The duchess in the Chamber of Deputies.
With hurried steps and anxious hearts the royal party pressed on through the throng which choked all the avenues to the palace. They seem to have been partially recognized, for a noisy crowd followed their footsteps. The princess led her eldest son, the Count de Paris, by the hand. The youngest, the Duke de Chartres, was carried in the arms of an aid-de-camp. M. Dupin walked upon one side of the princess, and the Duke de Nemours upon the other. Safely they crossed the bridge and entered the hotel of the Deputies. All was agitation and confusion there. M. Dupin repaired to the hall of session, and, ascending the tribune, announced that the king had abdicated in favor of his grandson. In a brief, earnest speech he urged the claims of the Count de Paris as king, under the regency of the Duchess of Orleans, his mother. This speech created a momentary enthusiasm. By acclamation it was voted that the resignation of the king should be accepted, and that the Count de Paris should be recognized as lawful sovereign, under the regency of the duchess. Just then Lamartine came in.
Lamartine, notwithstanding the brilliance of his talents and the purity of his character, was by no means insensible to flattery, or to the suggestions of ambition. It is said that a group of Republicans had but a moment before met him at the entrance of the building, with the assurance that a Republic was inevitable, and that all the Republicans were looking to him as their leader and future President. These assurances may not have swayed his judgment. But many who had supposed that his strong predelictions were for royalty were not a little surprised when he ascended the tribune, and said,
Speech of Lamartine.
"There is but one way to save the people from the danger which a revolution, in our present social state, threatens instantly to introduce, and that is to trust ourselves to the force of the people themselves—to their reason, their interests, their aims. It is a republic which we require. Yes, it is a Republic which alone can save us from anarchy, civil war, foreign war, spoliation, the scaffold, destruction of property, the overthrow of society, the invasion of foreigners. The remedy is heroic. I know it. But there are occasions, such as those in which we live, when the only safe policy is that which is grand and audacious as the crisis itself."
Scene in the Chamber.
As Lamartine left the tribune, M. Thiers entered, flushed with excitement. All eyes were anxiously fixed upon him. Taking his place in the tribune, he simply remarked, "The tide is rising," at the same time, with dramatic gesture, lifting his hat above his head. As he again disappeared in the crowd, there was a general increase of alarm. It was manifest to all that affairs were now sweeping along in a swollen current which human sagacity could but feebly control. The roar of the throng surging around the hall filled the air. The strongest minds were appalled.
Entrance of the duchess.
Just then the folding-doors of the Chamber were thrown open, and the Duchess of Orleans, leading the Count de Paris by one hand and the Duke de Chartres by the other, was ushered in. Lamartine, an eye-witness, gives the following account of the scene: "A respectful silence immediately ensued. The Deputies, in deep anxiety, crowded around the august princess, and the strangers in the gallery leaned over, hoping to catch some words which might fall from her lips. She was dressed in mourning. Her veil, partially raised, disclosed a countenance the emotion and melancholy of which enhanced the charms of youth and beauty. Her pale cheeks were marked by the tears of the widow, the anxieties of the mother. No man could look on her countenance without being moved. Every feeling of resentment against the monarchy faded away before the spectacle. The blue eyes of the princess wandered over the hall as if to implore aid, and were, for a moment, dazzled. Her slight and fragile form inclined before the sound of the applause with which she was greeted. A slight blush, the mark of the revival of hope in her bosom, tinged her cheeks. The smile of gratitude was already on her lips. She felt that she was surrounded by friends. In her right hand she held the young king, in her left the Duke of Chartres—children to whom their own catastrophe was a spectacle. A white collar was turned down the neck of each, on his dark dress—living portraits of Vandyck, as if they had stepped out of the canvas, of the children of Charles I."
The rush of the mob.