYRON. 821

tion of habits and business, the crowd of those to whom
he is indifferent jostle and run against him without at*
tracting his attention, there are between him and those
men scattered everywhere whom his partiality has chosen
intimate relations, and, so to speak, electric communica-
tions. A sweet community of thought, like an invisible
and indissoluble bond, connects him with those choice
souls, isolated in their world, as he is in his; so that
when haply he meets one of them, a glance serves to
reveal the one to the other. The same thought pene-
trates their souls ; and, at the end of some minutes, these
two strangers are like two brothers nursed at the same
breast, like two friends tried by the same misfortune.

We will then, we hope, be permitted to say, and, if
need be, to boast that a sympathy similar to that we
have just explained drew us towards Byron. It was not
certainly the attraction which genius inspires in genius ;
but it was, at least, a sincere sentiment of admiration,
enthusiasm, and gratitude, for gratitude is due to men
whose works and actions make the heart beat with noble
emotion. When we learned the death of this poet, it
seemed as if a part of our future was wrested from us.
It is with bitterness we have renounced forever the hope
of forming with Byron one of those poetic friendships
which it has been our delight and glory to maintain
with some of the leading spirits of our age, and we have
addressed to him that fine verse in which a poet of his
school saluted the great shade of Andr3 Ch&iier :

Farewell, young friend, whom I have never known, 1 '

Since a word has slipped from us as to the peculiar
school of Lord Byron, it may not be inexpedient to ex-
amine here what place that school occupies in relation to
present literature, why it is attacked as if it could be
vanquished, and why it is calumniated as if it could be
VOI..XXIY. -21

322 ESSAYS.

condemned. Certain warped minds, skilful at shifting
the ground of all questions, are trying to bring into vogue
a very singular error. They have imagined that society
in France was at present expressed by two literatures
absolutely hostile, which means that the same tree bore
naturally two fruits of opposite species at the same time,
that the same cause simultaneously produced two in-
compatible effects. But these foes of innovation have not
perceived that they were creating quite a new kind of
logic. Every day they continue to treat the literature
they name classic as if it was still alive, and the literature
they call romantic as if it was at its last gasp. These
learned rhetoricians who are ever proposing to exchange
what does not exist for what does exist remind one in-
voluntarily of the Orlando Furioso of Ariosto, who gravely
begs a passer-by to accept a dead mare in exchange for a
living horse. Orlando, it is true, confesses that his mare
is dead, at the same time adding that it is her only defect
But the Orlandos of the so-called classic style have not
yet attained this elevation either in judgment or good
faith. It is necessary therefore to wrest from them that
which they will not grant freely, and to declare to them
that there exists to-day but one literature, just as there
exists to-day but one society ; that preceding literatures,
while leaving immortal monuments behind them, have
had to disappear, and have disappeared with the genera-
tions whose social habits and political emotions they
expressed. The genius of our era can be as fine as the
genius of the most illustrious eras, it cannot be the same ;
and it is no more in the power of our writers to resus-
citate a past literature a than it is in the power of the

1 It should not be lost sight of by the reader that by the words literature of
an age, we understand not only the ensemble of the works produced dur-
ing that age, but also the general order of ideas and sentiments which
often without the consciousness of the authors themselves has guided
their composition.

LOBD BYEON. 323

gardener to make the leaves of autumn grow green again
on the branches of the spring.

Let there be no mistake about this : it is in vain that a
small number of small minds are trying to lead back the
ideas of the people towards the tiresome literary system
of the last century. The soil, naturally barren, has long
dried up. Moreover, the madrigals of Dorat cannot be
begun anew after the guillotines of Robespierre ; and it is
not in the century of Bonaparte that Voltaire can be
continued. The real literature of our age, the literature
whose authors are proscribed after the fashion of Aris-
tides; the literature which, repudiated by all pens, is
adopted by all lyres ; the literature which, in spite of a
vast and calculated persecution, sees every talent unclose
within its stormy sphere like those flowers that only
grow in places beaten by the winds; the literature, in
fine, which, condemned by those who decide without re-
flecting, is defended by those who think with their soul,
judge with their intellect, and feel with their heart, that
literature has not the effeminate and shameless allure-
ments of the muse who sang of Cardinal Dubois, flattered
the Pompadour and outraged Joaij of Arc. It questions
neither the crucible of the atheist nor the scalpel of the
materialist. It borrows not from the sceptic that leaden
balance whose equilibrium is broken by interest alone.
It does riot give birth amid orgies to songs in praise of
massacres. It knows neither adulation nor insult. It
yields not to the seductions of falsehood. It does not
deprive illusions of their charm. A stranger to all that
is not its true goal, it draws poetry from the sources of
truth. Its imagination is fructified by faith. It follows
the progress of the time, but with a grave and measured
pace. Its character is serious, its voice melodious and
sonorous. It is, in a word, what the common thought of
a great nation ought to be after great calamities, sad,

324 ESSAYS.

lofty, and religious. When necessary it does not hesitate
to mingle in the public discords in order to judge them
or to appease them. For we are no longer in the time of
bucolic songs, and it is not the muse of the nineteenth
century that can say :

*' Non me agitant populi fasces, aut purpura regum."

This literature, however, like all things human, pre-
sents, in its very unity, its sombre side and its consoling
side. Two schools have been formed within its bosom,
which reproduce the twofold situation in which our polit-
ical misfortunes have respectively left the minds of men,
resignation and despair. Both recognize what a mock-
ing philosophy had denied, the eternity of God, the
immortality of the soul, the primordial verities, and the
verities revealed ; but one recognized them to adore, the
other to curse. One saw everything from the heights of
heaven, the other from the depths of hell. The first places
by the cradle of man an angel whom he finds again by
the pillow of his bed when dying ; the other surrounds
his steps with phantoms, demons, and sinister apparitions.
The first tells him to trust, because he is never alone ;
the second frightens him by unceasingly isolating him.
Both equally possess the art of sketching scenes of grace
and limning forms of terror ; but the first, careful never
to bruise the heart, gives to its gloomiest pictures a ray
of light reflected from some heavenly beacon ; the other,
ever anxious to sadden, sheds over its most laughing fan-
cies a glare that seems to come from hell. The one, in
fine, resembles Emmanuel, gentle and strong, traversing
his realm on a chariot of light ; the other is that haughty
Satan 1 who drew down so many of the stars when he was

1 In using this figure we by no means intend to justify the title of
Satanic ichool, under which a man of talent has designated the school of
Lord Byron.

LORD BYRON. 325

hurled from heaven. These two twin schools, founded on
the same basis, and born, so to speak, in the same cradle,
appear to us specially represented in European literature
by two illustrious geniuses, Chateaubriand and Byron.
After our prodigious revolutions, two political orders
were struggling on the same soil An old society had
crumbled ; a new society was beginning to rise. On one
side ruins ; on the other, rude outlines. Lord Byron, in
his gloomy lamentations, has given expression to the last
convulsions of society expiring; M. de Chateaubriand
has satisfied the first needs of society revived. The
voice of the one is as the farewell of the swan at the
hour of death ; the voice of the other is like to the song
of the phoenix new-born from its ashes. By the sadness
of his genius, by the pride of his character, by the tem-
pests of his life, Lord Byron is the type of the class of
poetry of which he is the poet. All his works are pro-
foundly marked by the stamp of his individuality. It is
always his haughty and sombre figure that the reader
sees pass before his eyes in each poem as if across a
pall of mourning. Sometimes, though like all profound
thinkers, subject to vagueness and obscurity, he has
words which sound the depths of the entire soul, sighs
that relate the experiences of an entire existence. It
seems as if his heart half opens to every thought that
springs from it like a volcano that vomits forth the
lightning. Sorrow, joy, passion, have for him no mys-
tery ; and if he presents real objects to view only through
a veil, he shows the regions of the ideal without any dis-
guise. We may reproach him with absolute neglect of
the orderly arrangement of his poems, a grave defect,
for a poem that lacks order is a building without car-
pentry or a picture without perspective. He goes too
far also in his lyrical disdain of transitions; and we
would sometimes desire that one who is so faithful a

326 ESSAYS.

painter of the interior emotions should throw on his
physical descriptions less fantastic lights and less vapor-
ous tints. His genius too often resembles an aimless
traveller musing as he walks, and so absorbed in his own
profound intuitions that he brings back with him but a
confused image of the places he has traversed. However
this may be, his capricious imagination rises, even in his
less beautiful works, to heights none can reach without
wings. It is in vain for the eagle to fix his eyes on the
earth, he does not the less preserve the sublime glance
whose range extends to the sun. 1 It has been claimed

1 At a moment when all Europe is rendering such splendid homage to
the genius of Lord Byron, acknowledged to be a great umu since he is
dead, the reader will be curious to read again some sentences from the
remarkable article in which the " Edinburgh Review/' a periodical of
high standing, hailed the poet on his first appearance. It is, moreover,
the style in which certain journals treat the first talents of our time every
morning or evening.

" The poetry of this young lord belongs to the class which neither gods nor
men are said to permit. . . . His effusions are spread over a dead flat, and can
no more get above or below the level than if they were no mnrh stagnant water.
As an extenuation of this offence, the noble author is peculiarly forward in
pleading his minority. ... He possibly means to say : " See how a minor can
write! " But, alas! we all remember the poetry of Cowley at ten, and Pope at
twelve; and so far from hearing, with any degree of surprise, that very poor
verses were written by a youth from his leaving school to his leaving collepe,
inclusive, we really believe this to be the most common of all occurrences; that
it happens in the life of nine men in ten who are educated in England, and that
the tenth man writes better verses than Lord Byron.

"In truth, it is this consideration only, that induce* us to give Lord Byron's
poems a place in our review, beside our desire to counsel him, that he do forth-
with abandon poetry, and turn his talents ... to better account. With this
view, we must beg leave seriously to ftft*nr* him that the mere rhyming of the
final syllable, even when accompanied by the presence of the necessary number
of feet, nay, although (which does not always happen) these feet should scan
regularly. . . is not the whole art of poetry. We would entreat him to believe
that a certain portion of liveliness, somewhat of fancy, is necessary to constitute
a poem ; and that a poem in the present day , to be read, must contain at least
one thought, either in a little degree different from the ideas of former writers,
or differently expressed.

" Lord Byron should also have a care of attempting what the greatest poets

LORD BYRON. 327

that the author of "Don Juan" belonged, on one side of
his intellect, to the school of the author of " Candida"
An error! There is a profound difference between the
laugh of Byron and the laugh of Voltaire. Voltaire had
not suffered. We might here say something of the har-
assed life of the great poet ; but considering our uncer-
tainty as to the real causes of the domestic misfortunes
which imbittered his character, we prefer to remain
silent, for fear our pen might go astray in spite of us.
Knowing Lord Byron only through his poems, we feel a
pleasure in thinking that his life must have been in har-
mony with his soul and genius. Like all superior men,
he certainly has been the prey of calumny. To this we

have done before him, for comparisons (as he must have had occasion to see at
his writing-master's) are odious. . . .

" As to his Ossianic poesy, we are not very good judges, being, in truth, so
moderately skilled in that species of composition that we should, in all proba-
bility, be criticising some bit of the genuine Macpherson itself, were we to ex-
press our opinion of Lord Byron's rhapsodies. . . . We can so far venture an
opinion in their favour, that they look very like Macpherson ; and we are posi-
tive they are pretty nearly as stupid and tiresome. . . .

14 As the author has dedicated a pan of his volume to immortalize his em-
ployments at school and college, ... we are sorry to hear so bad an account of
the* college psalmody as is contained in the following attic stanzas: (The
quotation follows.) . . .

" But whatever judgment may be passed on the poems of this noble minor,
it seems we must take them as we find them, and be content ; for they are the
last we fthall ever have from him; . . . whether he succeeds or not, ' it is highly
improbable ' . . . that he should again condescend to become an author. There-
fore let us take what we get and be thankful. What right have we poor devils
to be nice ? We are well off to have got so much from a man of this Lord's sta-
tion. . . . Again, we say, let us be thankful ; and with honest Sancho, bid God
bless the giver, nor look the gift horse in the mouth."

Lord Byron deigned to inflict punishment on this wretched jumble of
commonplace, the everlasting topic envious mediocrity reproduces un-
ceasingly against geniua. The authors of the " Edinburgh Review " were
forced by his satirical lash to recognize his talent. The example appears
a good one to follow; still, we confess we should have preferred if Lord
Byron had preserved the silence of contempt as far as these persona
were concerned. Though his interest might not give him this coun-
sel, his dignity at least ought to have done so.

328 ESSAYS.

attribute the injurious reports that have so long accom-
panied the name of the poet Moreover, she whom his
trespasses offended has since doubtless been the first
to forget them in presence of his death. We hope she
has pardoned him; for we are not of those who think
that hatred and vengeance have anything to gain by
carving their feelings on a tomb-stone.

And let us, too, pardon his faults, his errors, nay, even
those works in which he has appeared to stoop from the
twofold height of his character and his talent; let us
pardon him, he has died so nobly ! he has fallen so well !
He seemed yonder some warlike representative of the
modern muse in the native land of the ancient muses.
The generous auxiliary of glory, of religion, and of lib-
erty, he carried his sword and his lyre to the descendants
of the first warriors and the first poets ; and the weight of
his laurels was already inclining the balance in favour
of the unfortunate Hellenes. We owe him, we particu-
larly, deep gratitude. He has proved to Europe that the
poets of the new school, although they no longer adore
the gods of pagan Greece, always admire its heroes ; and
that, if they have deserted Olympus, they have at least
never said adieu to Thermopylae.

The death of Byron has been received all over the con-
tinent with signs of universal sorrow. The cannon of
the Greeks long saluted his remains, and amid the public
calamities a national mourning consecrated the loss of
this stranger. The proud gates of Westminster Abbey
have opened for him of themselves, in order that the
tomb of the poet might honour the sepulchre of kings.
Shall we say it ? In the midst of these glorious marks
of the general affliction we have been trying to find what
solemn testimony of enthusiasm Paris, the capital of
Europe, would render to the heroic shade of Byron, and

LORD BYRON. 329

we have discovered a fool's bawble which insulted his
lyre and the stage of a low theatre on which his bier was
outraged ! l

1 A few days after the news of Lord Byron's death there was a repre-
sentation iu some wretched theatre or other on the Boulevard, equally
distinguished for bad taste and bad tone, in which this noble poet ap-
peared on the stage under the ridiculous name of Lord Trois-tftoilet.

1834.

MIRABEAU.

i.

IN 1781 there was a serious debate in the bosom of a
family in France between a father and an uncle.
The subject in dispute was a good-for-nothing whom this
family did not know what to do with. He had already
passed the first hot stage of youth, and yet was still
wholly plunged in all the frantic excesses of that passion-
ate time. Overwhelmed by debts, ruined by follies,
and separated from his wife, he hud carried ofl* the wife
of another, had been condemned to death for the act,
had been decapitated in effigy, had iled from Fiance, and
now was back again, having, according to his own account,
seen the error of his ways ; and purged of his contumacy,
he was now asking to be restored to his family and to
regain possession of his wife. The father desired such
an arrangement, for he wanted to have grandchildren to
perpetuate his name ; and he hoped besides, to be more
lucky as a grandfather than he had been as a father.
But the prodigal son was thirty-three years old, and he
had to be made over again from top to bottom. A diffi-
cult task that ! After he took his place again in society,
to whose hands should he be confided ? Who would
undertake to straighten the backbone of such a char-
acter ? Hence the controversy between his two relatives.
The father wished to give him to the uncle, the uncle
wished to leave him to the father.
"Take him/' said the father.

Portraii .of Mirabcan,
Original Etching l\v E. H. Garrett.

MIKABEAU. 331

I won't have him," said the uncle.

"Now, in the first place," returned the father, "lay this
to heart. This man is nothing, nothing at all He is
a mixture of good taste and charlatanism, has the air of
knowing everything, has action, turbulence, daring, is the
life and soul of a company, and has some dignity too. In
authority he is neither harsh nor hateful. Well, with
all this he takes no note of the day or the morrow, the
impulse of the moment is his guide ; a parrot sort of fel-
low he, an abortive man, taking thought neither of the
possible nor of the impossible, careless of comfort or dis-
comfort, of pleasure or pain, of action or repose, and giv-
ing up at once as soon as things become too tough for
him. Yet I think he might be made an excellent tool of,
if one laid hold of him by the sleeve of his vanity. You
would not let him slip. I do not spare him my ratioci-
nations in the morning. He grasps my well-founded code
of ethics and my perennially enduring lessons, because
they revolve on an ever-real pivot; namely, that our
nature can rarely be changed, but that reason serves to
protect the weak side, and by knowing the weak side we
prevent people from running foul thereon."

"Oh, there you are again," replied the uncle, "with
your posteromania, 1 hard at work tutoring a game-cock of
thirty-three ! A nice task it is to undertake the round-
ing of a character that is only a hedgehog, all points and
all too little body!"

The father insisted : " Have pity on your nephew
Whirlwind (1'Ouragan). He confesses all his follies,
indeed, he is the greatest hand at confessing in the
universe ; but no one could have more wit and aptitude.
He is a very thunderbolt of labour and activity. At bot-
tom, he is no more thirty-three than I am sixty-six ; and it
is not stranger to see a man of my years able, though
1 A longing to have posterity.

332 ESSAYS.

grown grey from mishaps, to weary the legs and the
minds of the young folk by hunting and studying eight
hours a day, than to see a great bloated barrel, pitted
with the small-pox, and looking like au old man, call me
" papa " and not know how to conduct himself. He has
an immense need of being governed. He feels it very
well Oh, you must take charge of him. He knows you
have always been my pilot and compass, and you must be
the same to him. He is vain of nothing so much as of his
uncle. I give him to you as a rare fellow to be trained
for the future. You have all the saturnine qualities to
balance his mercurial ones. But when you hold him,
don't let him slip. Though he did miracles, hold him
still and pluck him by the sleeve; the poor devil has
need of it. If you be a father to him, you will be well
pleased with him ; if only an uncle, he is lost. Love this
young man."

" No," said the uncle. " I know that fellows of a cer-
tain stamp can be all smirks and smiles betimes ; and he
himself when he lived near me was as timid as a daugh-
ter-in-law if I only wrinkled my forehead. But I won't
have him. I 'm not young enough to collar the impos-
sible, and it is not my taste, either."

" O brother ! " replied the suppliant old man, " if this
hackled creature is ever to be patched up again, you alone
are tile one to do it. Since he has to be set to rights, I
could not think of giving him a better master than you.
Take him, be kind and firm, and you 11 be his saviour ; he
will be the best piece of work you ever turned out Let
him know that in that long body of yours and under
your cold, stiff demeanour dwells the best man that ever
was, a man formed of the odds and ends left after the
angels were made ! Sound his heart, raise his head. Tu
cs omnis *pes etfortuna nostri nominis ! "

"No," returned the uncle, "nor is it because he has

MIEABEAU.

committed so great a crime under the circumstances.
Quite too much has been made of that business. A young
and pretty woman gets in the way of a young man of
twenty-six. Where is the young man who would not
pick up a thing like that if he found it in his path ? But
he is a turbulent spirit, a haughty, pretentious, insubor-
dinate fellow, a malicious and vicious character ! He
does his very best to please you. It is right. I know
he is seductive and that he is the rising sun. All the
more reason for me not to expose myself to be his dupe.
Youth always gets the upper hand when it is dealing
with the old."

"You did not always think so," sadly answered the
father ; " there was a time when you wrote to me ; ' As
for rne, this child unlocks my heart/ "

"Yes," said the uncle, and your answer was: 'Be cau-
tious, be on your guard against the gilding of his beak/ "

"What would you have me do, then ? " cried the father,
driven to his last stand. " You are too equitable not to
feel that one does not cut off a son as one would an arm.
If that was possible I would have been one-armed long
ago. After all, many a race has sprung from a fellow
ten thousand times weaker and madder than he. Now,
brother, as far as we are concerned, he is as he is. I
leave myself out of the question. If I had not you, I
would be but a poor broken-down old man. And as long
as we are with him still, we must help him."

But the uncle, that peremptory man, cut short all
prayers at last by these plain words:

" I won 't have him ! It is madness to want to have
anything to do with that man. Send him, as his good
wife says, to the insurgents, and let him get his head
broken. Your posteromaniac fury has possession of you
now ; but just think how lucky Cyrus and Marcus Aure-
lius would have been if neither of them had a Cambyses
oraCommodus!"

334 ESSAYS.

Does it not seem to you, while reading this, as if you
were present at one of the fine scenes of high domestic
comedy in which the gravity of Moli&re almost reaches
the grandeur of Corneille ? Is there anything in Molifere
more striking for beauty and distinction of style, more
profoundly human and true than these two imposing old
men whom the seventeenth century seems to have left be-
hind it in the eighteenth as two exemplars of the grand
manner ? Do you not see them meet, full of important
business, stiff and rigid in their demeanour, resting on
their long canes, recalling by their costume Louis the
XIV. more than Louis XV., and Louis XIII. more than
Louis XIV. ? Is not the language they speak the very
language of Molifere and Saint-Simon ? That father and
that uncle are the two eternal types of comedy ; they are
the two austere mouths by which she scolds, instructs,
and moralizes, amid so many other mouths which only
make us laugh ; it is the Marquis arid the Commander,
G^ronte and Ariste, wisdom and goodness, the admirable
duo to which Molifere always returns.

THE UNCLE.

Where would you run ?

THE FATHER.

Alas ! what do I know ?

THE UNCLE.

Methinks 't were well that we advise each other
As to what should be done in this event.

The scene is complete ; it lacks nothing, not even the
rascal of a nephew.

But the most striking circumstance of all in the
present case is that the scene we have just described is a

MIRABEAU. 335

real thing, that this dialogue of the father and the uncle
took place, as we have recorded it, by letters, letters
which the public may read at this very hour 1 ; that, all
unknown to these two old men, the subject of their grave
discussion was one of the greatest men of our history ;
that the marquis and the commander are here a real
marquis and a real commander. The one was named
Victor de Biquetti, Marquis de Mirabeau ; the other, Jean
Antoine de Mirabeau, Bailli of the Order of Malta ; the

1 See the " Me'moires de Mirabeau," or rather sr" Mirabeau/' recently
published, t. iii. This work, though unfortunately compiled in a fashion
that is far from intelligent, contains a certain number of very curious,
authentic, and heretofore unpublished matters on Mirabeau and by Mira-
beau ; but the most interesting parts, in our opinion, are certain extracts
from the private correspondence of the Marquis de Mirabeau with the
Bailli his brother. An aspect of the eighteenth century little known until
now appears in this correspondence, in which the father and uncle of
Mirabeau, very original characters besides, great writers without know-
ing it, and great writers of letters above all, depict admirably their hearts,
their family, and their age, doing so within a circle of ideas which expands
and contracts according to their fancies or the vicissitudes of their lives.
We advise the editor to increase the number of quotations from this corre-
spondence. We regret also that no one has thought of publishing it en-
tire, divesting it, of course, of its superfluities. The " Letters of the
Marquis and Bailli do Mirabeau " would have been one of the most impor-
tant legacies of the eighteenth century. Doubly rich, whether considered
as biography or as literature, these Letters would have been for the his-
torian a mine, for the writer a book. They are done in the best style, and
are a prolongation of the excellent French speech of Madame de SeVigne,
Madame de Maintenon, and M. de Saint-Simon up to 1789. The corre-
spondence, published in its entirety, would make a precious sequel to the
" Letters of Diderot." The " Letters of Diderot " paint the eighteenth
century from the standpoint of the philosophes ; the " Letters of Mirabeau "
would paint it from the standpoint of the (jentilshommes ; a side certainly
not less curious. The last collection would be of not less value than the
first to the studies of those who desire to know thoroughly what is defini-
tively the idea which the eighteenth century has left to the nineteenth.

Let us hope that the person into whose hands this voluminous corre-
spondence shall fall, will comprehend the responsibility resulting from
such a deposit, and will, in all cases, preserve it intact for the future.
Such precious documents are the patrimony of a nation and not of a
family.

336 ESSAYS.

rascal of a nephew was Honorf Gabriel de Riquetti whom
his family in 1781 called Whirlwind, and whom the
world to-day calls Mirabeau.

So, what Mirabeau was for his family in 1781 was an
abortive man, a hackled creature, a fellow with whom
nothing could be done, a head good to get broken by the
insurgents, and a scourge besides.

Ten years after, on the 1st of April, 1791, an immense
crowd thronged the approaches of a house in the Chauss^e
d'Antin. This crowd was gloomy, silent, panic-stricken,
and profoundly sad. In that house a man was in his
last agony.

All this crowd inundated the street, the court, the
staircase, and the ante-chamber. Several had remained
there for three days. Men spoke low, they seemed afraid
to breathe, they questioned anxiously those who came
and went The feeling of this crowd for this man was
that of a mother for her child. The doctors no longer hoped.
From time to time bulletins, wrested from their bearers
by a thousand hands, were scattered among the multitude,
and the sobs of women were heard. A young man, rag-
ing with grief, offered in a loud voice to open an artery so
that his rich and pure blood might be infused into the
veins of the dying. All, even the least intelligent,
seemed weighted to the earth under the thought that
it was not merely a man, it was a people, that was about
to die.

The citizens addressed but one question to each other.
This man expired.

Some minutes after the physician who stood at the
head of his bed had said, " He is dead ! " the president of
the National Assembly rose in his seat and said, " He is
dead ! " such the fatal cry that in a few moments filled
all Paris. One of the principal orators of the Assembly,
M. Barrfere de Vienzac, rose weeping, and said in a voice

MIBABEAU. 337

broken by sobs : " I ask that the Assembly record on the
minutes of this calamitous day the testimony of the sor-
row it feels at the loss of this great man, and that there
be given, in the name of the country, an invitation to all
the members of the Assembly to be present at his
funeral"

A priest, a member of the Bight, cried, " Yesterday, in
the midst of his sufferings, he caused the Bishop of Autun
to be summoned to his presence, and handing him a
work he had just finished on inheritances, asked him as a
last mark of friendship to read it to the Assembly. It is
a sacred duty. The Bishop of Autun must exercise here
the functions of testamentary executor of the great man
we all lament"

Trouchet, the president, proposed that a deputation
attend the funeral The Assembly replied, "We shall
all go!"

The Sections of Paris demanded that he should be en-
tombed " in the Plain of the Federation, under the Altar
of the County."

The Directory of the Department proposed to give him
for his tomb the " new church of Saint Genevieve," and
to decree that " this edifice be henceforward destined to
receive the ashes of great men."

On this subject, M. Pastoret, the procurator-general
syndic of the commune, said, " The tears that the loss of
a great man cause us to shed ought not to be barren
tears. Several ancient peoples provided separate monu-
ments for their priests and heroes. The species of adora-
tion they rendered to piety and courage, let us to-day
render to the love of the happiness and the liberty of
men. Let the temple of liberty become the temple of the
country ! Let the tomb of a great man become the altar
of liberty!"

The Assembly applauded

TOL. XX IV. 22

338 ESSAYS.

Barnave exclaimed, "He has, indeed, merited the
honours which ought to be decreed by the nation to the
great men who have served her well"

Eobespierre, that is to say, Envy, rose also, and said,
" It is not at the moment when we hear from all parts
the regrets excited by the loss of this illustrious man,
who in the most critical times displayed so much cour-
age against despotism, that we could oppose the marks of
honour which ought to be decreed him. I support the
proposal with all my energies, or rather with all my
sensibilities."

On that day there was neither Left nor Eight in the
National Assembly. All with one voice passed the fol-
lowing decree :

"The new edifice of Saint Genevieve shall be destined to
receive the ashes of great men. There shall be engraved
above its front these words,

TO GREAT MEN

THE COUNTRY GRATEFUL

"The Legislative Body alone shall decide to what men this
honour shall be decreed.

" Honore* Riquetti Mirabeau is judged worthy of receiving
this honour."

The man who had just died was Honorf de Mirabeau.
The great man of 1791 was the abortive man of 1781.

On the next day the procession of the people at his
funeral extended for more than a league. His father was
not there ; he had died, as was proper in the case of an
old gentleman of his kind, on the 13th of July 1789, the
eve of the fall of the Bastille.

It is not without an object that we have brought to-
gether these two dates, 1781 and 1791, their memories

MIRABEAU. 339

and their history, Mirabeau before and Mirabeau after,
Mirabeau judged by his family and Mirabeau judged by
the people. There is an inexhaustible source of medita-
tion in this contrast. How was it that in ten years the
demon of a family became the god of a nation ? A pro-
found question this.

n.

WE must not believe, however, that at the moment
this man issued from the family to make his appearance
before the people, he was immediately and by acclama-
tion hailed as a god. Things of themselves never march
in this fashion. Where genius rises, Envy rears her
head. On the contrary, until the very hour of his death,
never was man so constantly and so thoroughly gainsaid
in every sense as Mirabeau.

When he arrived at the States General as Deputy of
Aix, he excited the jealousy of nobody. Obscure and
disreputable, he was little sought after by those of good
report ; ugly and awkward, he inspired the graceful and
well-proportioned lords with pity. His nobility vanished
under the black habit, his physiognomy under the
small-pox. Who, then, could dream of being jealous of
this species of adventurer, this released convict, deformed
in body and feature, ruined besides, whom the rabble of
Aix had sent as deputy to the States General in a
moment of frenzy, thoughtlessly, no doubt, and without
knowing why ? This man, in truth, did not count. Be-
side him the most commonplace person was handsome,
rich, and worthy of consideration. He did not offend
any vanity, he did not elbow any pretention. He was a
mere cipher which the ambitious, however jealous of one
another they might be, scarcely reckoned in their calcu-
lations. Little by little, however, as the twilight of all

340 ESSAYS.

ancient things was approaching, a sufficient shadow was
created around the monarchy for the sombre splendour,
peculiar to the great men of revolutions, to become visi-
ble to the eye. Mirabeau was beginning to radiate.

Then Envy came to this radiance as every bird of
night does to the light. To date from that moment,
Envy seized on Mirabeau and never let go her hold. And
above all, a thing happened which seems strange and yet
is not strange. What she refused him to his last breath,
what she denied him incessantly to his face, was precisely
that which crowns him in the eyes of posterity, his ora-
torical genius. This is the method that Envy always
pursues besides ; it is at the finest front of a building
that she hurls her stones. And, then, it must be ad-
mitted that Envy had an inexhaustible supply of good
reasons for her work. Probitas, the orator should be a man
without reproach, M. de Mirabeau deserves reproach
in every direction ; prasstantia, the orator ought to be
handsome, M. de Mirabeau is ugly ; vox amoena, the
orator should have a pleasing organ, M. de Mirabeau's
voice is harsh, dry, shrill, thundering always and never
speaking; subrisus audientium, the orator ought to be
welcome to his hearers, M. de Mirabeau is hated by the
Assembly, etc ; and a crowd of people, very well content
with themselves, came to this conclusion : M. de Mira-
beau is not an orator.

Now, far from proving this, all these reasonings prove
only one thing ; that is, that the Mirabeaus are not fore-
seen by the Ciceros.

Certainly, he was not an orator after the fashion un-
derstood by those people ; he was an orator according to
his own nature, his organization, his soul, his life. He
was an orator because he was hated, just as Cicero was
an orator because he was loved. He was an orator be-
cause he was ugly, just as Hortensius was an orator

MIRABEAU. 841

because he was well-favoured. He was an orator because
he had suffered, because he had failed, because he had
been while still young and at that period of life when the
heart expands to every influence, repulsed, mocked, hu-
miliated, despised, defamed, banished, robbed, exiled, im-
prisoned, and condemned ; because, like the people of
1789 whose perfect symbol he was, he had been kept in
leading-strings long after the age of reason ; because a
father's hand had been as heavy for him as royalty had
been for the people ; because, like the people, he had been
badly reared ; because, like the people, a bad education
caused a vice to grow on the root of every virtue. He
was an orator, because the wide issues opened by 1789
enabled him at last to pour out into society all the ebulli-
tions that had been so long repressed in his family ; be-
cause from the very fact that he was abrupt, unequal,
violent, vicious, cynical, sublime, diffuse, incoherent, full
of instincts still more than of thoughts, with his feet
soiled and his head radiant, he was in everything like
the ardent years in which he shone, and in which every
day passed away, marked on the brow with one of his
words. In fine, to those fatuous men who understood
their time so poorly as to ask him, at the same time rais-
ing a thousand objections often ingenious enough, if he
seriously believed he was an orator, he might have simply
answered, " Inquire of the monarchy that is ending, in-
quire of the revolution that is beginning ! "

It is hard to believe to-day that it is a certain fact
many people in 1790, and among those people a number
of fair-spoken friends, advised Mirabeau, " to abandon the
tribune in his own interest ; he would never be entirely
successful in it," or at least, " to appear there less often."
We have the words under our eyes. It is hard to believe
that, during those memorable sessions, when he stirred
the Assembly like water in a vase, when the resounding

342 ESSAYS.

ideas of the moment were dashed together under the im-
pulse of his mighty hand, when he beat out and amalga-
mated with his powerful eloquence his own personal
passion and the passion of all, after he had spoken
and while he was speaking and before he spoke, the ap-
plause was always mingled with hooting, laughter, and
hisses. Miserable petty details which his glory has dis-
counted to-day! The journals and pamphlets of the
time are but insults, outrages, and indignities directed
against the genius of this man. He is reproached with
every offence at every turn. But the reproach that is
never for a moment silent, that appears to spring from
some kind of mania is " his rough and harsh voice " and
the " thundering tones in which he always speaks.*' What
answer can be given to this ? His voice is rough, be-
cause apparently the time for smooth voices has passed.
His tones are thundering, because great issues are thun-
dering beside him, and it is the property of great men to
rise to the height of great events.

And then, and this too is a policy that has always
been used against men of genius ; he was attacked not
only by supporters of the monarchy, but by those of his
own party for one is nowhere better hated than in
his own party who were ever agreed, by a sort of tacit
convention, on opposing him incessantly and on giving
the preference to some other orator, adroitly selected by
envy among those who held the same opinions as Mira-
beau and Barnave. And it will be always so. It often
happens that, in a given period, the same idea is repre-
sented in different degrees at the same time by a man of
genius and a man of talent. This position offers a happy
chance to the man of talent. He is sure of present and
undisputed success ; this success, it is true, proves noth-
ing and quickly fades. Jealousy and hate at once cross
the path of the strongest. Mediocrity would be very

MIRABEAU. 343

much troubled by the presence of the man of talent, if
the man of genius were not there ; but the man of genius
is there, and so she supports the man of talent, and makes
use of him against the master of both. She deludes her-
self with the chimerical hope of overthrowing the one,
and in that case (which, however, cannot be realized) she
reckons on making a good bargain with the second.
Meanwhile she supports the latter, and elevates him as
high as she can. Mediocrity is in favour of him who
annoys her the least and resembles her the most In
this circumstance, all that is hostile to the man of genius
is friendly to the man of talent. The comparison which
should crush the latter exalts him. Out of all the stones
that pickaxe and spade and calumny and diatribe and
insult can tear away from the base of the great man, a
pedestal is erected for the second-rate man. What is
made to fall from the one serves for the construction
of the other. It was in this way that, towards 1790,
Barnave was built up with the materials taken from as
much of the ruin of Mirabeau as was available.

Rivarol said, "M. Mirabeau is more of a writer, M.
Barnave is more of an orator." Pelletier said, "Bar-
nave yes, Mirabeau no." " The memorable session of the
13th," wrote Chamfort, " has proved more than ever the
pre-eminence, already demonstrated long before, of Bar-
nave to Mirabeau as an orator." " Mirabeau is dead,"
murmured M. Target, grasping the hand of Barnave ; " his
discourse on the formula of promulgation has killed him."
" Barnave, you have buried Mirabeau," added Duport,
supported by the smile of Lameth, who was to Duport
as Duport was to Barnave, a diminutive. " M. Barnave
gives pleasure," said M. Goupil, " and M. Mirabeau gives
pain." " The Count de Mirabeau has flashes, 1 ' said
M. Camus, " but he will never make a discourse ; he will
never even know what a discourse is. Talk to me of

344 ESSAYS.

Barnave ! " " It is useless for M. de Mirabeau to sweat
and weary himself," cackled Kobespierre, " he will never
reach Barnave, who does not seem to have so much pre-
tension, but is far superior." l Such poor little samples
of injustice stung Mirabeau and caused him suffering in
the midst of his power and his triumphs. Pin-pricks of
the kind do make a giant wince.

And if hatred, when it determined to get some one to
oppose him, no matter whom, had not found a man of
talent suitable for the purpose, she would have taken a
man of mediocrity. The equality of the stuff out of
which she makes her flag never embarrasses her. Mairet
has been preferred to Corneille, Pradon to liacine, and
not a hundred years ago Voltaire exclaimed :

" And dare they then
Prefer the barbarous Crebillon to me ! "

In 1808, Geoffroy, the best known critic in Europe,
placed " M. Lafon very much above M. Talma." Marvel-
lous instinct of cliques ! In 1798, Moreau was thought
superior to Bonaparte ; in 1815, Wellington ranked higher
than Napoleon.

We repeat, because in our opinion the thing is singular,
that Mirabeau stooped to be irritated by these petty mis-
eries. The parallel with Barnave offended him. If he could
have looked into the future he would have smiled ; but it
is the special defect of political orators, who are above all
men of the present, to keep their eyes too much fixed on
contemporaries and not enough on posterity. These two
men, Barnave and Mirabeau, presented besides a perfect
contrast. When either rose in the Assembly, Barnave
was always received with a smile, and Mirabeau with a
storm Barnave possessed as his property the ovation of

Qtavctvtplw. Bad French. Robespierre should have said, yuiwmt

MIRABEAU. 34$

the moment, the triumph of the quarter of an hour, the
glory of a report in the " Gazette," the applause of all,
even of the Eight. To Mirabeau were allotted the
struggle and the turmoil. Barnave was a rather handsome
young man, and a very fine speaker. Mirabeau, as
Rivarol ingeniously observed, was a monstrous 'babbler.
Barnave was one of those men who take each morning
the measure of their hearers; who handle the pulse of
their audience ; who never venture outside the possibility
of being applauded ; who always humbly kiss the feet of
success ; who ascend the tribune, sometimes with the idea
of to-day, of tenest with that of yesterday, never from
dread of the risk, with that of to-morrow ; who have an
even, smooth, easy fluency of speech on which they jog
along, making little noise, and pass round with their other
baggage, the commonplace ideas of their time ; who, fearing
that their thoughts might not be sufficiently impregnated
with the atmosphere of everybody, unceasingly adjust
and arrange their opinions in front of the street as they
would a thermometer at the window. Mirabeau, on the
contrary, was the man of the new idea, of the sudden
illumination, of the risky proposition ; fiery, hare-brained,
imprudent, always saying something unexpected every-
where, jostling, wounding, overturning, obeying only him-
self, seeking success undoubtedly, but after many other
things, and preferring the applause of the passions in his
heart to that of the people in the tribunes ; noisy, agitated,
rapid, profound, seldom transparent, never fordable, and
rolling along confusedly in his foamy current all the ideas
of his era, ideas that often suffered a rude shock when
coming into collision with his own.

The fame of Mirabeau is to-day so great and so univer-
sally recognized, that there is considerable difficulty in
forming an idea of the fashion in which he was treated
by his colleagues and contemporaries. We have M. de

346 ESSAYS.

Guillermy exclaiming during one of the great tribune's
harangues : " M. Mirabeau is a scoundrel, an assassin ! "
MM. d' Ambly and de Lautrec vociferating, " This Mira-
beau is a great scoundrel ! " And then M. de Foucault
shook his fist at him, and M. de Virien said, " Monsieur
Mirabeau, you insult me ! " When hatred did not speak,
contempt did. "This shabby Mirabeau!" said M. de
Castellanet of the Right. " That extravagant fellow ! "
said M. Lapoule of the Left. And when he had spoken,
Robespierre mumbled between his teeth : " His words
have no value."

Sometimes his eloquence showed traces of the effect
exercised on him by the hostility of so large a part of his
audience, and in the midst of his magnificent discourse
on the Regency, for example his scornful lips gave vent
to such words as these, words at once simple and resigned,
melancholy and proud, which every man placed in simi-
lar circumstances would do well to meditate on :

" While I was giving my ideas on the Regency, I have
heard some of my hearers say, with the charming sense
of incapability of error to which I have been long accus-
tomed : ' That is absurd ! that is extravagant ! that is
unworthy of being brought before us! 1 But a little
serious reflection would not be out of place either."

He spoke these words on the 25th of March, 1791,
seven days before his death.

Outside the Assembly, the press tore him to pieces
with a strange fury. A hailstorm of pamphlets beat on
this man. The extreme parties put him in the same pil-
lory. His name was pronounced in the same tone in the
barrack of the Royal Guards and in the club of the Corde-
liers. M. de Champcenetz said, "That man has the
small-pox in his soul." M. de Lambesc proposed to have
him seized and taken to the galleys by twenty horsemen.
Marat shouted, " Citizens, raise eight hundred gibbeta,

MIBABBAU. 347

hang all these traitors on them, and at their head the
infamous Riquetti the elder ! " And Mirabeau refused to
consent to his prosecution by the National Assembly.
He contented himself with saying, "It seems a great
deal of extravagant nonsense is published. The man
who wrote that must have been drunk."

Thus, up to April the 1st, 1791, Mirabeau is a scoun-
drel, 1 an extravagant fellow, 2 a rascal, 8 an assassin, 4 a
madman, 5 an orator of the second rank, 6 a mediocre man, 7
a man dead, 8 a man buried, 9 a monstrous babbler, 10 hooted,
hissed, scouted more than applauded ; u Lambesc would
send him to the galleys, Marat to the gibbet On the
Jd of April he dies. On the 3d the Pantheon was in-
vented for his behoof.

m.

THE people, however, which has a peculiar sense and a
visual ray always singularly straight, which is not hate-
ful because it is strong, which is not envious because it
is great, the people, which knows men, although itself a
child, the people was for Mirabeau. There are no finer
spectacles for the thinker than those close embraces of
genius and the multitude.

The influence of Mirabeau was gainsaid, and it was
immense. It was always he, after all, that had the up-
per hand ; but he won his victories over the Assembly
only through the people, and he governed the curule
chairs through the tribunes. The precise words which

1 M. d'Ambly. Id.

M. de Lantrec. * Target

M. Lapoule. * Duport,

M. de Gnillermy. U RivaroL

Journals and pamphlets of the time. u Pelletier.
Id.

348 ESSAYS.

Mirabeau uttered were re-uttered by the crowd accom-
panied by applause; and under the dictation of this
applause the Legislature, often against its will, wrote.
Libels, pamphlets, calumnies, insults, interruptions,
menaces, hoots, roars of laughter, hisses, were all but
pebbles flung into the current of his words, which at
times served to make him foam. That was all.

When this sovereign orator, smitten by some sudden
thought, mounted the tribune; when this man found
himself face to face with his people ; when he was
standing there and walking on the envious Assembly, as
the Man-God on the waters, without sinking; when
his sardonic and luminous glance, reaching from the
elevation of his tribune the men and ideas of his time,
seemed to measure the littleness of the men on the scale
of the greatness of the ideas, then he was no longer
calumniated, nor hooted, nor insulted. All their deeds,
all their words, all the slanders heaped up against him,
were vain ; the first breath from his mouth as he opened
it to speak, scattered them to the winds. On the tribune
he was transfigured, and detraction vanished in his
presence.

Mirabeau, in 1789, was, then, loved and hated at the
same time, as a genius, hated by the wits; as a man,
beloved of the people. His was an illustrious and de-
sirable existence, for he swayed at will all hearts then
opening to the future, converted by magic words and by
some mysterious kind of alchemy the vague instincts
of the multitude into thoughts and systems, into well-
planned methods and rational schemes of amelioration
and reform, fed the spirit of his time with all the ideas
which his great intelligence crumbled into fragments and
flung among the crowd, beat and threshed on the table of
the tribune, like the wheat on the threshing-floor, the men

MIRABEAtJ. 349

and things of his century, without rest, and with all his
might and main, separating the straw the Eepublic was
to consume from the wheat the Revolution was to
fructify, causing sleepless nights to Louis XVI. and to
Eobespierre at the same time, to Louis XVL, whose
throne he destroyed ; to Robespierre, whose guillotine he
would have attacked, saying every morning as he awoke,
"What ruin shall my words bring about to-day?" a
pope in this sense, that he guided souls ; a god in this
sense, that he guided events.

He died in time. His was a sovereign and sublime
head y '91 crowned it. '93 would have cut it off.

rv.

As we follow Mirabeau step by step, from the hum-
ble baptismal font of Bignon to the Pantheon, we see
that like all men of his stamp and stature he was
predestined.

Such a child could not fail to be a great man.

At the moment when he came into the world, the enor-
mous size of his head placed the life of his mother in peril
When the old French monarchy, his other mother, brought
forth his fame, she too nearly died of it.

At the age of five, Poisson, his tutor, told him to write
on whatever came into his head. The " little one/' as we
are told by his father, wrote literally as follows :

11 Monsieur Jfe, I beg that you will pay attention to your
writing and not make blots on your copy. Pay attention to
what you are doing; obey your father, your tutor, and your
mother; never contradict; no double-dealing, on the point of
honour above all. Attack no one, except you are attacked
yourself. Defend your country. Do not be unkind to the
servants. Do not be familiar with them. Hide the faults of

350 ESSAYS.

your neighbour, because you may want them to do the same
for you." 1

When he was eleven the Duke de Nivernois wrote of
him to the Bailli de Mirabeau, in a letter dated from St.
Maur, on the llth of September, 1760 :

" The other day he won a prize at a running-match. It
was a hat. He turned round to a youth who had a cap, and
giving him his own, which was a very good one, said:
'Here, I have n't two heads!' This stripling appeared to
me then worthy to be the emperor of the world. There
was something or other god-like about him. I mused on it,
I wept, and the lesson did me good."

At twelve, his father said of him : " There is a noble
heart under the jacket of that bantling. He has a
strange instinct of pride, but of a generous character.
This little bit of a man is a bully in a flurry, and would
swallow the whole world before he is twelve years old." 2

At fifteen, he had an air of such daring and haughti-
ness that the Prince de Conti asked : " What would you
do if I slapped your face ? " He answered, " That question
might have been embarrassing before the invention of
pistols for two."

At twenty-one (1770), he began writing a history of
Corsica, when some one else was being born there. 8
Singular instinct of great men !

At the same period his father, who held a very tight
rein over him, uttered this strange prognostic : " He is a
bottle that has been corked and corded for twenty-one

1 This singular document is quoted as it was written in an unpublished
letter of the marquis to the Bailli de Mirabeau, of the 9th of December,
17M.

2 Unpublished letter to the Countess of Rochefort, November 29, 1761.
August 15, 1769.

MIRABEAU. 351

years. If he is ever uncorked suddenly, and without great
care, there will be a fine evaporation."

At twenty-two, he was presented at court Madame
Elizabeth, then a child of six, asked him if he had been
inoculated. And all the court laughed. No, he had not
been inoculated. He bore within him the germ of a con-
tagion that later on was to spread through a whole people.

He presented himself at court with extreme assurance,
with a head as high as the king's, a strange object to all,
a hateful one to many. " He is as insinuating as I was
shy," said the father, who had never desired to " dance
attendance on Versailles, " not he ; " he was a wild bird
that nested between four turrets." " He turns the great
round and round as if they were a bundle of fagots. He
has 'that terrible gift of familiarity/ as Gregory the
Great used to say." And then the proud old gentleman
adds, " Well, as the Mirabeaus, who have never been
built like other people, have been endured for the last
five hundred years, I suppose they will be endured stilL"

At twenty-four, the father, as a philosophic agricul-
turist, wishes to take his son away with him " and make
him rural" He cannot succeed in this. " It is a very
hard thing to handle the mouth of that fiery animal ! "
exclaims the old man.

The uncle, the Bailli, coolly examines the young man,
and says, " If he is not worse than Nero, he will be better
than Marcus Aurelius."

" After all, we must let this green fruit ripen," replies
the marquis.

The father and the uncle corresponded with each other
constantly on the future of the young man who had
already advanced so far on the road of a bad life. ".Your
nephew Whirlwind," said the father. " Your son, Mon-
sieur le Comte de la Bourrasque," (squall) replied the
uncle.

352 ESSAYS.

The BaiHi, an old sailor, adds, " The thirty-two winds
of the compass are in his head."

At thirty, the fruit was ripe. Already strange things
are glistening in the deep eyes of Mirabeau. It is seen
that he is full of thoughts. "That brain is an over-
loaded furnace," says the prudent Bailli. At another
time, the Bailli, in his alarm, makes this observation:
" When anything passes into his head, he pushes it for-
ward, and looks nowhere."

The father, on his side, is astounded at " his tearing of
ideas piecemeal and only seeing by flashes." He ex-
claims, " Rummage in his head, and you find a library all
topsy-turvy, a talent for dazzling by superficialities ; he
has swallowed all formulas and can't substantiate ! " He
adds, no longer comprehending this creature of his own
making : " In childhood he was nothing but a monster of
the male species, morally and physically." To-day, he is
a man " all reflex and reverberation," a madman " drawn
on the right by his heart and on the left by his head,
which is always four yards away from him." And then
the old man adds, with a melancholy and resigned smile :
" I am trying to empty out into this man my brains, my
soul, and my heart." At last, like the uncle, he has also
his presentiments, his terrors, his anxieties, and his doubts.
The father feels all that is stirring in the head of the son,
"as the root feels the quivering of the leaves."

Such was Mirabeau at thirty. He was the son of a
father who has thus described himself: "And I too,
madame, stiff and dull-witted as you see me now, preached
when I was three years old ; at six, I was a prodigy ; at
twelve, an object of hope ; at twenty, a fire-brand ; at
thirty, a theoretical statesman ; at forty, I am merely a
good-natured old fellow."

At forty, Mirabeau is a great man.

At forty, he is the man of the Revolution.

MIRABEAU. 353

At forty, there breaks out around Mm in France one
of those formidable anarchies of ideas in which societies
that have had their day are melted down. Mirabeau was
its master.

It was he who, silent till then, cried out to M. de
Brgzg, on the 23d of June, 1789: "Go tell YOUE MAS-
TEE ..." Your master ! It was to declare the King of
France a foreigner. A whole frontier was traced between
the throne and the people. It was the Revolution giving
utterance to its cry. Nobody before Mirabeau would
have dared this. Only great men pronounce the decisive
words of the epochs.

Later on, Louis XVI. shall be insulted more gravely in
appearance, shall be beaten to the earth, mocked in his
chains, hooted on the scaffold. The Republic, with arms
akimbo, will coif herself in her red bonnet, and speak
coarse words to him, and call him Louis Capet; but
nothing can ever be spoken to Louis XVI. so terrible and
effective as that fatal sentence of Mirabeau. Louis Capet !
it is royalty smote on the face ; your master ! it is
royalty stricken to the heart

And so, to date from these words, Mirabeau is the man
of the country, the man of the great social convulsion,
the man the end of that century had need of. To be
popular and yet not plebeian is a rare thing in such times.
His private life is then absorbed in his public life. Hon-
or^ de Riquetti, that abandoned man, is henceforth illus-
trious, worthy of attention and worthy of consideration.
The love of the people is his armour against the sarcasms
of his enemies. His person is the cynozure of every eye.
The passers-by stop as he crosses the street; and, for
two years that are left him, the little children of the
people write his name unrebuked on all the corners of
the walls of Paris, that name which Saint-Simon eighty
years before wrote Mirebaut, with the scorn natural to a
v. 28

354 ESSAYS.

peer and duke, and without suspecting that Mirebaut
would become Mirabeau.

There are very striking parallels in the lives of certain
men. Cromwell, while still obscure, despairing of his
future in England, wishes to embark for Jamaica; the
orders of Charles I. prevent him. The father of Mira-
beau, not seeing any possible existence for his son in
France, wishes to send the young man to the Dutch
Colonies. An order from the king forbids it. Now, take
away Cromwell from the English Revolution, take away
Mirabeau from the French Revolution, and you perhaps
take away from the two revolutions two scaffolds. Who
knows if Jamaica would not have saved Charles I., and
Batavia Louis XVI. ?

But no, the King of England will keep Cromwell ; the
King of France will keep Mirabeau. When a king is
condemned to death, Providence bandages his eyes.

Strange that what is greatest in the history of a society
should depend on what is least in the life of a man !

The first part of the life of Mirabeau is filled up with
Sophie, the second with the Revolution,

A domestic storm, then a political storm, such was the
destiny of Mirabeau. When we give a closer examina-
tion to this destiny, we gain an idea of whatever was
fatal and necessary in it. The deviations of his heart
are explained by the shocks of his life.

For just consider the matter. Never have causes been
more closely joined to effects than here. Chance gave him
a father who taught him to despise his mother; a mother
who taught him to hate his father ; a tutor, Poisson, who
did not like children, and who used him harshly because
he was small and ugly; a valet, GrSvin, who was the
base spy of his enemies ; a colonel, the Marquis de Lam-
bert, who was as pitiless for the youth as Poisson had
been for the child ; a step-mother (not married though),

MIRABEAU. 865

Madame de Pailly, who hated him because he was not
her own; a wife, Mademoiselle de Marignane, who re-
pulsed him; a caste, the noblesse, which repudiated him;
judges, the parliament of Besanqon, who condemned him
to death ; a king, Louis XV., who bastiled him.

Thus, father, mother, wife, his tutor, his colonel, the
magistracy, the noblesse, the king, that is to say, all that
surrounds and skirts the existence of a man in the legiti-
mate and natural order, was for him a cross, an obstacle,
a stumbling-block, an occasion of wounds and bruises, a
stone hard to his naked feet, a thicket of thorns tearing
him on his way. Family and society were both his step-
mothers. He met in life only two things that treated
him well and loved him, two irregular things in revolt
against order, a mistress and a revolution.

Do not be astonished then, if for the mistress he broke
all domestic ties, if for the revolution he broke all social
bonds.

Do not be astonished, to solve the question in the
terms we have laid down at the beginning, if this demon
of a family becomes the idol of a mistress in rebellion
against her husband, and the god of a nation divorced
from its king.

v.

THE grief caused by the death of Mirabeau was a grief
general, universal, and national. It was felt that some-
thing of the public thought had vanished with that souL
But a striking fact, and one necessary to speak of, because
it would be artless to attribute it to the hasty and unre-
flecting admiration of his contemporaries, is that the court
wore mourning for him as well as the people.

An insurmountable feeling of shame hinders us from
sounding here certain mysteries, certain shameful quali-

356 ESSAYS.

ties of the great man, which besides, in our opinion are
lost in the colossal proportions of the ensemble ; but it
appears proved that in the latter part of his days the
court had, as it affirmed, something to hope from him.
It is patent that at this period he fired up angrily more
than once at the excess of revolutionary enthusiasm;
that he manifested at times the desire to cry halt and
bring back somewhat of the past ; that he who had such
powerful lungs did not follow without breathlessness the
march of new ideas becoming ever more and more accele-
rated, and that on some occasions he essayed to spoke the
wheels of the Kevolution, though he himself had forged
them.

Fatal wheels, which crush so many venerable things
on their passage 1

There are still to-day many persons who think that
if Mirabeau had lived longer he would have finally sub-
dued the movement he had unchained. In their sense,
the French Revolution might have been arrested by a
single man ; and that man was Mirabeau. According to
this opinion, founded on some words of Mirabeau on his
death-bed, which he surely never uttered, 1 the death of
Mirabeau was the ruin of the monarchy ; if Mirabeau had
lived, Louis XVI. would not have died ; and the 2d of
April, 1791, has brought to life the 21st of January, 1793.

According to us, those who believed so at the time,
Mirabeau himself among the number, were mistaken, and
so are those who believe so to-day. A pure optical illu-
sion in Mirabeau as in others, proving that a great man
has not always a plain idea of the kind of power that is
in him.

The French Eevolution was not a simple fact There
was more in it than Mirabeau.

1 " I bear with roe the mourning weeds of the monarchy. After me
the faction* will dispute the pieces/' Cabanis thought he heard this.

MXRABEATJ. 857

The going out from it of Mirabeau would not suffice
to empty it

There was in the French ^Revolution something of the
past and something of the future. Mirabeau was but the
present

To indicate here only two culminating points, the
French Eevolution was complicated with Richelieu in
the past and with Bonaparte in the future.

There is this peculiarity about revolutions, that they
cannot be killed when they are still pregnant

Moreover, even supposing the question more trivial
than it really is, it is to be observed that, in political
matters especially, what a man has done can rarely be
undone except by another man.

The Mirabeau of '91 was impotent against the Mira-
beau of '89. His work was stronger than he.

And then, men like Mirabeau are not the lock with
which the gates of revolutions can be closed. They are
but the hinge on which it turns, to close, it is true, as
well as to open. To shut that fatal door, on whose pan-
els are ever beating all the restless ideas, all the restless
interests, and all the restless passions of society, a sword
in guise of a bolt must be thrust into the iron-work.

VI.

WE have attempted to characterize what Mirabeau was
in the family and what he has been in the nation. It
now remains for us to examine what he will be among
posterity.

Notwithstanding certain reproaches of which he has
deservingly been made the target, we believe that Mira-
beau will continue great

In presence of posterity every man and everything is
absolved by greatness.

358 ESSAYS.

To-day, when almost all the things he has sown have
given us their fruits which we have tasted, the greater
part good and healthful, some bitter ; to-day, when the
successes and failures of his life have nothing incon-
gruous in our eyes, so much do the years that pass place
men in their true perspective ; to-day, when there is for
his genius neither adoration nor execration, and this man,
so furiously tossed about from post to pillar while he
lived, has taken the calm and serene attitude that death
gives to great historic figures ; to-day, when his memory,
so long dragged in the mud and kissed on the altar, has
been withdrawn from the Pantheon of Voltaire and the
sewer of Marat, we rnay coldly say, " Mirabeau is great."
The odour of the Pantheon and not the odour of the
sewer clings to him. Impartial history in wiping his
locks, sullied in the gutter, has not taken from him his
aureole. The mud has been washed from that visage,
and it still continues to shine.

After rendering an account of the immense political
consequences produced by the sum total of his faculties,
we may consider Mirabeau under a twofold aspect, as a
writer and as an orator. Here we take the liberty of
differing with Rivarol, we believe Mirabeau was greater
as an orator than as a writer.

The Marquis de Mirabeau, his father, had two kinds of
style, two pens, as it were, in his inkstand. When he
wrote a book, a good book for the public, for -effect, for
the court, for the Bastille, for the grand staircase of the
Palace of Justice, the worthy patrician draped himself,
stiffened his limbs, swelled out his proportions, veiled his
thoughts, already obscure enough of themselves, with all
the pomps of expression ; and it is impossible to fancy
under what a style, at once flat and bombastic, heavy and
languid, with interminable phrases dragging at its tail,
loaded with neologies to such an extent as to banish all

MIBABEAU. 859

cohesion from the tissue, under what a style, we repeat,
altogether colourless and incorrect, the natural and indis-
putable originality of this strange writer is travestied;
writer, half gentleman and half philosopher, preferring
Quesnay to Socrates and Lefranc de Pompignan to
Pindar ; disdaining Montesquieu as behind the times, and
submitting to be scolded by his cur6; an amphibious
dweller among the reveries of the eighteenth century
and the prejudices of the sixteenth. But when this man,
this same man, wished to write a letter, when he forgot
the public and addressed himself only to the long, stiff,
and rigid demeanour of his venerable brother, the Bailli,
or his daughter, little Saillanette? "the most emollient
woman that ever was/' or to the pretty, smiling face of
Madame de Rochefort, then that spirit, inflated with pre-
tention, relaxed ; no more effort, no more fatigue, no more
apoplectic distention in the expression ; his thoughts, as
they are scattered over the family letter become vivid,
original, highly coloured, curious, amusing, profound, gra-
cious, in fine, natural ; the echo of that grand aristo-
cratic style of the time of Louis XIV., which Saint-Simon
spoke with all the qualities of the man and Madame de
S6vign with all the qualities of the woman. An idea
may be formed of it from the fragments we have quoted.
After a book of the Marquis de Mirabeau, a letter of his
is a revelation. We can hardly believe our eyes. Bouffon
would not comprehend such contrasts in the same writer.
You have two styles and only one man.

In this respect, the son bore some likeness to the father.
It might be said, though with certain limitations and
modifications, that there is the same difference between
his written style and his spoken style. Let us only
remark this, that the father was at his ease in a letter,
the son in a discourse. To be himself, to be natural, to
i Madame da Safflao*.

360 E8SAT8.

be in his proper environment, the one needed a family,
the other a nation.

The Mirabeau that writes is something less than Mira-
beau. Whether he demonstrates to the young American
Eepublic the folly of its " Order of Cincinnati^," and the
inconsistency of an order of chivalry among ploughmen ;
or with his " Sur la libert^ de 1'Escaut " plagues Joseph IL,
the philosophic emperor, the Titus of Voltaire, the bust
of a Eoman Caesar after the Pompadour style ; or rum-
mages in both bottoms of the cabinet at Berlin and
draws therefrom that Histoire secrete which the court of
France ordered to be judicially consigned to the flames
on the steps of the Palace of Justice (a noteworthy
blunder ; for from those books burned by the hand of the
executioner there always escaped some little flakes and
sparks, which scattered at the will of the wind and
alighted on the worm-eaten roof of the great European
society, on the carpentry of monarchies, on all minds full
of inflammable ideas, on all heads made of tow at that
period); or casually inveighs against that cart-load of
charlatans which made so much noise on the pavement of
the eighteenth century, Necker, Beaumarchais, Lavater,
Calonne, and Cagliostro ; in fine, whatever be the book he
writes, his thought is always adequate to the subject, but
his style is not always adequate to the thought. His
ideas are ever grand and lofty; but to get out of his
brain they have to stoop and shrink as if under a door
too low. Except in his eloquent letters to Madame de
Monnier, in which he is his real self, speaking rather
than writing, and which are harangues of love 1 quite as
much as his discourses to the Constituant are harangues of
revolution, except these, we repeat, the style he discovers
in his inkstand is in general commonplace in form, badly

1 Of course we only apeak thn0 of the letters that are pure paulon. AJ
to the othen we throw over them the veil propriety requires.

MIRABEAU. 361

connected, pithless, nerveless at the end of his phrases,
dry besides, coloured in dull fashion by means of trite
epithets, poor in images, or offering here and there only
eccentric mosaics of incoherent metaphors. We feel
while reading that the ideas of this man are not, like
those of the great prose-writers to the manner born, made
up of that peculiar substance which, soft and subtle,
lends itself to all the chisellings of expression which finds
its way boiling and liquid into all the nooks of the mould
into which the writer pours it, and then hardens ; lava
first, granite after. We feel while reading that many
things have remained in his head which it were as well
had not stayed there, that this genius has not been so
fashioned as to express itself completely in a book, and
that a pen is not the best possible conductor for all the
fluids compressed in that brain filled with thunders.

The Mirabeau who speaks is the real Mirabeau. The
Mirabeau who speaks is the water running, the wave
foaming, the fire sparkling, the bird in its flight, some*
thing that makes its own peculiar noise, a nature fulfill-
ing its own law. A spectacle of eternal sublimity and
harmony !

On the tribune all his contemporaries are unanimous
on this point, Mirabeau was something magnificent.
There he was himself, wholly himself, a self all-power-
fuL There, no more table, no more paper, no more ink-
stand bristling with pens, no more solitary cabinet, no
more silence and meditation; but a marble which can
be smote, a ladder which can be mounted, a tribune that
is a species of cage for this wild beast, on which he can
come and go, walk, stop, breathe, gasp, cross his arms,
clinch his fists, paint his words by a gesture, and illumine
his idea by a glance ; a heap of men he can gaze on eye
to eye ; a great tumult, magnificent accompaniment for
a great voioe ; a crowd that hates the orator (the Assem-

S62 ESSAYS.

bly) enveloped in a crowd that loves him (the people) ;
around him all these intelligences, all these passions, all
these mediocrities, all these ambitions, all these diverse
natures which he knows, and from which he can draw
whatever sound he wills as from an immense harpsichord;
above him the vault of the hall of the Constituant Assem-
bly, towards which his eyes are often raised as if to seek
there his thoughts, for monarchies are overthrown by the
ideas that fall from such a vault on such a head

Oh, how much that man is at his ease there, on his
own ground! How sure and firm his footing! How
great is that genius in a discourse which becomes so
small in books ! How happily the tribune has changed
the conditions of exterior production for that thought!
After Mirabeau the writer, Mirabeau the orator, what
a transfiguration !

In him everything was potent. His abrupt and sud-
den gestures were full of empire. In the tribune he had
a colossal movement of the shoulders, like the elephant
that carries an armed tower in battle. He too was carry-
ing his thought. His voice, even at the time he but
thundered a word from his bench, had a formidable and
revolutionary tone which was recognized in the Assembly
as like the roar of the lion in the menagerie. His locks,
when he shook his head, were not unlike a mane. The
movement of his eyebrows agitated all around him, like
that of Jupiter, cuncta superalio moventis. His hands
sometimes seemed to knead the marble of the tribune.
His whole countenance, his whole attitude, his whole
person, was swollen with a plethoric arrogance that had
its grandeur. His head had a grandiose and thunderous
ugliness, whose effect was at moments electric and terri-
ble. In the early stages, when nothing was visibly de-
cided for or against royalty; when the contest seemed
still nearly equal between the monarchy, still strong, and

MIRABEAU. 868

the theories, which were still weak ; when none of the
ideas which were, later on, to hold the future had yet
arrived at their perfect growth; when the Revolution,
badly guarded and badly armed, could apparently be
easily taken by assault, it sometimes happened that the
Right, believing it had thrown down some wall of the
fortress, rushed on it en masse with cries of victory;
then the monstrous head of Mirabeau appeared at the
breach and petrified the assailants. The genius of the
Revolution had forged an aegis with all the amalgamated
doctrines of Voltaire, Helvetius, Diderot, Bayle, Montes-
quieu, Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau, and had fixed the
head of Mirabeau in the middle.

He was not only great on the tribune, he was great in
his seat; in him the interrupter was equal to the orator.
He often put as much in a word as in a discourse. " La-
fayette has an army," he said to M, de Suleau, " but I
have my head." He interrupted Robespierre with this
profound remark: "That man will go far, he believes
every word he says."

He dealt thus with the court when an occasion arose :
" The court is starving the people. Treason ! The peo-
ple will sell it the Constitution for bread ! " All the in-
stinct of the great revolutionist is in that word.

" The Abb Sieyes ! " he said, " a metaphysician travel-
ling on a map." A keen thrust at the man of theory
ever ready to bestride seas and mountains.

His simplicity at times was admirable. One day, or
rather one evening, in his discourse of the 3d of May,
at the moment when he was struggling, like an athlete
with a cestus on each hand, with his left arm aimed at
the AbW Maury and his right at Robespierre, M. de
Cazalfes, with all the assurance of mediocrity, interrupted
him in this fashion : " You are a babbler, and that is all*"
Mirabeau turned towards the AbW Gontes, who was in

364 ESSAYS.

the chair: "Monsieur le President/' he said with child-
like grandeur, " please stop M. de Cazalfes, who is calling
me a babbler."

The National Assembly wanted to begin an address to
the king with these words: "The Assembly brings to the
feet of your Majesty an offering," etc. " Majesty has no
feet," said Mirabeau coldly.

A little farther on the Assembly wished to say that
" it is intoxicated with the glory of its king/ 1 " Eeally ? "
objected Mirabeau ; " people who make laws and who are
intoxicated ! "

Sometimes with a phrase that might have been trans-
lated from Tacitus, he characterized the history and na-
ture of an entire sovereign house. He cried out to the
ministers, for example : " Speak not to me of your Duke
of Savoy, a bad neighbour to all liberty ! "

Sometimes he laughed, a formidable thing the laugh
of Mirabeau.

He ridiculed the Bastille. " There have been/' he said,
" fifty-four lettres de cachets in my family, and I have had
seventeen for my share. So you see I was treated as an
elder brother of Normandy." He ridiculed himself. He
was accused by M. de Valfond of having gone through
the ranks of the Regiment of Flanders on the 6th of
October, with a naked sabre in his hand, and of speaking
to the soldiers. Some one proved that the matter con-
cerned M. de Gamaches, and not Mirabeau ; and Mirabeau
added, " So everything having been weighed, everything
having been examined, the deposition of M. de Valfond
contains nothing very unpleasant for any one except M.
de Gamaches, who finds himself legally and vehemently
suspected of being very ugly, since he resembles me/'

Sometimes he smiled. When the question of the
Regency was on debate before the . Assembly, the Left
thought of the Duke of Orleans, and the Right of the

MIRABEAU. 365

Prince of Cond, then an emigri in Germany. Mira-
beau moved that no prince can be regent, except he took
the oath to the Constitution. M. de Montlosier objected
that a prince might have reasons for not having taken
the oath ; for instance, he might have made a journey
beyond the sea. Mirabeau answered, "The discourse
of the last speaker will be printed. I demand leave to
correct an error in it For 'beyond the sea/ read,
* beyond the Rhine.' " And this pleasantry decided the
question. Thus did the great orator sometimes play with
what he killed. To believe the naturalists, there is some-
thing of the cat in the lion.

On another occasion, when the procureurs of the As-
sembly had muddled a text of law with their bad editing,
Mirabeau rose : " I ask leave to make a few timid reflec-
tions on the propriety of the National Assembly speak-
ing French, and even writing in French the laws it
proposes."

At moments, in the midst of his most violent popular
harangues, he suddenly recalled who he was, and there
would be some flashes of the patrician from him. It was
at that time an oratorical custom to interject into every
discourse some imprecation or other on the massacres
of Saint Bartholomew. Mirabeau uttered his imprecation
like everybody else ; but he said, in passing : " The Ad-
miral de Coligny, who, by way of parenthesis, was my
cousin." The parenthesis was worthy of the man whose
father wrote : " There has been only one misalliance in
my family, the Medicis." "My cousin, the Admiral
de Coligny would have been pointless at the court of
Louis XIV. ; it was sublime at the court of the people of
1791." At another time he spoke of his " worthy cousin
the Keeper of the Seals, 11 1 but it was in a different tone.

On the 22d September, 1789, the king made an offer
*M.deB*rentiii. Session of June 24, 1789.

366

of his gold and silver plate for the needs of the State.
The Bight fell into ecstasies of admiration and wept
" As for myself," cried Mirabeau, " I do not easily become
tearful over the faience of the great"

His disdain was fine, his laugh was fine, but his anger
was sublime.

When an effort to irritate him succeeded, when one of
those keen blades that make the orator and the bull
bound from the earth, was plunged into his side, if this,
for example, occurred in the middle of a discourse, he at
once abandoned everything, left his ideas still incomplete,
troubled himself little that the edifice of reasoning he had
been building up crumbled behind him for want of the
final crowning stone ; he gave up the question on the spot,
and rushed with lowered head on the incident Then,
woe to the interrupter 1 woe to the toreador who had
flung the banderilla! Mirabeau was on him at once,
seized him by the waist, raised him in the air, and tram-
pled him under his feet He drew back from him, re-
turned, bruised and mangled him. He took hold of the
entire man in the words he uttered, whoever he was,
great or small, wicked or worthless, mud or dust, and
caught him up with his life, his character, his ambition,
his vices, his follies ; he omitted nothing, he spared noth-
ing, he missed nothing; he knocked him against the
four corners of the tribune in his desperation ; he made
his hearers tremble, he made them laugh. Every word
told, every phrase was an arrow; he had fury in his
heart ; he was terrible and superb. His was the anger of
the lion. A great and potent orator, but never so fine as
then ! Then was the time to see in what fashion he
chased away all clouds from the discussion I Then was
the time to see how his stormy breath made every head
in the assembly bristle with terror! Strange fact! he
never reasoned better than when he was in a rage. The

MIBABEAU. 367

most violent irritation, far from disuniting the chain of
his eloquence in the shocks which it caused him, set free
a sort of superior logic within his mind, and he found
arguments in fury as others do metaphors. Whether the
sharp-pointed teeth of his sarcasm left their mark on the
pale forehead of Bobespierre, who, two years later, was to
treat heads as Phocion treated discourses ; or whether he
chewed in his rage the wearisome dilemmas of the Abb
Maury and spat them back at the Eight, twisted, torn,
dislocated, half devoured, and all covered with the foam
of his wrath ; or plunged the claws of his syllogism into
the soft and flabby phrase of the advocate Target, he was
great and magnificent, and had a sort of formidable ma-
jesty that the most frantic bounds never disordered. Our
fathers have told us that they who had not seen Mira-
beau in anger had not seen Mirabeau. In anger his
genius was at its best and displayed all its splendours.
Anger suited this man, as the tempest does the ocean.

And, without intending, in what we have just written
for the purpose of shadowing forth the supernatural elo-
quence of Mirabeau, we have painted him by a confusion
of images even, Mirabeau was, in fact, not merely the
bull, or the lion, or the tiger, or the athlete, or the archer,
or the eagle, or the peacock, or the tempest, or the ocean ;
he was, by an indefinite series of surprising metamor-
phoses, all this at once ; he was Proteus.

For whoever has seen or heard him, his discourses are
to-day a dead letter. The colour, the breath, the life, the
soul, the flash, the relief, have all disappeared. Every-
thing in these fine harangues lies to-day flat on the earth.
Where is the inspiration that whirled all these ideas
around like leaves in a hurricane ? The word is there,
but where is the gesture ? The cry is there, but where
is the accent ? The language is there, but where is the
look ? The discourse is there, but where is the drama

368

of that discourse ? For it is necessary to say that in
every orator there are two things, the actor and the
man. Talma is entirely dead. Mirabeau is half dead.

In the Constituant Assembly there was one thing that
frightened those who regarded it attentively, it was the
Convention. To all who have studied this epoch, it was
evident that from 1789 the Convention was in the Con-
stituant Assembly. It was there in the state of germ, in
the state of foetus, in the state of outline. To the multi-
tude it was still something indistinct ; for him who could
see, it was already something terrible. A nothing doubt-
less; a shade blacker than the general colour; a note
sometimes thundering in the orchestra ; a surly refrain in
a chorus of hopes and illusions ; a detail in which there
was a certain want of concord with the ensemble ; a
sombre group in an obscure corner ; some mouths giving
a certain accent to certain words; thirty voices (only
thirty voices), which later were to branch out, according
to an appalling law of multiplication, into Girondins, the
Plain and the Mountain, '93, in a word ; the dark spot in
the azure sky of '89. Everything was already in this dark
spot: the 21st of January, the 31st of May, the 9th Thermi-
dor, a bloody trilogy ; Buzot, who was to devour Louis
XVI., Robespierre, who was to devour Buzot, Vadier, who
was to devour Robespierre, a sinister trinity. Among
these men the most vulgar and the most ignorant, H^brard
and Putraink, for example, smiled strangely during the
discussions, and seemed to have some thought on the
future which they did not tell. In our opinion, the his-
torian ought to have microscopes for the purpose of exam-
ining the formation of one assembly in the womb of
another. It is a species of gestation which is often
reproduced in history, and which, as far as we can see,
has not been sufficiently observed. In the present case
this mysterious excrescence on the surface of the leg-

MTRABKAU, 369

4

islative body was no insignificant detail, containing as
it did the scaffold already prepared for the King of
France; a vulture's egg born by an eagle. From that
time several sound minds in the Constituant Assembly
were frightened at the presence of these few impenetrable
men who seemed to be holding themselves in reserve for
another epoch. They felt that there were many whirl-
winds in these breasts from which scarcely a breeze es-
caped. They asked themselves whether or not these
tempests would be let loose some day, and what then
should become of all the things essential to civilization
which '89 had not uprooted. Babaut Saint-lStienne,
who believed the Revolution terminated, and said so
quite aloud, gave anxious attention to Robespierre, who
did not believe it begun, and said so quite low. The
present demolishes of the monarchy trembled before the
future demolishers of society. The latter, like all men
who hold the future and who know it, were supercili-
ous, morose, arrogant, and the lowest among them dis-
dainfully elbowed the leaders of the Assembly. The
most worthless and the most obscure hurled insolent
interruptions at the most thoughtful orators, as their
humour and fancy led them ; and as every one knew that
there were events ready at hand for these men to deal
with in the near future, none dare reply to them. It was
in such moments, when the Assembly that one day was
to be, terrified the Assembly that was, it was then that
the exceptional power of Mirabeau shone in all its splen-
dour. With the feeling of his omnipotence, and with no
suspicion that he was doing a great thing, he cried to the
sinister group, which was preventing a speaker from
being heard : " Silence among the thirty t voices 1 " and the
Convention held its peace.

That cave of jolus remained still and was curbed aa
long as Mirabeau held his foot on the cover.
VOL. XXIT. 24

370 ESSAYS.

When Mirabeau was dead, all the ulterior anarchic
projects broke loose.

As we said before, we believe Mirabeau died seasonably*
After unchaining many tempests in the State, it is evi-
dent that for a time he crushed under his weight all the
divergent forces for which the completion of the ruin he
had begun was reserved. But the very pressure on them
condensed them, and sooner or later the revolutionary
explosion must, in our opinion, have found an issue, and
would have hurled Mirabeau far in the distance, giant
though he was.

Let us conclude.

If we had to sum up Mirabeau in one word, we would
say : Mirabeau is not a man, is not a people, but an event,
an event which speaks.

An immense event, the fall of the monarchical govern-
ment in France !

With Mirabeau, neither the monarchy nor the republic
were possible. The monarchy excluded him by its hier-
archy, the republic by its level Mirabeau is a man that
passes through an epoch in a state of preparation. In
order that the wings of Mirabeau should unfold at their
ease, it was necessary for the social atmosphere to be in
that condition in which there is nothing fixed, nothing
rooted in the soil which can resist, in which every obsta-
cle to the free course of theories is easily stemmed, in
which the principles that are one day to make the solid
basis of future society are yet in suspension, without too
much form or consistency, waiting, in their intermediate
state, where they float confusedly in eddies, till the mo-
ment comes for falling and crystallizing. Every institution
firmly established has corners against which the genius
of Mirabeau would have broken its wings. Mirabeau
had a profound sense of things ; he also had a profound
understanding of men. After his arrival at the States

HIBABEAU. $71

General, he studied with close attention and silence the
various groups, so picturesque at the time of the different
parties, outside the Assembly as well as within. He de-
tected the incapacity of Mounier, Malouet, and De Eabaut
Saint-fitienne, who all were pondering a settlement on
English constitutional lines, lie estimated with calm-
ness the passion of Chapelier, the succinctness of Potion,
the literary magniloquence of Volney, the Abb Maury,
who sought a place ; D'pr6menil and Adrian Duport, par-
liamentarians in ill-humour and not tribunes; Roland,
that zero, whose wife was the numeral ; Gregoire, who
was in a condition of political somnambulism. He looked
into the depths of the soul of Siey&s, hard though it was
to fathom. He intoxicated Cainille Desmoulins with
his ideas, whose head was not strong enough to bear
them. He fascinated Danton, who resembled him in
being less great and more ugly. He did not attempt to
win the Guillermys, the Lautrecs, or the Cazalfes, for
these had characters irresolvable in revolutions. He felt
that everything was going on so fast that there was no
time to lose. Besides being full of courage and never
afraid of the man of the day, which is rare, nor of the
man of the morrow, which is rarer still, he was during
all his life bold with those who were powerful ; he at-
tacked in succession and during their periods of author-
ity, Maupeon and Terray, Calonne and Necker. He
approached the Duke of Orleans, touched him, and left
him at once. He looked Robespierre in the face and
askance at Marat

He had been locked up successively in the lie de Rh,
in the Castle of If, in the fort of Joux, and the keep of
Vincennes. He had revenge for all in the taking of the
Bastille.

In his captivities he read Tacitus; he devoured him;
he lived on him ; and when he ascended the tribune in

372 ESSAYS.

1789, he had his mouth still full of this marrow of lions.
The first words he uttered showed it

He had no understanding of the aims of Robespierre
and Marat He looked on the one as a lawyer without
cases, and on the other as a doctor without patients, and
he supposed their disappointments had driven them insane,
an opinion which had its true side also. He turned his
back completely on the things that were advancing with
such rapid strides behind him. Like all great radical
regenerators, his eyes were much more firmly fixed on
social questions than on political questions. His work
was not the Republic, it was the Eevolution.

That he was the truly great, the essential man of those
times, is proved by the fact that he has remained greater
to-day than any of the men who became great after him
in the same order of ideas.

His father, who no Inore understood him, although he
had begotten him, than the Constituant understood the
Convention, said of him : " That man is neither the end
nor the beginning of a man." He was right. "That
man " was the end of one society and the beginning of
another.

Mirabeau was not of less importance to the general
work of the eighteenth century than Voltaire had been.
These two men had like missions, to destroy what was
old and to prepare what was new. The labours of the
one were continued, and occupied him during his whole
life, and that before the eyes of Europe. The other
appeared upon the scene but a few instants. To do their
common work, Voltaire was granted years and Mirabeau
days ; yet Mirabeau has not done less than Voltaire.
Each attacked the life of the social body after his fashion.
Voltaire decomposed; Mirabeau crushed. The method
of Voltaire is in some sort chemical, that of Mirabeau is
entirely physical After Voltaire, a society is in a state

MIBABEAU. 373

of dissolution ; after Mirabeau, it is dust Voltaire is an
acid, Mirabeau a club.

VIL

IF now, in order to complete the sketch we have en-
deavoured to give of Mirabeau and his epoch, we give
a glance to our own situation, it is easy to see, on view-
ing the point the social movement begun in '89 has
reached to-day, that we shall no longer have men like
Mirabeau ; nor can any one tell us what proportions the
great statesmen reserved for us by the future, may
take.

The Mirabeaus are no longer necessary ; besides, they
are no longer possible.

Providence does not create such men when they are
useless. It does not fling such seed to the wind.

And in fact, what service could a Mirabeau render
now ? A Mirabeau is a thunderbolt ; what is there to
strike with the thunder ? Where are there objects in the
political regions so highly placed that they attract the
thunder ? We are no longer in 1789, when inequalities
in the social order were so enormous.

To-day the soil is pretty nearly level ; everything is
smooth, open, and even. A tempest like Mirabeau pass-
ing over us would not find a single summit on which to
lay hold.

But we must not say that, because we shall no longer
need a Mirabeau, therefore, we no longer need great men.
Quite the reverse. There is surely much work to be done
yet Everything has been unmade, nothing has been
made anew.

In times like those in which we live, the party of the
future is divided into two classes, the men of revolution
and the men of progress. It is the men of revolution

374 ESSAYS.

who tear up the old political ground, dig the furrow and
scatter the seed ; but their day is short To the men of
progress belong the slow and laborious culture of princi-
ples, the study of the seasons favourable to the grafting
of such and such an idea, the watering of the young
plant, the manuring of the soil, the harvest for all. They
are bent and patient, under sun or rain, in the public field,
removing the stones from that land covered with ruins,
grubbing up the stumps of the past, which still keep
their hold here and there, uprooting the dead stocks of
the old rtgimes, hoeing out abuses, those weeds that
grow so quick in all the swamps of the law. To do this
they require a good eye, a good foot, and a good hand.
Worthy and conscientious toilers, often very badly
paid!

Now, in our opinion, the men of the revolution have
accomplished their task at this very time. They have
recently had their Three Days of July. Let them, then,
permit the men of progress to accomplish theirs. After
the furrow, the ear of corn.

Mirabeau was the great man of revolution. We want
now the great man of progress.

We will have him. France has too important an initi-
ative in the civilization of the globe, to ever experience
the need of special men for her special work. France is
the majestic mother of all the ideas that are to-day doing
their mission among all the nations. We may say that
France, for two centuries, has been feeding the nations
with the milk of her breasts. The blood of the great
nation is generous and rich and her womb fruitful ; her
supply of genius is inexhaustible ; she draws out of her
bosom all the great intellects she needs ; she has always
men who rise to the height of her issues ; and when the
occasion calls, she lacks neither Mirabeaus to begin her
revolutions nor Bonapartes to end them.

MIBABEAU. 375

Providence is sure not to refuse the great social man
she feels the want of ; the political man she requires no
longer.

While hoping for his advent, we must admit that the
men who are making history to-day are, with very few
exceptions, small; undoubtedly the great bodies of the
State lack general ideas and broad sympathies, and it is
sad that they should do so ; undoubtedly it is melancholy
to see the time that should be employed in rearing struc-
tures employed in mere plastering; undoubtedly it is
strange men should forget that the true sovereignty is
that of the intellect, that, above all, the masses should be
enlightened, and that when the people shall be intelli-
gent, then only shall it be sovereign ; undoubtedly it is
shameful that the magnificent premises of '89 should
have brought in their train certain corollaries, just as
the head of the mermaid brings in its train the tail of
the fish, and that bricklayers should have laid so many
laws of plaster over walls of granite ; undoubtedly it is
deplorable that the French Revolution should have so
many unskilful accoucheurs ; undoubtedly all this is to
be lamented.

But nothing has yet been done that cannot be repaired.
No essential principle has been stifled in the revolution*
ary childbirth ; no abortion has taken place ; all the ideas
important to future civilization have been born with a
capacity for living, and are each endowed with strength,
beauty, and health. Assuredly, when 1814 arrived, all
these ideas, the daughters of the Revolution, were still
very young and very small, and, indeed, quite in the
cradle ; and the restoration was, we must admit, but a
lean and sorry nurse for them. But we must admit
also that she killed none of them. The group of princi-
ples is complete.

All criticism is possible at the present hour; still, the

376 ESSAYS.

wise man ought to view his whole epoch with a benevo-
lent eye. He ought to hope, to trust, to wait He ought
to have consideration for the men of theory, on account
of the slowness with which they urge their ideas ; for the
men of practice, on account of their narrow and useful
love of the things that are, without which successive
experiments would disorganize society ; for the passions,
with their fruitful and generous digressions; for self-
interest, because its calculations, in the absence of creeds,
bind the classes together ; for governments, on account
of their tentative gropings in the dark towards the gen-
eral good; for the opposing parties, because the goad
they have ever in their hands force the oxen to trace the
furrow ; for the moderate parties, because of the mildness
they bring to transitions; for the extreme parties, be-
cause of the activity they give to the circulation of ideas,
which are the life-blood of civilization; for the friends
of the past, because of the care they take of such roots as
still live ; for the zealots of the future, because of their
love of those fine flowers which will one day be fine
fruits ; for middle-aged men, because of their moderation;
for young men, because of their patience ; for some, on
account of what they are doing ; for others, on account
of what they wish to do ; for all, on account of the diffi-
culty of everything.

Nor shall we deny either all that is stormy and
troubled in the age in which we live. Most of the men
who are doing something in the State do not know what
they are doing. They are working in the night, and do
not see. To-morrow, when it is day, they will be, per-
haps, surprised at their work. Charmed or frightened,
who knows? There is no longer anything settled in
political science. All compasses are lost; society is
dragging its anchors ; during the last twenty years that
great mast which is called dynasty, and which is always

MEBABEAU. 377

the first stricken by the lightning, has been changed
three times.

The final law of anything is not yet revealed. The
government, such as it is, is not the affirmation of any-
thing ; the press, otherwise so great and useful, is only
the perpetual negation of everything. No clear formula
of civilization and progress has so far been drawn up.

The French Revolution opened for all social theories
an immense book, a sort of grand testament There
Mirabeau wrote his word, Robespierre his, Napoleon his.
Louis XVIII. made an erasure, Charles IX. tore out a
page. The Chamber of the 2d of August pasted it in
again, almost; but this is all. The book is there, the
pen is there. Who will dare write ?

The men of the present seem of little account, no
doubt; yet every one who thinks ought to fix on the
present effervescence an attentive look.

Certainly, our confidence is firm and our hope assured.

Who among us does not feel, amid the tumult and
the tempest, amid the conflicts of all the systems and all
the ambitions that raise so much smoke and dust, that
under yonder veil still hiding from our eyes the social
and providential statue hardly yet hewn, behind that
cloud of theories, passions, and chimeras, crossing, jostling,
and devouring one another in the fog lit up only by their
flashes, beyond that sound of the human word which
speaks all tongues at the same time through all mouths,
under that violent whirlwind of things, men, and ideas
called the nineteenth century, who does not feel that
something great is being accomplished ?

God remains calm and does his work.

THE END.

53 So\