used formerly to be tumblers; but the people's amusements have changed, though the people must still be amused.

And, at last we have come to the silent and tranquil Boulevard of the agitated and turbulent Beaumarchais; and behind are the tall palaces of dark-red brick, and the low and gloomy arcades of the Place Royale, where you find the old-fashioned magistrate, the old-fashioned merchant, the retired respectability of Paris: and yonder-before us is the memorable spot, witness of the first excesses and the first triumphs of the Revolution-but the spectres of its old time are vanished, and the eye which rests upon the statue of yonder gigantic and sagacious animal,* tries to legitimatize the monument—by considering it as a type of the great people who raised the barricades in July, 1830, and overthrew the Bastille in July, 1789.

And now, my dear, reader, in parading you thus systematically from the Madelaine to the Temple, I have given you the best introduction, I believe, to Paris and its population. If you want to know the people of Paris, you must seek them abroad. They love the sun, and the air, and the sauntering stroll; they love, if it be only for a moment, to glide across the broad street-amidst the turnings and windings of which, society changes its colours at every instant, like the shifting forms of a kaleidescope: the idle loiter there for amusement, the busy steal there for distraction.. Besides, it is not only the present I have been showing you: I do not know where you may better study the past. What has not even our own generation looked on from yonder windows? Robespierre, Barras, Bonaparte, the Republic, the Directory, the Empire-have all passed in triumph and defeat before them. .


'By twelve o'clock at noon the Boulevards were crowded with people of every class, all appearing in high spirits; the number of white cockades increased; many of them wore only bits of white handkerchiefs, bits of white paper, Vivent nos libérateurs!” “Vivent les Bourbons!" I put down the book I was reading the other morning (" Events at Paris in 1814") at this passage, and went out to see Louis Philippe reviewing the very men who had driven these same Bourbons into exile. The

* The elephant.

Boulevards now too, were crowed with people of all classes, appearing in high spirits; and, looking down the street, I saw the straight red feather and the white belt mingling with the scarf, and the shawl, and the plain cap, and the splendid bonnet. The new king was on horseback, smiling graciously on his faithful people; and behind him rode the prince, on whose head repose the future destinies of France—as gay, as handsome, as full of hope, as the Comte d'Artois in the reign of Louis XV.


Every thing in Paris that is remarkable, remarkable for its gaiety.—Evening there in 1830, in the Palais Royal.-The Jubilee of the Revolution.-The King of the middle classes had his palace supported by shops.-Fète Napolitaine.-Vicissitudes of history.-Description of the Palais Royal, and changes. Gambling houses; description from M. Balzac.-Must civilization be accompanied by its curses?...

THERE are countries in which you may yet find a few of those solemn temples which defy the destruction of time, and the imitation of man. In Italy, in Greece, and in Asia, there are shrines at which your footsteps too fondly linger: in the silence of the great place of St. Mark, in the solitudes that surround the Coliseum, you feel the mystery of the spot, and sigh for the pleasant days of Venice-for the virtue and the glory of the antique Rome. It is not the magnificence of these scenes: it is their melancholy-the melancholy that magnificence has left which sinks into your soul, and enchants you with the hue of by-gone memories-of hopes and happiness no more. There is nothing of this here: whatever is most remarkable in Paris is remarkable for its gaiety. This is why I spoke of the boulevards: this is why I now speak of the Palais Royal.—It will be long before I forget an evening that I spent there in the beginning of August, 1830. I had come from the quiet corners of the city, more and more struck at every step by the tranquillity into which a revolution could so suddenly subside. It

could hardly be said there was a government, and there seemed nothing to require one: the storm that had raised the barricade and swept over the throne, was lulled completely to rest. The poor population of the distant faubourgs slept in forgetfulness of the recent triumphs they had won; and the streets through which I had passed were lone and silent, and traversed by no light, save that of the pale réverbère. It was fresh from this dim and solitary walk, that I burst at once upon the splendour and the crowds of the Palais Royal. Every chair, every stone bench was occupied, and, instead of the dark and deserted street, I found myself lost in an immense throng, and bewildered by a blaze of light, which ostentatiously displayed shawls and silks, and gold and silver, and crystal and precious stones; and amidst this gorgeous and confused glitter, sate in sedate satisfaction the epicurean rentier, now recounting to his wife the change that was to be made in the new uniform of the garde nationale-now pointing out some pupil of the polytechnic school, or some dark-haired student of the école de droit, who had been particularly conspicuous at the spot where he himself had performed miracles: and the waiters rushed from side to side, bustling, shouting; and the laugh, and the gay voice in which the Frenchman tells the tale of his exploits, resounded everywhere.

It was impossible not to connect the festivity around me with the events of the three days preceding: it was impossible not to imagine I was present at the jubilee of the new regime: and in each accent of gaiety I fancied there was to be discerned a peculiar tone, and in each look of joy I fancied there could be read a peculiar expression-and what place more proper to celebrate the triumphs of July? Installed amidst the commercial opulence around me, was at that time the residence of the citizen king-the monarch of the middle classes; his palace was supported by shops; his wealth was connected with the wealth, and his fortune supplied by the fortune of the tailor, the watchmaker, the jeweller, and the restaurant: France, in reconstituting her monarchy, had meetly and involuntarily taken the counter as a substitute for the buckler-noble cradle of her military kings! But two months before, and the


* The chairs alone give a revenue of 80,000 francs.



windows of the palace, which at that moment were dark and gloomy, blazed with light! The royal exile of Cherbourg, then in all the pageantry of power, had deigned for the first time to visit the cousin who now sat upon his throne. More than one branch of the Bourbons were assembled on the eve of that catastrophe which was to affect the order of their race. The fête given was in honour of the King of Naples. "C'est une fête toute Napolitaine, Monseigneur," said Monsieur de Salvandy; "nous dansons sur un volcan.” *

• “C'est une fête toute Napolitaine, Monseigneur," said M. de Salvandy; nous dansons sur un volcan." And brilliant must have been that fête! extending from the terrace to the trees, from arcade to arcade, the lights of the palace confounded themselves with the lights of the vast amphitheatre around, and mingling the prince with the people, the monarch with the mob, in one confused blaze-you saw the court, the city-the two parties in presence who were soon to dispute the victory. At this fête a conversation took place, so singular and so interesting that, having mentioned the fête, I cannot omit it. I give it as M. de Salvandy has himself related it:

"It took place as the consequence of the bon-mot, 'C'est une fête toute Napolitaine, Monseigneur nous dansons sur un volcan.' : The Prince (Duc d'Orléans), standing behind the fauteuils of the Princesses and the King, seized my arm quickly as I said this; and doing me the honour to draw me towards him, 'That there is a volcano,' said his Royal Highness, 'I believe as well as you; and at all events the fault is no fault of mine: I shall not have to reproach myself for allowing the bandage to remain unlifted that covers the King's eyes. But what can one do? nothing is listened to, and God only knows where this will lead us.'

"Far! Monseigneur, it will lead us far!-that is my conviction. I feel also in the midst of this fête, so animated and so beautiful, a profound sentiment of sorrow: I ask myself where in six months will be this brilliant society? where will be these crowds so joyous, that Princess so gay (alluding to Madame la duchess de Berri, who was 'galloping' with Count Rodolph d'Appony), where in fact will be our country? Within six months, we shall probably be divided into the proscribed and the proscribing.

"Certes,' answered his Royal Highness, 'I do not know what will happen; I do not know where those you speak of will be in six months: but I know where I shall be, whatever comes. I and my family will remain in this palace; it is enough to have been twice an exile through the faults of others. Whatever be the dangers, I shall not move from this spot: I shall not separate my lot and the lot of my children from the fate of my country. What I say to you I make no secret of elsewhere; lately, indeed, at Rosny, I said pretty fully what I think of all this; and there is the King of Naples, who was with us, and who saw clearly our position. That Prince, whom you see so broken, and who nevertheless is four years younger than I am, is a man of a good deal of sense; circumstances oblige him to be an absolute king,” (Austrian bayonets), "but his own inclinations would have led him differently. He has made, I assure you, some very sensible observations. By the by, we spoke at Rosny of some remarks of yours.'

Such are the vicissitudes of history!-The same Richelieu who tore down the pillars of the ancient monarchy, built the

"I said that I was convinced that the monarchy was falling, and that I was not less convinced that the fall of the throne would compromise for a hundred years the prosperity and the liberty of France.

"In afflicting myself as much as you can do,' said the Prince, 'at the conduct whch the King is pursuing, I am not so frightened as you are at its probable results. There is in France a strong love of order-that France which the government will not understand, is excellent, is admirable; see how the law is respected amidst so many provocations! The experience of the Revolution (1789) is present to all; its conquests, its follies, and its crimes are detested. I am convinced that a new Revolution would in no respects resemble that which we have seen.'

"Monseigneur, that is to believe in a Revolution of 1688. But when England departed from the path of legitimacy, the aristocracy remained as an element of order; with us there is no aristocracy to be called an aristocracy, and what there is of one will perish with the Bourbons; every thing will again be smoothed down to a level, and I do not think a pure democracy capable of founding any thing that is to have duration.'

"Monsieur de Salvandy, you do not do justice to the effect of that diffusion of intelligence which follows the diffusion of fortunes. The world has completely changed since forty years; the middle classes are not all society, but they form its force, they have a constant interest in order, and they join to that knowledge which communicates the wants of a great empire that power necessary to combat and suppress bad passions. Jacobinism is impossible where the greater portion of the community have possessions to lose.

""I have always thought, Monseigneur, and I still maintain the same opinion, that it is a dangerous error to consider that property alone is the guarantee of a desire for order. Property with us is so divided that it has its multitude, envious of every superior and inimical to every power. I should fear that that multitude being the most numerous party, and always disposed to satisfy its hatred of the higher classes, would soon, by its levelling schemes, · bring us to anarchy-if anarchy were not the commencement of the new regime.'

"Monsieur de Salvandy, believe me, all that the country wants is the sincere establishment of a constitutional government,—this is all it asks: the evil has arrived from the impossibility, among certain persons, of accepting at once, et de bonne foi, all the results of the Revolution, and of the Charta more particularly. The faults of the last Revolution sprang from the false distribution of rank and fortune, which was united with the wretched education that characterized the ancient regime. We have left all that behind us. My political religion consists in the belief, that with constitutional opinions all may be directed right. These principles I have always held. When an exile, at the Court of Sicily, I was asked, in order to obtain my wife, to make certain concessions. I declared that my opinions were invariable, that in those opinions I would bring up my children, and that I would do this as much for their interest as for a love of truth. The misfortune of princes is, that they do not know the people, and that they entertain and cherish ideas and opinions different from those whom they govern. This is why I gave a public education to my sons; and in every respect it has succeeded. I wished them at once to be princes and citizens. I wished that they should not deem themselves a

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