The Comte d’Artois, at that time out of Paris and in no recognised position, insisted on appearing in the capital; and, Napoleon having abdicated on the 11th, he executed his intention on the 12th, assuming the title of “Lieutenant-general of the Kingdom,” a title which he pretended to have received from his brother, but which his brother, it appears, had never given him.
Nothing could be more awkward than the position thus created: Louis XVIII. was not yet sovereign by any national act; and yet the Comte d’Artois pretended that he was invested with royal authority by Louis XVIII.
To establish as a right the Bourbon monarchy, was by no means the intention of those who had called back the Bourbon family; and yet they had so compromised themselves to the Bourbon cause, that it was no easy matter to recede from the ground they stood upon. The resolution to be taken had to be immediate. Should the existing authorities assist at the Comte d’Artois’ entry or not? M. de Talleyrand and the provisional government did assist, for their abstinence would have been a scandal; the Senate did not assist, for its presence would have stultified its previous decisions.
I am led to insert an animated account of this entry, not only because it is painted with the colouring of an eye-witness; but because it gives an amusing description of the concoction of a celebrated bon mot, which was not without its effect on the early popularity of the prince to whom it was attributed.[62]
“Next morning (12th of April), we marched out to meet the prince. It was one of those lovely days of early spring which are so delightful in the climate of Paris. The sun was shining with all its splendour, and on every side the tender buds were sprouting under the influence of its subdued and genial warmth. There were flowers already half blown, and the soft green was just beginning to peep from the trees, while the spring notes of birds, the joyous expression of every face, our march enlivened by the dear old tune of good King Henry, all served to mark out this day as a festival of Hope. There was little order in our ranks, but many shed tears. As soon as Monsieur was in sight, M. de Talleyrand advanced to welcome him, and, leaning against the prince’s horse with that indolent grace, which the weakness of his legs excused, he paid him a short compliment, remarkable for its delicacy and good taste. Feeling that Frenchmen were pressing him on all sides, the prince was too affected to make him a reply, but said with a voice stifled by sobs, ‘Monsieur de Talleyrand, gentlemen.—Thank you—I am too happy—Let us proceed, let us proceed—I am too happy!’
“Since then, we have heard the same prince reply to speeches with presence of mind and effect: but, to those who saw and heard him the day of his entry into Paris, he has never been so eloquent as on that occasion. We now proceeded in the direction of Notre-Dame, according to the old custom of going, after every joyful event, to the most venerable church of Paris, in order to offer solemnly to God the grateful homage of the French nation. The procession was principally composed of National Guards, but it also contained Russian, Prussian, Austrian, Spanish, and Portuguese officers, and the prince at their head appeared like an angel of peace descended into the midst of the great European family. From the Barrière de Bondy to the Parvis Notre-Dame, faces beaming with joy were seen at every window. The streets were crowded with people who pressed round the prince with shouts of applause. It was difficult for him to advance in the midst of such general enthusiasm, but when some one attempted to clear the way by removing this pleasing impediment, he exclaimed, ‘Never mind, sir, never mind, we have plenty of time before us.’ Thus was the prince borne along to Notre-Dame, if I may be allowed the expression, on the hearts of Frenchmen. After entering the sanctuary, when he cast himself down before the altar, which had received during so many centuries the prayers of his fathers, a vivid ray of light fell upon his countenance, and made it appear almost heavenly. He prayed fervently, and we all did the same. The tears trickled down our cheeks, and they escaped from the eyes even of the foreigners. Oh! how sincerely, how fervently was each verse of the hymn of gratitude upraised to Heaven! When the ceremony was concluded, several of the prince’s old servants, who had bewailed his absence during thirty years, came to embrace his knees, and he raised them up with that heart-sprung grace so touching and so natural to him. The return from Notre-Dame to the Tuileries was no less animated and happy; and when he had reached the court of the palace, the prince dismounted, and turning to the National Guard, addressed them in a speech perfectly suited to the occasion. He shook hands with several of the officers and men, begging them to remember this happy day, and protesting that he himself would never forget it. I ordered the palace doors to be opened for the prince, and had the honour of showing him into the wing which he was to inhabit.
“I asked him to give me his orders for the rest of the day, and to tell me the hour at which I should present myself the next morning. He seemed to hesitate whether he would dismiss or retain me. I thought I could perceive that this arose from kindly feeling, so I told him that I should be afraid of troubling him an instant longer, as he must be fatigued, and it was to me that he replied, ‘How can I possibly be fatigued? This is the only happy day I have enjoyed for thirty years. Ah! sir, what a delightful day! Say that I am pleased and satisfied with everybody. These are my orders for to-day. To-morrow morning, at nine o’clock.’
“After leaving the prince, I resumed my usual occupation, and quitted it at about eleven o’clock in the evening, to go to M. de Talleyrand’s. I found him discussing the events of the past day with MM. Pasquier, Dupont de Némours, and Anglès. They all agreed that it had been a complete success. M. de Talleyrand reminded us that an article would have to be written for the Moniteur. Dupont offered to do it. ‘No, no,’ replied M. de Talleyrand, ‘you would make it too poetical; I know you well: Beugnot will do for that; I dare say that he will step into the library, and knock us off an article in a moment.’
“I sat down to my work, which was not very difficult: but when the prince’s answer to M. de Talleyrand had to be mentioned, I did not know what to do. A few words, springing from a deep emotion, make effect by the manner in which they are spoken, and by the presence of the objects which have suggested them; but, when they have to be reproduced on paper, stripped of these accompaniments, they remain cold, and it is very lucky if they are not ridiculous. I returned to M. de Talleyrand, and informed him of the difficulty. ‘Let us see,’ he answered, ‘what Monsieur did say; I did not catch much; he appeared to me to be affected, and very anxious to continue his journey; but, if what he said does not suit you, invent an answer for him.’ ‘But how can I make a speech that Monsieur never pronounced?’ ‘There is no difficulty about that; make it good, suitable to the person and to the occasion, and I promise you that Monsieur will accept it, and so well, that in two days he will believe he made it himself; and he will have made it himself; you will no longer have had anything to do with it.’ Capital! I returned and attempted my first version, and brought it to be approved. ‘That won’t do,’ said M. de Talleyrand, ‘Monsieur never makes antitheses, nor does he use the slightest rhetorical flourish. Be brief, be plain, and say what is best suited to the speaker and to his audience: that’s all.’ ‘It seems to me,’ replied M. Pasquier, ‘that what is troubling a good many minds, is the fear of changes, which would be brought about by the return of the princes of the house of Bourbon; that point would perhaps have to be touched, but delicately.’ ‘Good! and I also recommend it to you,’ said M. de Talleyrand. I attempt a new version, and am sent back a second time, for having made it too long and too elaborate. At last I am delivered of the one inserted in the Moniteur, in which I make the prince say, ‘No more discord; Peace and France; at last I revisit my native land; nothing is changed, except it be that there is one Frenchman the more.’ ‘This time I give in!’ exclaimed the great censor. ‘That is what Monsieur said, and I answer for it having been pronounced by him; you need not trouble yourself any longer.’ And in fact the speech turned out a regular success: the newspapers took it up as a lucky hit; it was also repeated as an engagement taken by the prince; and the expression, ‘One Frenchman more!’ became the necessary password of the harangues, which began to pour in from all quarters. The prince did not disdain commenting upon it in his answers: and M. de Talleyrand’s prophecy was fully accomplished.”