It would seem, however, that Charles X., who twice before had been driven into exile, did by no means relinquish the idea of regaining the crown for his family. In taking leave of Prince Polignac, who more than any one else was responsible for the obnoxious ordinances, he said:
"I recollect only your courage. I do not impute to you our misfortunes. Our cause was that of God, of the throne, and of the people. Providence often proves its servants by suffering, and defeats the best designs for reasons superior to what our limited faculties can discern. But it never deceives upright consciences. Nothing is yet lost for our house. I go to combat with one hand, and to negotiate with the other. Retire behind the Loire, where you will find an asylum from the vengeance of the people in the midst of my army, which has orders to assemble at Chartres."
"Charles X.," writes Louis Blanc, "was tranquil. The aspect of the dauphine in tears, of his woe-begone courtiers, and of the two children of the Duchess de Berri, who, in their ignorance, found amusement in the novelty of every thing about them—to all this he was insensible, or at least resigned. But the sight of a bit of tri-colored ribbon, or a slight neglect of etiquette, was enough to excite his petulance. It was necessary, in the small town of L'Aigle, to have a square table made, according to court usage, for the dinner of a monarch who was losing an empire. Thus he showed, combined in his person, that excess of grandeur and of littleness which is acquired from the practice of royalty."
Journey to Cherbourg.
The journey to Cherbourg was sad and solemn. The two princesses, the Duchess d'Angoulême and the Duchess de Berri, walked when the weather was fine. Their dress was very much neglected, because their attendants had not been able to bring away linen or clothes. A grave and pensive expression sat on the faces of the beholders wherever the cortége passed. Some officers presented themselves on the road, bowing in homage to expiring royalty. "Gentlemen," said the king, "keep those worthy sentiments for that child, who alone can save you all;" and he pointed to the little flaxen-haired head of the Duke of Bordeaux, at the window of a carriage following his own.
Arrival at Cherbourg.
When the melancholy cortége, consisting of a long train of carriages, reached the cliffs of Cherbourg, they beheld the ocean spread out in its apparently illimitable expanse before them. Here they halted. For a moment dismay filled their hearts; for the advance couriers came galloping back with the tidings that a numerous band of armed insurgents, a tumultuous mob, with shoutings like the roarings of the sea, were advancing to assail the royal party. The king and his son, the Duke d'Angoulême, hastily stepped from their carriages, and, mounting horses, reached Cherbourg in safety. The ladies and children were not molested save from the fright which they experienced.
An immense crowd thronged the streets of Cherbourg, raising revolutionary cries, while the tri-color flags seemed to float from every window. The port is separated from the town by a strong, circular iron railing. The marine gate-way was guarded by some grenadiers, who closed it as soon as the royal carriages, with the small accompanying guard, had entered. Within this inclosure no tri-color flag was seen, no word of reproach was uttered.
Embarkation.
Thousands crowded to the railing, eagerly looking through the bars upon the tragedy which was transpiring. The royal party alighted at a small bridge, carpeted with blue cloth. The dauphine, who had passed through so many scenes of woe, nearly fainted as with trembling steps she entered the ship which was to bear her again to exile, and an exile from which death alone could release her. The Duchess de Berri assumed an air of indignation and defiance, characteristic of her Neapolitan blood. The little Duke of Bordeaux, now called the Count de Chambord, in behalf of whom Charles X. had abdicated, and who was consequently now regarded by all the court party as their lawful sovereign, was carried in the arms of M. de Dumas, who was very apprehensive lest the bullet of some assassin might pierce him. The king sufficiently controlled his feelings to appear calm as ever.