“Your Serene Highness must not leave us,” he cried; “the people are irritated for a moment against their prince, but happier days will come.”
“I can stop if I please, Abbé Ramin,” I replied, “but only either by firing upon the people, or by blockading them and depriving the women and children of the upper town of their daily bread. I will do neither.”
“History will speak of your Highness as your Highness deserves!”
“My dear friend—for I believe you are my only friend in Monaco—I thank you for coming to bid me farewell, but don’t talk of history, for history will only declare me to have been an obstinate young fool.”
We moved off slowly down the hill amid the hisses of the crowd. The sergeants formed square upon the quay, I embraced Colonel Jacquemet and the Abbé, stepped into the gig, and in a minute was on board. Steam was up, and the next evening I landed at Marseilles.
By a telegram from the Abbé I learnt that an informal vote of the adult male inhabitants of the principality had been taken that day, and that the result was this:—
1131—Oui.
1—Non.
The Non was M. Blanc, who, being a Frenchman, ought not to have been allowed to vote at all. I heard afterwards that on learning my departure he had pronounced the following epitaph upon me:—
“Ah le jeune homme est parti. Je m’y attendais. Il aimait la liberté celui là.”