“Still, there remained an immense distance to overleap before the crown could be grasped by the lieutenant-general. On the one hand, the republican party were howling with rage, to find the republic vanishing still further from their embrace—that dear-beloved republic, for whose sake they had rushed so blindly on the chances of a revolution. On the other side, the great mass of the citizens remained calm, and indifferent to the rise of another Bourbon. As to the party calling itself Carlist at the present day, it must have been very small indeed, for, in the hour of danger, it was invisible! The Orleans party, meanwhile, comprised all the leading members of the Opposition in both Chambers. At the head of this party was M. de Talleyrand, who, without exactly declaring himself in favour of the new dynasty, already directed all its movements, by the advice which he found means to transmit through a person in his confidence; for the barricades, by which the streets were still rendered impassable, prevented him from going in person to the Palais Royal.
“Nevertheless, M. de Talleyrand beheld with uneasiness the republicans beginning to profit by the kind of interregnum which followed the flight of Charles X. This party, with the perseverance which still characterises it, were every hour gaining ground. Already the populace, which, during the three days had shown itself so magnanimous, so disinterested and generous, was beginning almost to murmur at its victory, and to lend a greedy ear to the furious declamations of the jacobins of 1830. A little longer hesitation, and the re-establishment of royalty would have become a thing impossible without another direful struggle, in which it is not quite clear that the Orleans party would have been victorious. Already were the piazzas and the gardens of the Palais Royal echoing with inflammatory appeals to the sovereign people, to stand forth while yet it was time, and to take into its own hands the government of what were virtually and morally its own interests. The approaches to the Chamber of Deputies, where the famous declaration of the 7th of August was concocting, were crowded with fierce and savage-looking men, calling with bloodthirsty cries for the establishment of the Republic, and vociferating horrible menaces against those deputies who would dare to set up another throne; above all, to seat upon it another Bourbon. A crisis was imminent. The government which was sitting at the Palais Royal had the utmost difficulty in restraining the people, by dint of intoxicating its self-love and vanity with the praises bestowed with liberal hand each morning in the journals. The people were beginning to discover, meanwhile, that the victory which they had gained, and for which they were so lauded, gave them neither bread for their starving families, nor work whereby to earn it; and they who, after having broken the sceptre of royalty, thought to be freed from all control, could not support, without shuddering, the restraint which a government, unsanctioned by the popular voice, sought to impose upon them.
“Dreadful rumours of revolt and massacre were circulated on all sides, and the family of the Duke of Orleans were not without alarm for the very life of its chief. The moment, then, was come at last—the moment to decide. Charles X. was taking, without resistance, the road to a new exile. From that quarter, then, all danger ceased. The deputies, now gathered together in sufficient number to deliberate, had come to offer the crown to the lieutenant-general of the kingdom. M. de Talleyrand was consulted at this crisis, and he it was who caused the faint resistance of Louis Philippe to cease, and induced him to place upon his brow the crown offered by the people, and he it was whose opinion decided the king to go at once to the Hôtel de Ville, there to receive publicly the sceptre of France, and to swear allegiance to the Charter. This truth may be relied on; and, moreover, M. de Talleyrand, in order to give to the new power the sanction of his old experience, appeared at the public reception of the Palais Royal for the first time since the revolution.
“Such was the part played by M. de Talleyrand in the revolution of 1830. Immense it was, if judged by its results, but neither studied beforehand nor rehearsed, as it has been so often unjustly asserted since that day. This part, indeed, was so entirely impromptu, that many persons of the intimate circle of the prince know that, more than once, M. de Talleyrand has let fall a regret that Charles, in his blind folly, should have destroyed in three days the whole fabric of the Restoration, which had been looked upon by all Europe as the masterpiece of Talleyrand’s diplomatic works. The weakness of seigneurial pride, too, the only one which I think he ever possessed, will sometimes cause him to sigh over the wreck of that principle of legitimacy which he had been at so much pains to re-establish in favour of the Bourbons, a principle which he still considers necessary to the repose of the country, perhaps compromised for many generations by the events of the three glorious days. The lesson which such regrets imply, conveys, to the thinking mind, its own moral.”
CHAPTER III.
SEIZURE AND CONFINEMENT OF THE SPANISH PRINCES AT VALENÇAY.
While my friend had been thus discoursing of kings and revolutions, we had, after crossing a part of the park, turned in the court-yard, where stood the stables. I knew that the prince cared but little for his stud; I was surprised, therefore, when C. pulled the cord of the huge bell which hung at the entrance. At the sound, the groom, who was standing in the court, evidently knowing for what purpose he was summoned, flung back the wide doors of an outhouse near the gate.
“It is fit,” said C., laughing, “that, as our discourse is all of chance and change, of fallen kings and falling governments, we should now behold the very type of these: although, fallen and faded as it is, it may be regarded as the great lion of Valençay.”
Saying this, he stepped into the building, and I followed, and beheld, not, as I had imagined, some fine high-mettled racer, the gift of this or that sovereign, presented in gratitude for the services of the diplomate, but a sight far more interesting—a sight which carried me back to the days of Philip V. and Cardinal Olivarez.