Edmond Dantès
the passage, the King, leaning on the arm of his faithful wife, Marie
Amelie, and followed by the Royal party, crossed the Place de la
Concorde as far as the asphalt pavement. The Royal party now consisted
of the King and Queen, the Duchess of Nemours and her children, the
Princess Clementine and her husband, the Duke Augustus of Saxe-Coburg,
and the Duke of Montpensier with his young and lovely Spanish bride, now
enceinte and far advanced. Ignorant of the language, only sixteen years
of age, a stranger to the customs and people of the country, and in her
delicate situation, the position of this young creature was peculiarly
trying. At one moment she clung with terror to her young husband's arm,
which she refused for an instant to resign, and the next laughed at her
own terror, saying that one who in her infancy had twice, in Madrid,
been saved by being carried off in a sack ought not now to fear when she
had feet to carry herself away and was suffered to use them! It is said
that the fair Senora was forgotten in the hurry of the flight and almost
left behind!
As soon as the Royal party were perceived, they were surrounded by a
troop of National Guards as an escort, and a large number of officers of
the Line in various uniforms. The King leaned on the Queen, as if for
support, while she boldly advanced with a firm step and stern look. Both
were in deepest mourning for the recent death of the beloved sister of
the King, the Princess Adelaide.
Upon this melancholy procession the people gazed with mingled curiosity,
amusement, gratification and regret.
"They are going to the Chamber of Deputies to complete the abdication!"
cries one.
"Vive la Reforme!" shouts another.
"Vive la France!" shouts a second.
"Vive le Roi!" in suppressed tones falters a third.
"See the poor young Duchess!" cried a woman, who was availing herself of
her peculiar rotundity as a battering-ram to force her way through the
crowd.
"She had better have remained at home!" sneered a Dynastic bitterly.
"The poor little children!" exclaimed a young woman more remarkable for
prettiness than neatness, and more remarkable still for the scantiness
of her attire, nearly all of which had been torn from her rounded
shoulders in the throng.
The spirit which pervaded the mass was, evidently, by no means
unfriendly to the Royal family, and it was as evidently misunderstood by
them, for, suddenly, as if by fatality, on the very spot where Louis
XVI. was beheaded, just beyond the Pont Tournant, on the pavement of the
Obelisk of Luxor, the whole party, with no apparent necessity, came to a
dead and complete halt. Instantly the multitude was crowded upon them,
and this augmented their terror. The King dropped the Queen's arm and
hastily raising his hat cried, "Vive la Reforme!" All was in a moment
uproar and confusion. The Queen in terror at finding her husband's arm
was gone turned hurriedly on every side.
"Fear not, Madame," said a mild voice beside her. "The people will do
you no harm."
This was M. Maurice, editor of "Le Courrier des Spectacles."
"Leave me, leave me, Monsieur!" she exclaimed, in great excitement,
evidently mistaking the words. Then regaining her husband, she again
grasped his arm, and the mass at the same time opening its ranks, the
two hastened on to a couple of those little black one-horse vehicles,
chancing there to stand, which run to St. Cloud. In one of these already
sat the Duchesses of Montpensier and Nemours with two of the children.
In the other stood the two remaining children. Into the latter hurriedly
stepped the Royal pair. The door was instantly closed and the vehicle
drove off at a furious rate, surrounded by an escort of dragoons,
cuirassiers and National Guards, two hundred in number, taking the
water-side toward St. Cloud. The other carriage, similarly escorted,
followed at a like rapid pace, the children standing at the windows,
their faces pressed to the glass, gazing eagerly, with the innocent
curiosity of infancy, on a scene from which their future fate would take
shape.
"He is gone!" shouted a stentorian voice, breaking the momentary
stillness as the carriages, surrounded by their escort, swept from the
view.
"Let him go! Let him go!" was the stern and significant response. "We
are not regicides!"
"To the Tuileries! To the Tuileries!" was now the tremendous shout which
rose from the multitude, as they rushed toward the deserted palace.
But the Tuileries had already fallen. It was no longer the
dwelling-place of kings.
Even before the Royal abdication was declared, even before it was
signed, the troops of the Line in the courtyard of the palace--infantry,
artillery, dragoons--to the number at least of twenty-five thousand,
were summoned to surrender their posts, while the fraternal shout, "Vive
la Ligne!" elicited from the lips of many of the soldiers the answering
cry of "Vive la Reforme!" In vain was it that Marshal Bugeaud, the
veteran of a hundred battles, menaced and blasphemed. In vain did his
old protege and subaltern, but now bitter foe, General Lamoriciere,
dashing from one end of the line to the other on his white horse,
entreat and persuade with his eloquent tongue. The people insisted--the
National Guard fraternized--the Line wavered. And yet most imminent at
that moment was their own peril.
The 1st, 2d, 3d, 4th, 6th and 10th Legions of the National Guard
invested the Tuileries, and others were on the march, accompanied by
countless masses of the people. Within the courtyard were twenty-five
thousand of the best troops in the world of every arm, and a park of
ordnance charged to the muzzle frowned upon the dense masses which
swarmed the Place du Carrousel. The watchful artilleryman stood at his
cannon's breech, with the lighted linstock in his hand, which he kept
alive by constant motion. He awaited but a word from the pale, firm lips
of General Lamoriciere, and that vast and magnificent space now
swarming with life would have been swept as if by destruction's besom.
Death in all its most horrid forms would have been there. That pavement
would have run with gore! The facades of those splendid edifices would
have been polluted with shreds and fragments of human flesh, and
spattered with human blood. Yet dreadful would have been the sure
retribution! Indiscriminate massacre of all unfortunate souls within
that Royal palace would have been inevitable and instantaneous. Yet,
such a catastrophe might be precipitated by a single word!--the
avalanche might be started by a single breath; and blood once shed,
Paris would be deluged!
"In the name of the people I demand to speak with the commandant of the
Tuileries!" shouted a young man in the uniform of an officer of the
National Guard, advancing to the iron railing of the court near the Rue
de Rivoli.
It was Lieutenant Aubert Roche. The commandant was sent for and
immediately arrived.
"Monsieur, you are lost!" cried the young man.
"You are surrounded by sixty thousand men of the National Guard, and one
hundred thousand of the people of Paris!"
"What is demanded?" was the trembling response.
"That you evacuate the Tuileries!--resign it to the National Guard!"
"The troops shall be withdrawn, Monsieur. Orders for their retirement
to the palace shall be issued instantly."
"That will not do! The palace must be evacuated," insisted the
Lieutenant, "or the people will raze it to the ground!"
"Come with me, Monsieur," said the commandant.
The gate was immediately opened, and Lieutenant Roche, accompanied by M.
Leseur, chef de bataillon, bearing a flag of truce, followed the
commandant to the Pavillon de l'Horloge, where stood the Duke of
Nemours, pale with excitement, surrounded by generals.
"Monseigneur," said the commandant, "suffer me to present a deputation
from the people."
"Messieurs, what do the people demand?" asked the Duke in trembling
tones.
"The evacuation, this instant, of this palace, and its delivery to the
National Guard!"
"And if we do not comply?" asked Marshal Bugeaud, calmly.
"Then, Monsieur, you all are lost!" was the bold answer. "This palace is
surrounded by one hundred and sixty thousand men. The combat once begun
must be exterminating--must be a massacre! The 5th Legion of the
National Guard, to which I belong, is, at this moment, sacking the
Palais Royal. It may be here before we part!"
"The troops shall retire, Monsieur," said the Duke; and on the instant
orders for the retreat were issued.
The artillery went by the railing of the palace, and the staff and the
Duke of Nemours by the Pavillon de l'Horloge, their well-trained horses
descending the flight of steps. The cavalry followed, succeeded by the
infantry.
The National Guards were then introduced by Lieutenant Roche, and
entered the court of the Tuileries by the gate of the Rue de Rivoli,
their muskets shouldered, with the stock in the air. At the same moment
the abdication of the King was declared. General Lamoriciere had
resigned. The Ministry was dissolved. There was a tremendous shout, and
the conquerors of the Palais Royal rushed in to take possession of the
Tuileries!
CHAPTER XXII.
THE LAST SESSION OF THE CHAMBER OF DEPUTIES.
The usual hour for the opening of the Chamber of Deputies was three
o'clock; but the startling events of the last two days, and especially
of the last two hours, demanded that it should be convened earlier.
At one o'clock the President of the Chamber, Sauzet, took the chair. On
the left bank of the Seine all the approaches were open, save the
bridges of the Place de la Concorde, where strong detachments of cavalry
were posted on guard.
Within the Chamber all was solemnity. About three hundred members were
present. The opposition seemed joyous and confident, though anxious. The
conservative party was troubled. The Ministerial benches were deserted.
At half-past one the President turned round in his chair, and kept his
eye fixed upon a side door, as if expecting some one to enter. Suddenly
a bustle was heard in that direction, and the Duchess of Orleans, in
deep mourning, attended by her two sons and followed by the Dukes of
Montpensier and Nemours, entered. The latter was received with marked
expressions of dislike. The Count of Paris, garbed in complete black,
was conducted through the crowd to the space in front of the President's
chair; the Duchess followed and seated herself in a fauteuil upon the
same spot. On each side of her was one of her sons, and behind her stood
her brothers, the Dukes of Nemours and Montpensier. This position was
subsequently changed for one more distant, but otherwise remained
throughout relatively the same.
Being seated, the Duchess rose and bowed repeatedly to the assembly. At
the same moment an immense multitude of National Guards and the people
rushed in through the passages, and despite the shouts of the officers,
"You cannot enter!" the space beneath the tribune was instantly and
densely thronged. At the same time the public tribunes were invaded by a
second body of the people.
For some minutes the greatest uproar prevailed. At length it
comparatively ceased, and, in a moment of quiet, M. Dupin, who had
accompanied the Duchess of Orleans to the Chamber, ascended the tribune.
The stillness was instantly as great as had been the previous agitation.
"The King has abdicated," said M. Dupin. "The Count of Paris is
nominated as his successor and the Duchess of Orleans as Regent."
"It is too late!" shouted a man from the gallery of the people.
"The Count of Paris is proclaimed King by the Chamber and the Duchess of
Orleans Regent!' exclaimed the President.
"No--no--no!" was the almost unanimous shout that now rose in the
Chamber.
"I demand," cried M. Lamartine, "that the Royal family withdraw!"