Part 8 out of 9
fell to the ground with Don Beltran's dagger in her side.
"Death is better than dishonor!" cried the child, rolling on the
blood-stained marble pavement. "I--I spit upon thee, dog of a
Christian!" and with this, and with a savage laugh, she fell back
"Bear back this news, Jew, to the Alfaqui," howled the Don,
spurning the beauteous corpse with his foot. "I would not have
ransomed her for all the gold in Barbary!" And shuddering, the old
Jew left the apartment, which Ivanhoe quitted likewise.
When they were in the outer court, the knight said to the Jew,
"Isaac of York, dost thou not know me?" and threw back his hood,
and looked at the old man.
The old Jew stared wildly, rushed forward as if to seize his hand,
then started back, trembling convulsively, and clutching his
withered hands over his face, said, with a burst of grief, "Sir
Wilfrid of Ivanhoe!--no, no!--I do not know thee!"
"Holy mother! what has chanced?" said Ivanhoe, in his turn becoming
ghastly pale; "where is thy daughter--where is Rebecca?"
"Away from me!" said the old Jew, tottering. "Away Rebecca is--
. . . . . .
When the Disinherited Knight heard that fatal announcement, he fell
to the ground senseless, and was for some days as one perfectly
distraught with grief. He took no nourishment and uttered no word.
For weeks he did not relapse out of his moody silence, and when he
came partially to himself again, it was to bid his people to horse,
in a hollow voice, and to make a foray against the Moors. Day
after day he issued out against these infidels, and did nought but
slay and slay. He took no plunder as other knights did, but left
that to his followers; he uttered no war-cry, as was the manner of
chivalry, and he gave no quarter, insomuch that the "silent knight"
became the dread of all the Paynims of Granada and Andalusia, and
more fell by his lance than by that of any the most clamorous
captains of the troops in arms against them. Thus the tide of
battle turned, and the Arab historian, El Makary, recounts how, at
the great battle of Al Akab, called by the Spaniards Las Navas, the
Christians retrieved their defeat at Alarcos, and absolutely killed
half a milllion of Mahometans. Fifty thousand of these, of course,
Don Wilfrid took to his own lance; and it was remarked that the
melancholy warrior seemed somewhat more easy in spirits after that
famous feat of arms.
THE END OF THE PERFORMANCE.
In a short time the terrible Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe had killed off
so many of the Moors, that though those unbelieving miscreants
poured continual reinforcements into Spain from Barbary, they could
make no head against the Christian forces, and in fact came into
battle quite discouraged at the notion of meeting the dreadful
silent knight. It was commonly believed amongst them, that the
famous Malek Ric, Richard of England, the conqueror of Saladin, had
come to life again, and was battling in the Spanish hosts--that
this, his second life, was a charmed one, and his body inaccessible
to blow of scimitar or thrust of spear--that after battle he ate
the hearts and drank the blood of many young Moors for his supper:
a thousand wild legends were told of Ivanhoe, indeed, so that the
Morisco warriors came half vanquished into the field, and fell an
easy prey to the Spaniards, who cut away among them without mercy.
And although none of the Spanish historians whom I have consulted
make mention of Sir Wilfrid as the real author of the numerous
triumphs which now graced the arms of the good cause, this is not
in the least to be wondered at, in a nation that has always been
notorious for bragging, and for the non-payment of their debts of
gratitude as of their other obligations, and that writes histories
of the Peninsular war with the Emperor Napoleon, without making the
slightest mention of his Grace the Duke of Wellington, or of the
part taken by BRITISH VALOR in that transaction. Well, it must be
confessed, on the other hand, that we brag enough of our fathers'
feats in those campaigns: but this is not the subject at present
To be brief, Ivanhoe made such short work with the unbelievers,
that the monarch of Aragon, King Don Jayme, saw himself speedily
enabled to besiege the city of Valencia, the last stronghold which
the Moors had in his dominions, and garrisoned by many thousands of
those infidels under the command of their King Aboo Abdallah
Mahommed, son of Yakoobal-Mansoor. The Arabian historian El Makary
gives a full account of the military precautions taken by Aboo
Abdallah to defend his city; but as I do not wish to make a parade
of my learning, or to write a costume novel, I shall pretermit any
description of the city under its Moorish governors.
Besides the Turks who inhabited it, there dwelt within its walls
great store of those of the Hebrew nation, who were always
protected by the Moors during their unbelieving reign in Spain; and
who were, as we very well know, the chief physicians, the chief
bankers, the chief statesmen, the chief artists and musicians, the
chief everything, under the Moorish kings. Thus it is not
surprising that the Hebrews, having their money, their liberty,
their teeth, their lives, secure under the Mahometan domination,
should infinitely prefer it to the Christian sway; beneath which
they were liable to be deprived of every one of these benefits.
Among these Hebrews of Valencia, lived a very ancient Israelite--no
other than Isaac of York before mentioned, who came into Spain with
his daughter, soon after Ivanhoe's marriage, in the third volume of
the first part of this history. Isaac was respected by his people
for the money which he possessed, and his daughter for her admirable
good qualities, her beauty, her charities, and her remarkable
The young Emir Aboo Abdallah was so struck by her charms, that
though she was considerably older than his Highness, he offered to
marry her, and install her as Number 1 of his wives; and Isaac of
York would not have objected to the union, (for such mixed marriages
were not uncommon between the Hebrews and Moors in those days,) but
Rebecca firmly yet respectfully declined the proposals of the
prince, saying that it was impossible she should unite herself with
a man of a creed different to her own.
Although Isaac was, probably, not over-well pleased at losing this
chance of being father-in-law to a royal highness, yet as he passed
among his people for a very strict character, and there were in his
family several rabbis of great reputation and severity of conduct,
the old gentleman was silenced by this objection of Rebecca's, and
the young lady herself applauded by her relatives for her resolute
behavior. She took their congratulations in a very frigid manner,
and said that it was her wish not to marry at all, but to devote
herself to the practice of medicine altogether, and to helping the
sick and needy of her people. Indeed, although she did not go to
any public meetings, she was as benevolent a creature as the world
ever saw: the poor blessed her wherever they knew her, and many
benefited by her who guessed not whence her gentle bounty came.
But there are men in Jewry who admire beauty, and, as I have even
heard, appreciate money too, and Rebecca had such a quantity of
both, that all the most desirable bachelors of the people were
ready to bid for her. Ambassadors came from all quarters to
propose for her. Her own uncle, the venerable Ben Solomons, with a
beard as long as a cashmere goat's, and a reputation for learning
and piety which still lives in his nation, quarrelled with his son
Moses, the red-haired diamond-merchant of Trebizond, and his son
Simeon, the bald bill-broker of Bagdad, each putting in a claim for
their cousin. Ben Minories came from London and knelt at her feet;
Ben Jochanan arrived from Paris, and thought to dazzle her with the
latest waistcoats from the Palais Royal; and Ben Jonah brought her
a present of Dutch herrings, and besought her to come back and be
Mrs. Ben Jonah at the Hague.
Rebecca temporized as best she might. She thought her uncle was
too old. She besought dear Moses and dear Simeon not to quarrel
with each other, and offend their father by pressing their suit.
Ben Minories from London, she said, was too young, and Jochanan
from Paris, she pointed out to Isaac of York, must be a spendthrift,
or he would not wear those absurd waistcoats. As for Ben Jonah, she
said, she could not bear the notion of tobacco and Dutch herrings:
she wished to stay with her papa, her dear papa. In fine, she
invented a thousand excuses for delay, and it was plain that
marriage was odious to her. The only man whom she received with
anything like favor, was young Bevis Marks of London, with whom she
was very familiar. But Bevis had come to her with a certain token
that had been given to him by an English knight, who saved him from
a fagot to which the ferocious Hospitaller Folko of Heydenbraten was
about to condemn him. It was but a ring, with an emerald in it,
that Bevis knew to be sham, and not worth a groat. Rebecca knew
about the value of jewels too; but ah! she valued this one more than
all the diamonds in Prester John's turban. She kissed it; she cried
over it; she wore it in her bosom always and when she knelt down
at night and morning, she held it between her folded hands on her
neck. . . . Young Bevis Marks went away finally no better off than
the others; the rascal sold to the King of France a handsome ruby,
the very size of the bit of glass in Rebecca's ring; but he always
said he would rather have had her than ten thousand pounds: and very
likely he would, for it was known she would at once have a plum to
These delays, however, could not continue for ever; and at a great
family meeting held at Passover-time, Rebecca was solemnly ordered
to choose a husband out of the gentlemen there present; her aunts
pointing out the great kindness which had been shown to her by her
father, in permitting her to choose for herself. One aunt was of
the Solomon faction, another aunt took Simeon's side, a third most
venerable old lady--the head of the family, and a hundred and
forty-four years of age--was ready to pronounce a curse upon her,
and cast her out, unless she married before the month was over.
All the jewelled heads of all the old ladies in council, all the
beards of all the family, wagged against her: it must have been an
awful sight to witness.
At last, then, Rebecca was forced to speak. "Kinsmen!" she said,
turning pale, "when the Prince Abou Abdil asked me in marriage, I
told you I would not wed but with one of my own faith."
"She has turned Turk," screamed out the ladies. "She wants to be a
princess, and has turned Turk," roared the rabbis.
"Well, well," said Isaac, in rather an appeased tone, "let us hear
what the poor girl has got to say. Do you want to marry his royal
highness, Rebecca? Say the word, yes or no."
Another groan burst from the rabbis--they cried, shrieked,
chattered, gesticulated, furious to lose such a prize; as were the
women, that she should reign over them a second Esther.
"Silence," cried out Isaac; "let the girl speak. Speak boldly,
Rebecca dear, there's a good girl."
Rebecca was as pale as a stone. She folded her arms on her breast,
and felt the ring there. She looked round all the assembly, and
then at Isaac. "Father," she said, in a thrilling low steady
voice, "I am not of your religion--I am not of the Prince Boabdil's
religion--I--I am of HIS religion."
"His! whose, in the name of Moses, girl?" cried Isaac.
Rebecca clasped her hands on her beating chest and looked round
with dauntless eyes. "Of his," she said, "who saved my life and
your honor: of my dear, dear champion's. I never can be his, but I
will be no other's. Give my money to my kinsmen; it is that they
long for. Take the dross, Simeon and Solomon, Jonah and Jochanan,
and divide it among you, and leave me. I will never be yours, I
tell you, never. Do you think, after knowing him and hearing him
speak,--after watching him wounded on his pillow, and glorious in
battle" (her eyes melted and kindled again as she spoke these
words), "I can mate with such as you? Go. Leave me to myself. I
am none of yours. I love him--I love him. Fate divides us--long,
long miles separate us; and I know we may never meet again. But I
love and bless him always. Yes, always. My prayers are his; my
faith is his. Yes, my faith is your faith, Wilfrid--Wilfrid! I
have no kindred more,--I am a Christian!"
At this last word there was such a row in the assembly, as my
feeble pen would in vain endeavor to depict. Old Isaac staggered
back in a fit, and nobody took the least notice of him. Groans,
curses, yells of men, shrieks of women, filled the room with such a
furious jabbering, as might have appalled any heart less stout than
Rebecca's; but that brave woman was prepared for all; expecting,
and perhaps hoping, that death would be her instant lot. There was
but one creature who pitied her, and that was her cousin and
father's clerk, little Ben Davids, who was but thirteen, and had
only just begun to carry a bag, and whose crying and boo-hooing, as
she finished speaking, was drowned in the screams and maledictions
of the elder Israelites. Ben Davids was madly in love with his
cousin (as boys often are with ladies of twice their age), and he
had presence of mind suddenly to knock over the large brazen lamp
on the table, which illuminated the angry conclave; then,
whispering to Rebecca to go up to her own room and lock herself in,
or they would kill her else, he took her hand and led her out.
From that day she disappeared from among her people. The poor and
the wretched missed her, and asked for her in vain. Had any
violence been done to her, the poorer Jews would have risen and put
all Isaac's family to death; and besides, her old flame, Prince
Boabdil, would have also been exceedingly wrathful. She was not
killed then, but, so to speak, buried alive, and locked up in
Isaac's back-kitchen: an apartment into which scarcely any light
entered, and where she was fed upon scanty portions of the most
mouldy bread and water. Little Ben Davids was the only person who
visited her, and her sole consolation was to talk to him about
Ivanhoe, and how good and how gentle he was; how brave and how
true; and how he slew the tremendous knight of the Templars, and
how he married a lady whom Rebecca scarcely thought worthy of him,
but with whom she prayed he might be happy; and of what color his
eyes were, and what were the arms on his shield--viz, a tree with
the word "Desdichado" written underneath, &c. &c. &c.: all which
talk would not have interested little Davids, had it come from
anybody else's mouth, but to which he never tired of listening as
it fell from her sweet lips.
So, in fact, when old Isaac of York came to negotiate with Don
Beltran de Cuchilla for the ransom of the Alfaqui's daughter of
Xixona, our dearest Rebecca was no more dead than you and I; and it
was in his rage and fury against Ivanhoe that Isaac told that
cavalier the falsehood which caused the knight so much pain and
such a prodigious deal of bloodshed to the Moors: and who knows,
trivial as it may seem, whether it was not that very circumstance
which caused the destruction in Spain of the Moorish power?
Although Isaac, we may be sure, never told his daughter that
Ivanhoe had cast up again, yet Master Ben Davids did, who heard it
from his employer; and he saved Rebecca's life by communicating the
intelligence, for the poor thing would have infallibly perished but
for this good news. She had now been in prison four years three
months and twenty-four days, during which time she had partaken of
nothing but bread and water (except such occasional tit-bits as
Davids could bring her--and these were few indeed; for old Isaac
was always a curmudgeon, and seldom had more than a pair of eggs
for his own and Davids' dinner); and she was languishing away, when
the news came suddenly to revive her. Then, though in the darkness
you could not see her cheeks, they began to bloom again: then her
heart began to beat and her blood to flow, and she kissed the ring
on her neck a thousand times a day at least; and her constant
question was, "Ben Davids! Ben Davids! when is he coming to besiege
Valencia?" She knew he would come: and, indeed, the Christians
were encamped before the town ere a month was over.
. . . . . .
And now, my dear boys and girls, I think I perceive behind that
dark scene of the back-kitchen (which is just a simple flat,
painted stone-color, that shifts in a minute,) bright streaks of
light flashing out, as though they were preparing a most brilliant,
gorgeous, and altogether dazzling illumination, with effects never
before attempted on any stage. Yes, the fairy in the pretty pink
tights and spangled muslin is getting into the brilliant revolving
chariot of the realms of bliss.--Yes, most of the fiddlers and
trumpeters have gone round from the orchestra to join in the grand
triumphal procession, where the whole strength of the company is
already assembled, arrayed in costumes of Moorish and Christian
chivalry, to celebrate the "Terrible Escalade," the "Rescue of
Virtuous Innocence"--the "Grand Entry of the Christians into
Valencia"--"Appearance of the Fairy Day-Star," and "Unexampled
displays of pyrotechnic festivity." Do you not, I say, perceive
that we are come to the end of our history; and, after a quantity
of rapid and terrific fighting, brilliant change of scenery, and
songs, appropriate or otherwise, are bringing our hero and heroine
together? Who wants a long scene at the last? Mammas are putting
the girls' cloaks and boas on; papas have gone out to look for the
carriage, and left the box-door swinging open, and letting in the
cold air: if there WERE any stage-conversation, you could not hear
it, for the scuffling of the people who are leaving the pit. See,
the orange-women are preparing to retire. To-morrow their play-
bills will be as so much waste-paper--so will some of our
masterpieces, woe is me: but lo! here we come to Scene the last,
and Valencia is besieged and captured by the Christians.
Who is the first on the wall, and who hurls down the green standard
of the Prophet? Who chops off the head of the Emir Aboo What-d'ye-
call'im, just as the latter has cut over the cruel Don Beltran de
Cuchillay &c.? Who, attracted to the Jewish quarter by the shrieks
of the inhabitants who are being slain by the Moorish soldiery, and
by a little boy by the name of Ben Davids, who recognizes the
knight by his shield, finds Isaac of York egorge on a threshold,
and clasping a large back-kitchen key? Who but Ivanhoe--who but
Wilfrid? "An Ivanhoe to the rescue," he bellows out; he has heard
that news from little Ben Davids which makes him sing. And who is
it that comes out of the house--trembling--panting--with her arms
out--in a white dress--with her hair down--who is it but dear
Rebecca? Look, they rush together, and Master Wamba is waving an
immense banner over them, and knocks down a circumambient Jew with
a ham, which he happens to have in his pocket. . . . As for
Rebecca, now her head is laid upon Ivanhoe's heart, I shall not ask
to hear what she is whispering, or describe further that scene of
meeting; though I declare I am quite affected when I think of it.
Indeed I have thought of it any time these five-and-twenty years--
ever since, as a boy at school, I commenced the noble study of
novels--ever since the day when, lying on sunny slopes of half-
holidays, the fair chivalrous figures and beautiful shapes of
knights and ladies were visible to me--ever since I grew to love
Rebecca, that sweetest creature of the poet's fancy, and longed to
see her righted.
That she and Ivanhoe were married, follows of course; for Rowena's
promise extorted from him was, that he would never wed a Jewess,
and a better Christian than Rebecca now was never said her
catechism. Married I am sure they were, and adopted little Cedric;
but I don't think they had any other children, or were subsequently
very boisterously happy. Of some sort of happiness melancholy is a
characteristic, and I think these were a solemn pair, and died
THE HISTORY OF THE NEXT FRENCH REVOLUTION.
[FROM A FORTHCOMING HISTORY OF EUROPE.]
It is seldom that the historian has to record events more singular
than those which occurred during this year, when the Crown of
France was battled for by no less than four pretenders, with equal
claims, merits, bravery, and popularity. First in the list we
place--His Royal Highness Louis Anthony Frederick Samuel Anna
Maria, Duke of Brittany, and son of Louis XVI. The unhappy Prince,
when a prisoner with his unfortunate parents in the Temple, was
enabled to escape from that place of confinement, hidden (for the
treatment of the ruffians who guarded him had caused the young
Prince to dwindle down astonishingly) in the cocked-hat of the
Representative, Roederer. It is well known that, in the troublous
revolutionary times, cocked-hats were worn of a considerable size.
He passed a considerable part of his life in Germany; was confined
there for thirty years in the dungeons of Spielberg; and, escaping
thence to England, was, under pretence of debt, but in reality from
political hatred, imprisoned there also in the Tower of London. He
must not be confounded with any other of the persons who laid claim
to be children of the unfortunate victim of the first Revolution.
The next claimant, Henri of Bordeaux, is better known. In the year
1843 he held his little fugitive court in furnished lodgings, in a
forgotten district of London, called Belgrave Square. Many of the
nobles of France flocked thither to him, despising the persecutions
of the occupant of the throne; and some of the chiefs of the
British nobility--among whom may be reckoned the celebrated and
chivalrous Duke of Jenkins--aided the adventurous young Prince with
their counsels, their wealth, and their valor.
The third candidate was his Imperial Highness Prince John Thomas
Napoleon--a fourteenth cousin of the late Emperor; and said by some
to be a Prince of the House of Gomersal. He argued justly that, as
the immediate relatives of the celebrated Corsican had declined to
compete for the crown which was their right, he, Prince John
Thomas, being next in succession, was, undoubtedly, heir to the
vacant imperial throne. And in support of his claim, he appealed
to the fidelity of Frenchmen and the strength of his good sword.
His Majesty Louis Philippe was, it need not be said, the illustrious
wielder of the sceptre which the three above-named princes desired
to wrest from him. It does not appear that the sagacious monarch
was esteemed by his subjects, as such a prince should have been
esteemed. The light-minded people, on the contrary, were rather
weary than otherwise of his sway. They were not in the least
attached to his amiable family, for whom his Majesty with
characteristic thrift had endeavored to procure satisfactory
allowances. And the leading statesmen of the country, whom his
Majesty had disgusted, were suspected of entertaining any but
feelings of loyalty towards his house and person.
It was against the above-named pretenders that Louis Philippe
(now nearly a hundred years old), a prince amongst sovereigns,
was called upon to defend his crown.
The city of Paris was guarded, as we all know, by a hundred and
twenty-four forts, of a thousand guns each--provisioned for a
considerable time, and all so constructed as to fire, if need were,
upon the palace of the Tuileries. Thus, should the mob attack it,
as in August 1792, and July 1830, the building could be razed to
the ground in an hour; thus, too, the capital was quite secure from
foreign invasion. Another defence against the foreigners was the
state of the roads. Since the English companies had retired, half
a mile only of railroad had been completed in France, and thus any
army accustomed, as those of Europe now are, to move at sixty miles
an hour, would have been ennuye'd to death before they could have
marched from the Rhenish, the Maritime, the Alpine, or the Pyrenean
frontier upon the capital of France. The French people, however,
were indignant at this defect of communication in their territory,
and said, without the least show of reason, that they would have
preferred that the five hundred and seventy-five thousand billions
of francs which had been expended upon the fortifications should
have been laid out in a more peaceful manner. However, behind his
forts, the King lay secure.
As it is our aim to depict in as vivid a manner as possible the
strange events of the period, the actions, the passions of
individuals and parties engaged, we cannot better describe them
than by referring to contemporary documents, of which there is no
lack. It is amusing at the present day to read in the pages of the
Moniteur and the Journal des Debats the accounts of the strange
scenes which took place.
The year 1884 had opened very tranquilly. The Court of the
Tuileries had been extremely gay. The three-and-twenty youngest
Princes of England, sons of her Majesty Victoria, had enlivened the
balls by their presence; the Emperor of Russia and family had paid
their accustomed visit; and the King of the Belgians had, as usual,
made his visit to his royal father-in-law, under pretence of duty
and pleasure, but really to demand payment of the Queen of the
Belgians' dowry, which Louis Philippe of Orleans still resolutely
declined to pay. Who would have thought that in the midst of such
festivity danger was lurking rife, in the midst of such quiet,
Charenton was the great lunatic asylum of Paris, and it was to this
repository that the scornful journalist consigned the pretender to
the throne of Louis XVI.
But on the next day, viz. Saturday, the 29th February, the same
journal contained a paragraph of a much more startling and serious
import; in which, although under a mask of carelessness, it was
easy to see the Government alarm.
On Friday, the 28th February, the Journal des Debats contained a
paragraph, which did not occasion much sensation at the Bourse, so
absurd did its contents seem. It ran as follows:--
"ENCORE UN LOUIS XVII.! A letter from Calais tells us that a
strange personage lately landed from England (from Bedlam we
believe) has been giving himself out to be the son of the
unfortunate Louis XVI. This is the twenty-fourth pretender of the
species who has asserted that his father was the august victim of
the Temple. Beyond his pretensions, the poor creature is said to
be pretty harmless; he is accompanied by one or two old women, who
declare they recognize in him the Dauphin; he does not make any
attempt to seize upon his throne by force of arms, but waits until
heaven shall conduct him to it.
"If his Majesty comes to Paris, we presume he will TAKE UP his
quarters in the palace of Charenton.
"We have not before alluded to certain rumors which have been
afloat (among the lowest canaille and the vilest estaminets of the
metropolis), that a notorious personage--why should we hesitate to
mention the name of the Prince John Thomas Napoleon?--has entered
France with culpable intentions, and revolutionary views. The
Moniteur of this morning, however, confirms the disgraceful fact.
A pretender is on our shores; an armed assassin is threatening our
peaceful liberties; a wandering, homeless cut-throat is robbing on
our highways; and the punishment of his crime awaits him. Let no
considerations of the past defer that just punishment; it is the
duty of the legislator to provide for THE FUTURE. Let the full
powers of the law be brought against him, aided by the stern
justice of the public force. Let him be tracked, like a wild
beast, to his lair, and meet the fate of one. But the sentence
has, ere this, been certainly executed. The brigand, we hear, has
been distributing (without any effect) pamphlets among the low ale-
houses and peasantry of the department of the Upper Rhine (in which
he lurks); and the Police have an easy means of tracking his
"Corporal Crane, of the Gendarmerie, is on the track of the
unfortunate young man. His attempt will only serve to show the
folly of the pretenders, and the love, respect, regard, fidelity,
admiration, reverence, and passionate personal attachment in which
we hold our beloved sovereign."
"CAPTURE OF THE PRINCE.
"A courier has just arrived at the Tuileries with a report that
after a scuffle between Corporal Crane and the 'Imperial Army,' in
a water-barrel, whither the latter had retreated, victory has
remained with the former. A desperate combat ensued in the first
place, in a hay-loft, whence the pretender was ejected with immense
loss. He is now a prisoner--and we dread to think what his fate
may be! It will warn future aspirants, and give Europe a lesson
which it is not likely to forget. Above all, it will set beyond a
doubt the regard, respect, admiration, reverence, and adoration
which we all feel for our sovereign."
"A second courier has arrived. The infatuated Crane has made
common cause with the Prince, and forever forfeited the respect of
Frenchmen. A detachment of the 520th Leger has marched in pursuit
of the pretender and his dupes. Go, Frenchmen, go and conquer!
Remember that it is our rights you guard, our homes which you march
to defend; our laws which are confided to the points of your
unsullied bayonets;--above all, our dear, dear sovereign, around
whose throne you rally!
"Our feelings overpower us. Men of the 520th, remember your
watchword is Gemappes,--your countersign, Valmy."
"The Emperor of Russia and his distinguished family quitted the
Tuileries this day. His Imperial Majesty embraced his Majesty the
King of the French with tears in his eyes, and conferred upon their
RR. HH. the Princes of Nemours and Joinville, the Grand Cross of
the Order of the Blue Eagle."
"His Majesty passed a review of the Police force. The venerable
monarch was received with deafening cheers by this admirable and
disinterested body of men. Those cheers were echoed in all French
hearts. Long, long may our beloved Prince be among us to receive
HENRY V. AND NAPOLEON III.
Sunday, February 30th.
We resume our quotations from the Debats, which thus introduces a
third pretender to the throne:--
"Is this distracted country never to have peace? While on Friday
we recorded the pretensions of a maniac to the great throne of
France; while on Saturday we were compelled to register the
culpable attempts of one whom we regard as a ruffian, murderer,
swindler, forger, burglar, and common pickpocket, to gain over
the allegiance of Frenchmen--it is to-day our painful duty to
announce a THIRD invasion--yes, a third invasion. The wretched,
superstitious, fanatic Duke of Bordeaux has landed at Nantz, and
has summoned the Vendeans and the Bretons to mount the white
"Grand Dieu! are we not happy under the tricolor? Do we not repose
under the majestic shadow of the best of kings? Is there any name
prouder than that of Frenchman; any subject more happy than that of
our sovereign? Does not the whole French family adore their
father? Yes. Our lives, our hearts, our blood, our fortune, are
at his disposal: it was not in vain that we raised, it is not the
first time we have rallied round, the august throne of July. The
unhappy Duke is most likely a prisoner by this time; and the
martial court which shall be called upon to judge one infamous
traitor and pretender, may at the same moment judge another. Away
with both! let the ditch of Vincennes (which has been already fatal
to his race) receive his body, too, and with it the corpse of the
other pretender. Thus will a great crime be wiped out of history,
and the manes of a slaughtered martyr avenged!
"One word more. We hear that the Duke of Jenkins accompanies the
descendant of Caroline of Naples. An ENGLISH DUKE, entendez-vous!
An English Duke, great heaven! and the Princes of England still
dancing in our royal halls! Where, where will the perfidy of
"The King reviewed the third and fourth battalions of Police. The
usual heart-rending cheers accompanied the monarch, who looked
younger than ever we saw him--ay, as young as when he faced the
Austrian cannon at Valmy and scattered their squadrons at Gemappes.
"Rations of liquor, and crosses of the Legion of Honor, were
distributed to all the men.
"The English Princes quitted the Tuileries in twenty-three coaches-
and-four. They were not rewarded with crosses of the Legion of
Honor. This is significant."
"The Dukes of Joinville and Nemours left the palace for the
departments of the Loire and Upper Rhine, where they will take the
command of the troops. The Joinville regiment--Cavalerie de la
Marine--is one of the finest in the service."
"Orders have been given to arrest the fanatic who calls himself
Duke of Brittany, and who has been making some disturbances in the
Pas de Calais."
"ANECDOTE OF HIS MAJESTY.--At the review of troops (Police)
yesterday, his Majesty, going up to one old grognard and pulling
him by the ear, said, 'Wilt thou have a cross or another ration of
wine?' The old hero, smiling archly, answered, 'Sire, a brave man
can gain a cross any day of battle, but it is hard for him
sometimes to get a drink of wine.' We need not say that he had his
drink, and the generous sovereign sent him the cross and ribbon
On the next day, the Government journals began to write in rather a
despondent tone regarding the progress of the pretenders to the
throne. In spite of their big talking, anxiety is clearly
manifested, as appears from the following remarks of the Debats:--
"The courier from the Rhine department," says the Debats, "brings
us the following astounding Proclamation:--
"'Strasburg, xxii. Nivose: Decadi. 92nd year of the Republic, one
and indivisible. We, John Thomas Napoleon, by the constitutions of
the Empire, Emperor of the French Republic, to our marshals,
generals, officers, and soldiers, greeting:
"'From the summit of the Pyramids forty centuries look down upon
you. The sun of Austerlitz has risen once more. The Guard dies,
but never surrenders. My eagles, flying from steeple to steeple,
never shall droop till they perch on the towers of Notre Dame.
"'Soldiers! the child of YOUR FATHER has remained long in exile.
I have seen the fields of Europe where your laurels are now
withering, and I have communed with the dead who repose beneath
them. They ask where are our children? Where is France? Europe
no longer glitters with the shine of its triumphant bayonets--
echoes no more with the shouts of its victorious cannon. Who could
reply to such a question save with a blush?--And does a blush
become the cheeks of Frenchmen?
"'No. Let us wipe from our faces that degrading mark of shame.
Come, as of old, and rally round my eagles! You have been subject
to fiddling prudence long enough. Come, worship now at the shrine
of Glory! You have been promised liberty, but you have had none.
I will endow you with the true, the real freedom. When your
ancestors burst over the Alps, were they not free? Yes; free to
conquer. Let us imitate the example of those indomitable myriads;
and, flinging a defiance to Europe, once more trample over her;
march in triumph into her prostrate capitals, and bring her kings
with her treasures at our feet. This is the liberty worthy of
"'Frenchmen! I promise you that the Rhine shall be restored to you;
and that England shall rank no more among the nations. I will have
a marine that shall drive her ships from the seas; a few of my
brave regiments will do the rest. Henceforth, the traveller in
that desert island shall ask, "Was it this wretched corner of the
world that for a thousand years defied Frenchmen?"
"'Frenchmen, up and rally!--I have flung my banner to the breezes;
'tis surrounded by the faithful and the brave. Up, and let our
motto be, LIBERTY, EQUALITY, WAR ALL OVER THE WORLD!
"'The Marshal of the Empire, HARICOT.'
"Such is the Proclamation! such the hopes that a brutal-minded and
bloody adventurer holds out to our country. 'War all over the
world,' is the cry of the savage demon; and the fiends who have
rallied round him echo it in concert. We were not, it appears,
correct in stating that a corporal's guard had been sufficient to
seize upon the marauder, when the first fire would have served to
conclude his miserable life. But, like a hideous disease, the
contagion has spread; the remedy must be dreadful. Woe to those on
whom it will fall!
"His Royal Highness the Prince of Joinville, Admiral of France, has
hastened, as we before stated, to the disturbed districts, and
takes with him his Cavalerie de la Marine. It is hard to think
that the blades of those chivalrous heroes must be buried in the
bosoms of Frenchmen: but so be it: it is those monsters who have
asked for blood, not we. It is those ruffians who have begun the
quarrel, not we. WE remain calm and hopeful, reposing under the
protection of the dearest and best of sovereigns.
"The wretched pretender, who called himself Duke of Brittany, has
been seized, according to our prophecy: he was brought before the
Prefect of Police yesterday, and his insanity being proved beyond a
doubt, he has been consigned to a strait-waistcoat at Charenton.
So may all incendiary enemies of our Government be overcome!
"His Royal Highness the Duke of Nemours is gone into the department
of the Loire, where he will speedily put an end to the troubles in
the disturbed districts of the Bocage and La Vendee. The foolish
young Prince, who has there raised his standard, is followed, we
hear, by a small number of wretched persons, of whose massacre we
expect every moment to receive the news. He too has issued his
Proclamation, and our readers will smile at its contents:
"'WE HENRY, Fifth of the Name, King of France and Navarre, to all
whom it may concern, greeting:
"'After years of exile we have once more unfurled in France the
banner of the lilies. Once more the white plume of Henri IV.
floats in the crest of his little son (petit fils)! Gallant
nobles! worthy burgesses! honest commons of my realm, I call upon
you to rally round the oriflamme of France, and summon the ban
arriereban of my kingdoms. To my faithful Bretons I need not
appeal. The country of Duguesclin has loyalty for an heirloom! To
the rest of my subjects, my atheist misguided subjects, their
father makes one last appeal. Come to me, my children! your errors
shall be forgiven. Our Holy Father, the Pope, shall intercede for
you. He promised it when, before my departure on this expedition,
I kissed his inviolable toe!
"'Our afflicted country cries aloud for reforms. The infamous
universities shall be abolished. Education shall no longer be
permitted. A sacred and wholesome inquisition shall be established.
My faithful nobles shall pay no more taxes. All the venerable
institutions of our country shall be restored as they existed before
1788. Convents and monasteries again shall ornament our country,
the calm nurseries of saints and holy women! Heresy shall be
extirpated with paternal severity, and our country shall be free
"'His Majesty the King of Ireland, my august ally, has sent, under
the command of His Royal Highness Prince Daniel, his Majesty's
youngest son, an irresistible IRISH BRIGADE, to co-operate in the
good work. His Grace the Lion of Judah, the canonized patriarch of
Tuam, blessed their green banner before they set forth. Henceforth
may the lilies and the harp be ever twined together. Together we
will make a crusade against the infidels of Albion, and raze their
heretic domes to the ground. Let our cry be, Vive la France! down
with England! Montjoie St. Denis!
"'BY THE KING.
"'The Secretary of State and Grand Inquisitor. . . LA ROUE.
The Marshal of France. . . POMADOUR DE L'AILE DE PIGEON.
The General Commander-in-Chief of the Irish Brigade in the service
of his Most Christian Majesty. . . DANIEL, PRINCE OF BALLYBUNION.
"His Majesty reviewed the admirable Police force, and held a
council of Ministers in the afternoon. Measures were concerted for
the instant putting down of the disturbances in the departments of
the Rhine and Loire, and it is arranged that on the capture of the
pretenders, they shall be lodged in separate cells in the prison of
the Luxembourg: the apartments are already prepared, and the
officers at their posts.
"The grand banquet that was to be given at the palace to-day to the
diplomatic body, has been put off; all the ambassadors being
attacked with illness, which compels them to stay at home."
"The ambassadors despatched couriers to their various Governments."
"His Majesty the King of the Belgians left the palace of the
THE ADVANCE OF THE PRETENDERS.--HISTORICAL REVIEW.
We will now resume the narrative, and endeavor to compress, in a
few comprehensive pages, the facts which are more diffusely
described in the print from which we have quoted.
It was manifest, then, that the troubles in the departments were
of a serious nature, and that the forces gathered round the two
pretenders to the crown were considerable. They had their
supporters too in Paris--as what party indeed has not? and the
venerable occupant of the throne was in a state of considerable
anxiety, and found his declining years by no means so comfortable
as his virtues and great age might have warranted.
His paternal heart was the more grieved when he thought of the fate
reserved to his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren,
now sprung up around him in vast numbers. The King's grandson, the
Prince Royal, married to a Princess of the house of Schlippen-
Schloppen, was the father of fourteen children, all handsomely
endowed with pensions by the State. His brother, the Count D'Eu,
was similarly blessed with a multitudinous offspring. The Duke of
Nemours had no children; but the Princes of Joinville, Aumale, and
Montpensier (married to the Princesses Januaria and Februaria, of
Brazil, and the Princess of the United States of America, erected
into a monarchy, 4th July, 1856, under the Emperor Duff Green I.)
were the happy fathers of immense families--all liberally
apportioned by the Chambers, which had long been entirely
subservient to his Majesty Louis Philippe.
The Duke of Aumale was King of Algeria, having married (in the
first instance) the Princess Badroulboudour, a daughter of his
Highness Abd-El-Kader. The Prince of Joinville was adored by the
nation, on account of his famous victory over the English fleet
under the command of Admiral the Prince of Wales, whose ship, the
"Richard Cobden," of 120 guns, was taken by the "Belle-Poule"
frigate of 36; on which occasion forty-five other ships of war and
79 steam-frigates struck their colors to about one-fourth the
number of the heroic French navy. The victory was mainly owing to
the gallantry of the celebrated French horse-marines, who executed
several brilliant charges under the orders of the intrepid
Joinville; and though the Irish Brigade, with their ordinary
modesty, claimed the honors of the day, yet, as only three of that
nation were present in the action, impartial history must award the
palm to the intrepid sons of Gaul.
With so numerous a family quartered on the nation, the solicitude
of the admirable King may be conceived, lest a revolution should
ensue, and fling them on the world once more. How could he support
so numerous a family? Considerable as his wealth was (for he was
known to have amassed about a hundred and thirteen billions, which
were lying in the caves of the Tuileries), yet such a sum was quite
insignificant, when divided among his progeny; and, besides, he
naturally preferred getting from the nation as much as his faithful
people could possibly afford.
Seeing the imminency of the danger, and that money, well applied,
is often more efficacious than the conqueror's sword, the King's
Ministers were anxious that he should devote a part of his savings
to the carrying on of the war. But, with the cautiousness of age,
the monarch declined this offer; he preferred, he said, throwing
himself upon his faithful people, who, he was sure, would meet, as
became them, the coming exigency. The Chambers met his appeal with
their usual devotion. At a solemn convocation of those legislative
bodies, the King, surrounded by his family, explained the
circumstances and the danger. His Majesty, his family, his
Ministers, and the two Chambers, then burst into tears, according
to immemorial usage, and raising their hands to the ceiling, swore
eternal fidelity to the dynasty and to France, and embraced each
other affectingly all round.
It need not be said that in the course of that evening two hundred
Deputies of the Left left Paris, and joined the Prince John Thomas
Napoleon, who was now advanced as far as Dijon: two hundred and
fifty-three (of the Right, the Centre, and Round the Corner,)
similarly quitted the capital to pay their homage to the Duke of
Bordeaux. They were followed, according to their several political
predilections, by the various Ministers and dignitaries of the
State. The only Minister who remained in Paris was Marshal Thiers,
Prince of Waterloo (he had defeated the English in the very field
where they had obtained formerly a success, though the victory was
as usual claimed by the Irish Brigade); but age had ruined the
health and diminished the immense strength of that gigantic leader,
and it is said his only reason for remaining in Paris was because a
fit of the gout kept him in bed.
The capital was entirely tranquil. The theatres and cafes were
open as usual, and the masked balls attended with great enthusiasm:
confiding in their hundred and twenty-four forts, the light-minded
people had nothing to fear.
Except in the way of money, the King left nothing undone to
conciliate his people. He even went among them with his umbrella;
but they were little touched with that mark of confidence. He
shook hands with everybody; he distributed crosses of the Legion of
Honor in such multitudes, that red ribbon rose two hundred per cent
in the market (by which his Majesty, who speculated in the article,
cleared a tolerable sum of money). But these blandishments and
honors had little effect upon an apathetic people; and the enemy
of the Orleans dynasty, the fashionable young nobles of the
Henriquinquiste party, wore gloves perpetually, for fear (they
said) that they should be obliged to shake hands with the best of
kings; while the republicans adopted coats without button-holes,
lest they should be forced to hang red ribbons in them. The funds
did not fluctuate in the least.
The proclamations of the several pretenders had had their effect.
The young men of the schools and the estaminets (celebrated places
of public education) allured by the noble words of Prince Napoleon,
"Liberty, equality, war all over the world!" flocked to his
standard in considerable numbers: while the noblesse naturally
hastened to offer their allegiance to the legitimate descendant of
And truly, never was there seen a more brilliant chivalry than that
collected round the gallant Prince Henry! There was not a man in
his army but had lacquered boots and fresh white kid-gloves at
morning and evening parade. The fantastic and effeminate but brave
and faithful troops were numbered off into different legions: there
was the Fleur-d'Orange regiment; the Eau-de-Rose battalion; the
Violet-Pomatum volunteers; the Eau-de-Cologne cavalry--according to
the different scents which they affected. Most of the warriors
wore lace ruffles; all powder and pigtails, as in the real days of
chivalry. A band of heavy dragoons under the command of Count
Alfred de Horsay made themselves conspicuous for their discipline,
cruelty, and the admirable cut of their coats; and with these
celebrated horsemen came from England the illustrious Duke of
Jenkins with his superb footmen. They were all six feet high.
They all wore bouquets of the richest flowers: they wore bags,
their hair slightly powdered, brilliant shoulder-knots, and cocked-
hats laced with gold. They wore the tight knee-pantaloon of
velveteen peculiar to this portion of the British infantry: and
their legs were so superb, that the Duke of Bordeaux, embracing
with tears their admirable leader on parade, said, "Jenkins, France
never saw such calves until now." The weapon of this tremendous
militia was an immense club or cane, reaching from the sole of the
foot to the nose, and heavily mounted with gold. Nothing could
stand before this terrific weapon, and the breast-plates and plumed
morions of the French cuirassiers would have been undoubtedly
crushed beneath them, had they ever met in mortal combat. Between
this part of the Prince's forces and the Irish auxiliaries there
was a deadly animosity. Alas, there always is such in camps! The
sons of Albion had not forgotten the day when the children of Erin
had been subject to their devastating sway.
The uniform of the latter was various--the rich stuff called corps-
du-roy (worn by Coeur de Lion at Agincourt) formed their lower
habiliments for the most part: the national frieze* yielded them
tail-coats. The latter was generally torn in a fantastic manner at
the elbows, skirts, and collars, and fastened with every variety of
button, tape, and string. Their weapons were the caubeen, the
alpeen, and the doodeen of the country--the latter a short but
dreadful weapon of offence. At the demise of the venerable
Theobald Mathew, the nation had laid aside its habit of temperance,
and universal intoxication betokened their grief; it became
afterwards their constant habit. Thus do men ever return to the
haunts of their childhood: such a power has fond memory over us!
The leaders of this host seem to have been, however, an effeminate
race; they are represented by contemporary historians as being
passionately fond of FLYING KITES. Others say they went into
battle armed with "bills," no doubt rude weapons; for it is stated
that foreigners could never be got to accept them in lieu of their
own arms. The Princes of Mayo, Donegal, and Connemara, marched by
the side of their young and royal chieftain, the Prince of
Ballybunion, fourth son of Daniel the First, King of the Emerald
* Were these in any way related to the chevaux-de-frise on which
the French cavalry were mounted?
Two hosts then, one under the Eagles, and surrounded by the
republican imperialists, the other under the antique French Lilies,
were marching on the French capital. The Duke of Brittany, too,
confined in the lunatic asylum of Charenton, found means to issue a
protest against his captivity, which caused only derision in the
capital. Such was the state of the empire, and such the clouds
that were gathering round the Sun of Orleans!
THE BATTLE OF RHEIMS.
It was not the first time that the King had had to undergo
misfortunes; and now, as then, he met them like a man. The Prince
of Joinville was not successful in his campaign against the
Imperial Pretender: and that bravery which had put the British
fleet to flight, was found, as might be expected, insufficient
against the irresistible courage of native Frenchmen. The Horse
Marines, not being on their own element, could not act with their
usual effect. Accustomed to the tumult of the swelling seas, they
were easily unsaddled on terra firma and in the Champagne country.
It was literally in the Champagne country that the meeting between
the troops under Joinville and Prince Napoleon took place! for
both armies had reached Rheims, and a terrific battle was fought
underneath the walls. For some time nothing could dislodge the
army of Joinville, entrenched in the champagne cellars of Messrs.
Ruinart, Moet, and others; but making too free with the fascinating
liquor, the army at length became entirely drunk: on which the
Imperialists, rushing into the cellars, had an easy victory over
them; and, this done, proceeded to intoxicate themselves likewise.
The Prince of Joinville, seeing the deroute of his troops, was
compelled with a few faithful followers to fly towards Paris, and
Prince Napoleon remained master of the field of battle. It is
needless to recapitulate the bulletin which he published the day
after the occasion, so soon as he and his secretaries were in a
condition to write: eagles, pyramids, rainbows, the sun of
Austerlitz, &c., figured in the proclamation, in close imitation of
his illustrious uncle. But the great benefit of the action was
this: on arousing from their intoxication, the late soldiers of
Joinville kissed and embraced their comrades of the Imperial army,
and made common cause with them.
"Soldiers!" said the Prince, on reviewing them the second day after
the action, "the Cock is a gallant bird; but he makes way for the
Eagle! Your colors are not changed. Ours floated on the walls of
Moscow--yours on the ramparts of Constantine; both are glorious.
Soldiers of Joinville! we give you welcome, as we would welcome
your illustrious leader, who destroyed the fleets of Albion. Let
him join us! We will march together against that perfidious enemy.
"But, Soldiers! intoxication dimmed the laurels of yesterday's
glorious day! Let us drink no more of the fascinating liquors of
our native Champagne. Let us remember Hannibal and Capua; and,
before we plunge into dissipation, that we have Rome still to
"Soldiers! Seltzer-water is good after too much drink. Wait
awhile, and your Emperor will lead you into a Seltzer-water
country. Frenchmen! it lies BEYOND THE RHINE!"
Deafening shouts of "Vive l'Empereur!" saluted this allusion of the
Prince, and the army knew that their natural boundary should be
restored to them. The compliments to the gallantry of the Prince
of Joinville likewise won all hearts, and immensely advanced the
Prince's cause. The Journal des Debats did not know which way to
turn. In one paragraph it called the Emperor "a sanguinary tyrant,
murderer, and pickpocket;" in a second it owned he was "a
magnanimous rebel, and worthy of forgiveness;" and, after
proclaiming "the brilliant victory of the Prince of Joinville,"
presently denominated it a "funeste journee."
The next day the Emperor, as we may now call him, was about to
march on Paris, when Messrs. Ruinart and Moet were presented, and
requested to be paid for 300,000 bottles of wine. "Send three
hundred thousand more to the Tuileries," said the Prince, sternly:
"our soldiers will be thirsty when they reach Paris." And taking
Moet with him as a hostage, and promising Ruinart that he would
have him shot unless he obeyed, with trumpets playing and eagles
glancing in the sun, the gallant Imperial army marched on their
THE BATTLE OF TOURS.
We have now to record the expedition of the Prince of Nemours
against his advancing cousin, Henry V. His Royal Highness could
not march against the enemy with such a force as he would have
desired to bring against them; for his royal father, wisely
remembering the vast amount of property he had stowed away under
the Tuileries, refused to allow a single soldier to quit the forts
round the capital, which thus was defended by one hundred and
forty-four thousand guns (eighty-four-pounders), and four hundred
and thirty-two thousand men:--little enough, when one considers
that there were but three men to a gun. To provision this immense
army, and a population of double the amount within the walls, his
Majesty caused the country to be scoured for fifty miles round, and
left neither ox, nor ass, nor blade of grass. When appealed to by
the inhabitants of the plundered district, the royal Philip
replied, with tears in his eyes, that his heart bled for them--that
they were his children--that every cow taken from the meanest
peasant was like a limb torn from his own body; but that duty must
be done, that the interests of the country demanded the sacrifice,
and that in fact, they might go to the deuce. This the unfortunate
creatures certainly did.
The theatres went on as usual within the walls. The Journal des
Debats stated every day that the pretenders were taken; the
Chambers sat--such as remained--and talked immensely about honor,
dignity, and the glorious revolution of July; and the King, as his
power was now pretty nigh absolute over them, thought this a good
opportunity to bring in a bill for doubling his children's
allowances all round.
Meanwhile the Duke of Nemours proceeded on his march; and as there
was nothing left within fifty miles of Paris wherewith to support
his famished troops, it may be imagined that he was forced to
ransack the next fifty miles in order to maintain them. He did so.
But the troops were not such as they should have been, considering
the enemy with whom they had to engage.
The fact is, that most of the Duke's army consisted of the National
Guard; who, in a fit of enthusiasm, and at the cry of "LA PATRIE EN
DANGER" having been induced to volunteer, had been eagerly accepted
by his Majesty, anxious to lessen as much as possible the number of
food-consumers in his beleaguered capital. It is said even that he
selected the most gormandizing battalions of the civic force to
send forth against the enemy: viz, the grocers, the rich bankers,
the lawyers, &c. Their parting with their families was very
affecting. They would have been very willing to recall their offer
of marching, but companies of stern veterans closing round them,
marched them to the city gates, which were closed upon them; and
thus perforce they were compelled to move on. As long as he had a
bottle of brandy and a couple of sausages in his holsters, the
General of the National Guard, Odillon Barrot, talked with
tremendous courage. Such was the power of his eloquence over the
troops, that, could he have come up with the enemy while his
victuals lasted, the issue of the combat might have been very
different. But in the course of the first day's march he finished
both the sausages and the brandy, and became quite uneasy, silent,
It was on the fair plains of Touraine, by the banks of silver
Loire, that the armies sat down before each other, and the battle
was to take place which had such an effect upon the fortunes of
France. 'Twas a brisk day of March: the practised valor of Nemours
showed him at once what use to make of the army under his orders,
and having enfiladed his National Guard battalions, and placed his
artillery in echelons, he formed his cavalry into hollow squares on
the right and left of his line, flinging out a cloud of howitzers
to fall back upon the main column. His veteran infantry he formed
behind his National Guard--politely hinting to Odillon Barrot, who
wished to retire under pretence of being exceedingly unwell, that
the regular troops would bayonet the National Guard if they gave
way an inch: on which their General, turning very pale, demurely
went back to his post. His men were dreadfully discouraged; they
had slept on the ground all night; they regretted their homes and
their comfortable nightcaps in the Rue St. Honore: they had luckily
fallen in with a flock of sheep and a drove of oxen at Tours the
day before; but what were these, compared to the delicacies of
Chevet's or three courses at Vefour's? They mournfully cooked
their steaks and cutlets on their ramrods, and passed a most
The army of Henry was encamped opposite to them for the most part
in better order. The noble cavalry regiments found a village in
which they made themselves pretty comfortable, Jenkins's Foot
taking possession of the kitchens and garrets of the buildings.
The Irish Brigade, accustomed to lie abroad, were quartered in some
potato fields, where they sang Moore's melodies all night. There
were, besides the troops regular and irregular, about three
thousand priests and abbes with the army, armed with scourging-
whips, and chanting the most lugubrious canticles: these reverend
men were found to be a hindrance rather than otherwise to the
operations of the regular forces.
It was a touching sight, on the morning before the battle, to see
the alacrity with which Jenkins's regiment sprung up at the FIRST
reveille of the bell, and engaged (the honest fellows!) in offices
almost menial for the benefit of their French allies. The Duke
himself set the example, and blacked to a nicety the boots of
Henri. At half-past ten, after coffee, the brilliant warriors of
the cavalry were ready; their clarions rung to horse, their banners
were given to the wind, their shirt-collars were exquisitely
starched, and the whole air was scented with the odors of their
pomatums and pocket-handkerchiefs.
Jenkins had the honor of holding the stirrup for Henri. "My
faithful Duke!" said the Prince, pulling him by the shoulder-knot,
"thou art always at THY POST." "Here, as in Wellington Street,
sire," said the hero, blushing. And the Prince made an appropriate
speech to his chivalry, in which allusions to the lilies, Saint
Louis, Bayard and Henri Quatre, were, as may be imagined, not
spared. "Ho! standard-bearer!" the Prince concluded, "fling out my
oriflamme. Noble gents of France, your King is among you to-day!"
Then turning to the Prince of Ballybunion, who had been drinking
whiskey-punch all night with the Princes of Donegal and Connemara,
"Prince," he said, "the Irish Brigade has won every battle in the
French history--we will not deprive you of the honor of winning
this. You will please to commence the attack with your brigade."
Bending his head until the green plumes of his beaver mingled with
the mane of the Shetland pony which he rode, the Prince of Ireland
trotted off with his aides-de-camp; who rode the same horses,
powerful grays, with which a dealer at Nantz had supplied them on
their and the Prince's joint bill at three months.
The gallant sons of Erin had wisely slept until the last minute in
their potato-trenches, but rose at once at the summons of their
beloved Prince. Their toilet was the work of a moment--a single
shake and it was done. Rapidly forming into a line, they advanced
headed by their Generals,--who, turning their steeds into a grass-
field, wisely determined to fight on foot. Behind them came the
line of British foot under the illustrious Jenkins, who marched in
advance perfectly collected, and smoking a Manilla cigar. The
cavalry were on the right and left of the infantry, prepared to act
in pontoon, in echelon, or in ricochet, as occasion might demand.
The Prince rode behind, supported by his Staff, who were almost all
of them bishops, archdeacons, or abbes; and the body of ecclesiastics
followed, singing to the sound, or rather howl, of serpents and
trombones, the Latin canticles of the Reverend Franciscus O'Mahony,
lately canonized under the name of Saint Francis of Cork.
The advanced lines of the two contending armies were now in
presence--the National Guard of Orleans and the Irish Brigade.
The white belts and fat paunches of the Guard presented a terrific
appearance; but it might have been remarked by the close observer,
that their faces were as white as their belts, and the long line of
their bayonets might be seen to quiver. General Odillon Barrot,
with a cockade as large as a pancake, endeavored to make a speech:
the words honneur, patrie, Francais, champ de bataille might be
distinguished; but the General was dreadfully flustered, and was
evidently more at home in the Chamber of Deputies than in the field
The Prince of Ballybunion, for a wonder, did not make a speech.
"Boys," said he, "we've enough talking at the Corn Exchange;
bating's the word now." The Green-Islanders replied with a
tremendous hurroo, which sent terror into the fat bosoms of the
"Gentlemen of the National Guard," said the Prince, taking off his
hat and bowing to Odillon Barrot, "will ye be so igsthramely
obleeging as to fire first." This he said because it had been said
at Fontenoy, but chiefly because his own men were only armed with
shillelaghs, and therefore could not fire.
But this proposal was very unpalatable to the National Guardsmen:
for though they understood the musket-exercise pretty well, firing
was the thing of all others they detested--the noise, and the kick
of the gun, and the smell of the powder being very unpleasant to
them. "We won't fire," said Odillon Barrot, turning round to
Colonel Saugrenue and his regiment of the line--which, it may be
remembered, was formed behind the National Guard.
"Then give them the bayonet," said the Colonel, with a terrific
oath. "Charge, corbleu!"
At this moment, and with the most dreadful howl that ever was
heard, the National Guard was seen to rush forwards wildly, and
with immense velocity, towards the foe. The fact is, that the line
regiment behind them, each selecting his man, gave a poke with his
bayonet between the coat-tails of the Nationals, and those troops
bounded forward with an irresistible swiftness.
Nothing could withstand the tremendous impetus of that manoeuvre.
The Irish Brigade was scattered before it, as chaff before the
wind. The Prince of Ballybunion had barely time to run Odillon
Barrot through the body, when he too was borne away in the swift
rout. They scattered tumultuously, and fled for twenty miles
without stopping. The Princes of Donegal and Connemara were taken
prisoners; but though they offered to give bills at three months,
and for a hundred thousand pounds, for their ransom, the offer was
refused, and they were sent to the rear; when the Duke of Nemours,
hearing they were Irish Generals, and that they had been robbed of
their ready money by his troops, who had taken them prisoners,
caused a comfortable breakfast to be supplied to them, and lent
them each a sum of money. How generous are men in success!--the
Prince of Orleans was charmed with the conduct of his National
Guards, and thought his victory secure. He despatched a courier to
Paris with the brief words, "We met the enemy before Tours. The
National Guard has done its duty. The troops of the pretender are
routed. Vive le Roi!" The note, you may be sure, appeared in the
Journal des Debats, and the editor, who only that morning had
called Henri V. "a great prince, an august exile," denominated him
instantly a murderer, slave, thief, cut-throat, pickpocket, and
THE ENGLISH UNDER JENKINS.
But the Prince had not calculated that there was a line of British
infantry behind the routed Irish Brigade. Borne on with the hurry
of the melee, flushed with triumph, puffing and blowing with
running, and forgetting, in the intoxication of victory, the
trifling bayonet-pricks which had impelled them to the charge, the
conquering National Guardsmen found themselves suddenly in presence
of Jenkins's Foot.
They halted all in a huddle, like a flock of sheep.
"UP, FOOT, AND AT THEM!" were the memorable words of the Duke
Jenkins, as, waving his baton, he pointed towards the enemy, and
with a tremendous shout the stalwart sons of England rushed on!--
Down went plume and cocked-hat, down went corporal and captain,
down went grocer and tailor, under the long staves of the
indomitable English Footmen. "A Jenkins! a Jenkins!" roared the
Duke, planting a blow which broke the aquiline nose of Major Arago,
the celebrated astronomer. "St. George for Mayfair!" shouted his
followers, strewing the plain with carcasses. Not a man of the
Guard escaped; they fell like grass before the mower.
"They are gallant troops, those yellow-plushed Anglais," said the
Duke of Nemours, surveying them with his opera-glass. "'Tis a pity
they will all be cut up in half an hour. Concombre! take your
dragoons, and do it!" "Remember Waterloo, boys!" said Colonel
Concombre, twirling his moustache, and a thousand sabres flashed in
the sun, and the gallant hussars prepared to attack the Englishmen.
Jenkins, his gigantic form leaning on his staff, and surveying the
havoc of the field, was instantly aware of the enemy's manoeuvre.
His people were employed rifling the pockets of the National Guard,
and had made a tolerable booty, when the great Duke, taking a bell
out of his pocket, (it was used for signals in his battalion in
place of fife or bugle,) speedily called his scattered warriors
together. "Take the muskets of the Nationals," said he. They did
so. "Form in square, and prepare to receive cavalry!" By the time
Concombre's regiment arrived, he found a square of bristling
bayonets with Britons behind them!
The Colonel did not care to attempt to break that tremendous body.
"Halt!" said he to his men.
"Fire!" screamed Jenkins, with eagle swiftness; but the guns of the
National Guard not being loaded, did not in consequence go off.
The hussars gave a jeer of derision, but nevertheless did not
return to the attack, and seeing some of the Legitimist cavalry at
hand, prepared to charge upon them.
The fate of those carpet warriors was soon decided. The Millefleur
regiment broke before Concombre's hussars instantaneously; the Eau-
de-Rose dragoons stuck spurs into their blood horses, and galloped
far out of reach of the opposing cavalry; the Eau-de-Cologne
lancers fainted to a man, and the regiment of Concombre, pursuing
its course, had actually reached the Prince and his aides-de-camp,
when the clergymen coming up formed gallantly round the oriflamme,
and the bassoons and serpents braying again, set up such a shout of
canticles, and anathemas, and excommunications, that the horses of
Concombre's dragoons in turn took fright, and those warriors in
their turn broke and fled. As soon as they turned, the Vendean
riflemen fired amongst them and finished them: the gallant
Concombre fell; the intrepid though diminutive Cornichon, his
major, was cut down; Cardon was wounded a la moelle, and the wife
of the fiery Navet was that day a widow. Peace to the souls of the
brave! In defeat or in victory, where can the soldier find a more
fitting resting-place than the glorious field of carnage? Only a
few disorderly and dispirited riders of Concombre's regiment
reached Tours at night. They had left it but the day before, a
thousand disciplined and high-spirited men!
Knowing how irresistible a weapon is the bayonet in British hands,
the intrepid Jenkins determined to carry on his advantage, and
charged the Saugrenue light infantry (now before him) with COLD
STEEL. The Frenchmen delivered a volley, of which a shot took
effect in Jenkins's cockade, but did not abide the crossing of the
weapons. "A Frenchman dies, but never surrenders," said Saugrenue,
yielding up his sword, and his whole regiment were stabbed,
trampled down, or made prisoners. The blood of the Englishmen rose
in the hot encounter. Their curses were horrible; their courage
tremendous. "On! on!" hoarsely screamed they; and a second
regiment met them and was crushed, pounded in the hurtling,
grinding encounter. "A Jenkins, a Jenkins!" still roared the
heroic Duke: "St. George for Mayfair!" The Footmen of England
still yelled their terrific battle-cry, "Hurra, hurra!" On they
went; regiment after regiment was annihilated, until, scared at the
very trample of the advancing warriors, the dismayed troops of
France screaming fled. Gathering his last warriors round about
him, Nemours determined to make a last desperate effort. 'Twas
vain: the ranks met; the next moment the truncheon of the Prince of
Orleans was dashed from his hand by the irresistible mace of the
Duke Jenkins; his horse's shins were broken by the same weapon.
Screaming with agony the animal fell. Jenkins's hand was at the
Duke's collar in a moment, and had he not gasped out, "Je me
rends!" he would have been throttled in that dreadful grasp!
Three hundred and forty-two standards, seventy-nine regiments,
their baggage, ammunition, and treasure-chests, fell into the hands
of the victorious Duke. He had avenged the honor of Old England;
and himself presenting the sword of the conquered Nemours to Prince
Henri, who now came up, the Prince bursting into tears, fell on his
neck and said, "Duke, I owe my crown to my patron saint and you."
It was indeed a glorious victory: but what will not British valor
The Duke of Nemours, having despatched a brief note to Paris,
saying, "Sire, all is lost except honor!" was sent off in
confinement; and in spite of the entreaties of his captor, was
hardly treated with decent politeness. The priests and the noble
regiments who rode back when the affair was over, were for having
the Prince shot at once, and murmured loudly against "cet Anglais
brutal" who interposed in behalf of the prisoner. Henri V. granted
the Prince his life; but, no doubt misguided by the advice of his
noble and ecclesiastical counsellors, treated the illustrious
English Duke with marked coldness, and did not even ask him to
supper that night.
"Well!" said Jenkins, "I and my merry men can sup alone." And,
indeed, having had the pick of the plunder of about 28,000 men,
they had wherewithal to make themselves pretty comfortable. The
prisoners (25,403) were all without difficulty induced to assume
the white cockade. Most of them had those marks of loyalty ready
sewn in their flannel-waistcoats, where they swore they had worn
them ever since 1830. This we may believe, and we will; but the
Prince Henri was too politic or too good-humored in the moment of
victory, to doubt the sincerity of his new subjects' protestations,
and received the Colonels and Generals affably at his table.
The next morning a proclamation was issued to the united armies.
"Faithful soldiers of France and Navarre," said the Prince, "the
saints have won for us a great victory--the enemies of our religion
have been overcome--the lilies are restored to their native soil.
Yesterday morning at eleven o'clock the army under my command
engaged that which was led by his SERENE Highness the Duke de
Nemours. Our forces were but a third in number when compared with
those of the enemy. My faithful chivalry and nobles made the
strength, however, equal.
"The regiments of Fleur-d'Orange, Millefleur, and Eau-de-Cologne
covered themselves with glory: they sabred many thousands of the
enemy's troops. Their valor was ably seconded by the gallantry of
my ecclesiastical friends: at a moment of danger they rallied round
my banner, and forsaking the crosier for the sword, showed that
they were of the church militant indeed.
"My faithful Irish auxiliaries conducted themselves with becoming
heroism--but why particularize when all did their duty? How
remember individual acts when all were heroes?" The Marshal of
France, Sucre d'Orgeville, Commander of the Army of H.M. Christian
Majesty, recommended about three thousand persons for promotion;
and the indignation of Jenkins and his brave companions may be
imagined when it is stated that they were not even mentioned in the
As for the Princes of Ballybunion, Donegal, and Connemara, they
wrote off despatches to their Government, saying, "The Duke of
Nemours is beaten, and a prisoner! The Irish Brigade has done it
all!" On which his Majesty the King of the Irish, convoking his
Parliament at the Corn Exchange Palace, Dublin, made a speech, in
which he called Louis Philippe an "old miscreant," and paid the
highest compliments to his son and his troops. The King on this
occasion knighted Sir Henry Sheehan, Sir Gavan Duffy (whose
journals had published the news), and was so delighted with the
valor of his son, that he despatched him his order of the Pig and
Whistle (1st class), and a munificent present of five hundred
thousand pounds--in a bill at three months. All Dublin was
illuminated; and at a ball at the Castle the Lord Chancellor Smith
(Earl of Smithereens) getting extremely intoxicated, called out the
Lord Bishop of Galway (the Dove), and they fought in the Phoenix
Park. Having shot the Right Reverend Bishop through the body,
Smithereens apologized. He was the same practitioner who had
rendered himself so celebrated in the memorable trial of the King--
before the Act of Independence.
Meanwhile, the army of Prince Henri advanced with rapid strides
towards Paris, whither the History likewise must hasten; for
extraordinary were the events preparing in that capital.
THE LEAGUER OF PARIS.
By a singular coincidence, on the very same day when the armies of
Henri V. appeared before Paris from the Western Road, those of the
Emperor John Thomas Napoleon arrived from the North. Skirmishes
took place between the advanced-guards of the two parties, and much
"Bon!" thought King Louis Philippe, who examined them from his
tower; "they will kill each other. This is by far the most
economical way of getting rid of them." The astute monarch's
calculations were admirably exposed by a clever remark of the
Prince of Ballybunion. "Faix, Harry," says he (with a familiarity
which the punctilious son of Saint Louis resented), "you and him
yandther--the Emperor, I mane--are like the Kilkenny cats, dear."
"Et que font-ils ces chats de Kilkigny, Monsieur le Prince de
Ballybunion?" asked the Most Christian King haughtily.
Prince Daniel replied by narrating the well-known apologue of the
animals "ating each other all up but their TEELS; and that's what
you and Imparial Pop yondther will do, blazing away as ye are,"
added the jocose and royal boy.
"Je prie votre Altesse Royale de vaguer a ses propres affaires,"
answered Prince Henri sternly: for he was an enemy to anything like
a joke; but there is always wisdom in real wit, and it would have
been well for his Most Christian Majesty had he followed the
facetious counsels of his Irish ally.
The fact is, the King, Henri, had an understanding with the
garrisons of some of the forts, and expected all would declare for
him. However, of the twenty-four forts which we have described,
eight only--and by the means of Marshal Soult, who had grown
extremely devout of late years--declared for Henri, and raised the
white flag: while eight others, seeing Prince John Thomas Napoleon
before them in the costume of his revered predecessor, at once
flung open their gates to him, and mounted the tricolor with the
eagle. The remaining eight, into which the Princes of the blood of
Orleans had thrown themselves, remained constant to Louis Philippe.
Nothing could induce that Prince to quit the Tuileries. His money
was there, and he swore he would remain by it. In vain his sons
offered to bring him into one of the forts--he would not stir
without his treasure. They said they would transport it thither;
but no, no: the patriarchal monarch, putting his finger to his aged
nose, and winking archly, said "he knew a trick worth two of that,"
and resolved to abide by his bags.
The theatres and cafes remained open as usual: the funds rose three
centimes. The Journal des Debats published three editions of
different tones of politics: one, the Journal de l'Empire, for
the Napoleonites; the Journal de la Legitimite another, very
complimentary to the Legitimate monarch; and finally, the original
edition, bound heart and soul to the dynasty of July. The poor
editor, who had to write all three, complained not a little that
his salary was not raised: but the truth is, that, by altering the
names, one article did indifferently for either paper. The Duke of
Brittany, under the title of Louis XVII., was always issuing
manifestoes from Charenton, but of these the Parisians took little
heed: the Charivari proclaimed itself his Gazette, and was allowed
to be very witty at the expense of the three pretenders.
As the country had been ravaged for a hundred miles round, the
respective Princes of course were for throwing themselves into the
forts, where there was plenty of provision; and, when once there,
they speedily began to turn out such of the garrison as were
disagreeable to them, or had an inconvenient appetite, or were of a
doubtful fidelity. These poor fellows turned into the road, had no
choice but starvation; as to getting into Paris, that was
impossible: a mouse could not have got into the place, so admirably
were the forts guarded, without having his head taken off by a
cannon-ball. Thus the three conflicting parties stood, close to
each other, hating each other, "willing to wound and yet afraid to
strike"--the victuals in the forts, from the prodigious increase of
the garrisons, getting smaller every day. As for Louis Philippe in
his palace, in the centre of the twenty-four forts, knowing that a
spark from one might set them all blazing away, and that he and his
money-bags might be blown into eternity in ten minutes, you may
fancy his situation was not very comfortable.
But his safety lay in his treasure. Neither the Imperialists nor
the Bourbonites were willing to relinquish the two hundred and
fifty billions in gold; nor would the Princes of Orleans dare to
fire upon that considerable sum of money, and its possessor, their
revered father. How was this state of things to end? The Emperor
sent a note to his Most Christian Majesty (for they always styled
each other in this manner in their communications), proposing that
they should turn out and decide the quarrel sword in hand; to which
proposition Henri would have acceded, but that the priests, his
ghostly counsellors, threatened to excommunicate him should he do
so. Hence this simple way of settling the dispute was impossible.
The presence of the holy fathers caused considerable annoyance in
the forts. Especially the poor English, as Protestants, were
subject to much petty persecution, to the no small anger of
Jenkins, their commander. And it must be confessed that these
intrepid Footmen were not so amenable to discipline as they might
have been. Remembering the usages of merry England, they clubbed
together, and swore they would have four meals of meat a day, wax-
candles in the casemates, and their porter. These demands were
laughed at: the priests even called upon them to fast on Fridays;
on which a general mutiny broke out in the regiment; and they would
have had a FOURTH standard raised before Paris--viz., that of
England--but the garrison proving too strong for them, they were
compelled to lay down their sticks; and, in consideration of past
services, were permitted to leave the forts. 'Twas well for them!
as you shall hear.
The Prince of Ballybunion and the Irish force were quartered in the
fort which, in compliment to them, was called Fort Potato, and
where they made themselves as comfortable as circumstances would
admit. The Princes had as much brandy as they liked, and passed
their time on the ramparts playing at dice, or pitch-and-toss (with
the halfpenny that one of them somehow had) for vast sums of money,
for which they gave their notes-of-hand. The warriors of their
legion would stand round delighted; and it was, "Musha, Master Dan,
but that's a good throw!" "Good luck to you, Misther Pat, and
throw thirteen this time!" and so forth. But this sort of inaction
could not last long. They had heard of the treasures amassed in
the palace of the Tuileries: they sighed when they thought of the
lack of bullion in their green and beautiful country. They panted
for war! They formed their plan.
THE BATTLE OF THE FORTS.
On the morning of the 26th October, 1884, as his Majesty Louis
Philippe was at breakfast reading the Debats newspaper, and wishing
that what the journal said about "Cholera Morbus in the Camp of the
Pretender Henri,"--"Chicken-pox raging in the Forts of the Traitor
Bonaparte,"--might be true, what was his surprise to hear the
report of a gun; and at the same instant--whiz! came an eighty-
four-pound ball through the window and took off the head of the
faithful Monsieur de Montalivet, who was coming in with a plate of
"Three francs for the window," said the monarch; "and the muffins
of course spoiled!" and he sat down to breakfast very peevishly.
Ah, King Louis Philippe, that shot cost thee more than a window-
pane--more than a plate of muffins--it cost thee a fair kingdom and
fifty millions of tax-payers.
The shot had been fired from Fort Potato. "Gracious heavens!" said
the commander of the place to the Irish Prince, in a fury, "What
has your Highness done?" "Faix," replied the other, "Donegal and I
saw a sparrow on the Tuileries, and we thought we'd have a shot at
it, that's all." "Hurroo! look out for squalls," here cried the
intrepid Hibernian; for at this moment one of Paixhans' shells fell
into the counterscarp of the demilune on which they were standing,
and sent a ravelin and a couple of embrasures flying about their
Fort Twenty-three, which held out for Louis Philippe, seeing Fort
Twenty-four, or Potato, open a fire on the Tuileries, instantly
replied by its guns, with which it blazed away at the Bourbonite
fort. On seeing this, Fort Twenty-two) occupied by the Imperialists,
began pummelling Twenty-three; Twenty-one began at Twenty-two; and
in a quarter of an hour the whole of this vast line of fortification
was in a blaze of flame, flashing, roaring, cannonading, rocketing,
bombing, in the most tremendous manner. The world has never perhaps,
before or since, heard such an uproar. Fancy twenty-four thousand
guns thundering at each other. Fancy the sky red with the fires of
hundreds of thousands of blazing, brazen meteors; the air thick with
impenetrable smoke--the universe almost in a flame! for the noise of
the cannonading was heard on the peaks of the Andes, and broke three
windows in the English factory at Canton. Boom, boom, boom!
for three days incessantly the gigantic--I may say, Cyclopean
battle went on: boom, boom, boom, bong! The air was thick with
cannon-balls: they hurtled, they jostled each other in the heavens,
and fell whizzing, whirling, crashing, back into the very forts
from which they came. Boom, boom, boom, bong--brrwrrwrrr!
On the second day a band might have been seen (had the smoke
permitted it) assembling at the sally-port of Fort Potato, and have
been heard (if the tremendous clang of the cannonading had allowed
it) giving mysterious signs and countersigns. "Tom," was the word
whispered, "Steele" was the sibilated response. (It is astonishing
how, in the roar of elements, THE HUMAN WHISPER hisses above all!)
It was the Irish Brigade assembling. "Now or never, boys!" said
their leaders; and sticking their doodeens into their mouths, they
dropped stealthily into the trenches, heedless of the broken glass
and sword-blades; rose from those trenches; formed in silent order;
and marched to Paris. They knew they could arrive there unobserved--
nobody, indeed, remarked their absence.
The frivolous Parisians were, in the meanwhile, amusing themselves
at their theatres and cafes as usual; and a new piece, in which
Arnal performed, was the universal talk of the foyers: while a new
feuilleton by Monsieur Eugene Sue, kept the attention of the reader
so fascinated to the journal, that they did not care in the least
for the vacarme without the walls.
The tremendous cannonading, however, had a singular effect upon the
inhabitants of the great public hospital of Charenton, in which it
may be remembered Louis XVII. had been, as in mockery, confined.
His majesty of demeanor, his calm deportment, the reasonableness of
his pretensions, had not failed to strike with awe and respect his
four thousand comrades of captivity. The Emperor of China, the
Princess of the Moon, Julius Caesar, Saint Genevieve, the patron
saint of Paris, the Pope of Rome, the Cacique of Mexico, and
several singular and illustrious personages who happened to be
confined there, all held a council with Louis XVII.; and all agreed
that now or never was the time to support his legitimate pretensions
to the Crown of France. As the cannons roared around them, they
howled with furious delight in response. They took counsel
together: Dr. Pinel and the infamous jailers, who, under the name of
keepers, held them in horrible captivity, were pounced upon and
overcome in a twinkling. The strait-waistcoats were taken off from
the wretched captives languishing in the dungeons; the guardians
were invested in these shameful garments, and with triumphant
laughter plunged under the Douches. The gates of the prison were
flung open, and they marched forth in the blackness of the storm!
. . . . . .
On the third day, the cannonading was observed to decrease; only a
gun went off fitfully now and then.
. . . . . .
On the fourth day, the Parisians said to one another, "Tiens! ils
sont fatigues, les cannoniers des forts!"--and why? Because there
was no more powder?--Ay, truly, there WAS no more powder.
There was no more powder, no more guns, no more gunners, no more
forts, no more nothing. THE FORTS HAD BLOWN EACH OTHER UP. The
battle-roar ceased. The battle-clouds rolled off. The silver
moon, the twinkling stars, looked blandly down from the serene
azure,--and all was peace--stillness--the stillness of death.
Holy, holy silence!
Yes: the battle of Paris was over. And where were the combatants?
All gone--not one left!--And where was Louis Philippe? The
venerable Prince was a captive in the Tuileries; the Irish Brigade
was encamped around it: they had reached the palace a little too
late; it was already occupied by the partisans of his Majesty Louis
That respectable monarch and his followers better knew the way to
the Tuileries than the ignorant sons of Erin. They burst through
the feeble barriers of the guards; they rushed triumphant into the
kingly halls of the palace; they seated the seventeenth Louis on
the throne of his ancestors; and the Parisians read in the Journal
des Debats, of the fifth of November; an important article, which
proclaimed that the civil war was concluded:--
"The troubles which distracted the greatest empire in the world are
at an end. Europe, which marked with sorrow the disturbances which
agitated the bosom of the Queen of Nations, the great leader of
Civilization, may now rest in peace. That monarch whom we have
long been sighing for; whose image has lain hidden, and yet oh! how
passionately worshipped, in every French heart, is with us once
more. Blessings be on him; blessings--a thousand blessings upon
the happy country which is at length restored to his beneficent,
his legitimate, his reasonable sway!
"His Most Christian Majesty Louis XVII. yesterday arrived at his
palace of the Tulleries, accompanied by his august allies. His
Royal Highness the Duke of Orleans has resigned his post as
Lieutenant-General of the kingdom, and will return speedily to take
up his abode at the Palais Royal. It is a great mercy that the
children of his Royal Highness, who happened to be in the late
forts round Paris, (before the bombardment which has so happily
ended in their destruction,) had returned to their father before
the commencement of the cannonading. They will continue, as
heretofore, to be the most loyal supporters of order and the
"None can read without tears in their eyes our august monarch's
"'Louis, by &c.--
"'My children! After nine hundred and ninety-nine years of
captivity, I am restored to you. The cycle of events predicted by
the ancient Magi, and the planetary convolutions mentioned in the
lost Sibylline books, have fulfilled their respective idiosyncrasies,
and ended (as always in the depths of my dungeons I confidently
expected) in the triumph of the good Angel, and the utter
discomfiture of the abominable Blue Dragon.
"'When the bombarding began, and the powers of darkness commenced
their hellish gunpowder evolutions, I was close by--in my palace of
Charenton, three hundred and thirty-three thousand miles off, in
the ring of Saturn--I witnessed your misery. My heart was affected
by it, and I said, "Is the multiplication-table a fiction? are the
signs of the Zodiac mere astronomers' prattle?"
"'I clapped chains, shrieking and darkness, on my physician, Dr.
Pinel. The keepers I shall cause to be roasted alive. I summoned
my allies round about me. The high contracting Powers came to my
bidding: monarchs from all parts of the earth; sovereigns from the
Moon and other illumined orbits; the white necromancers, and the
pale imprisoned genii. I whispered the mystic sign, and the doors
flew open. We entered Paris in triumph, by the Charenton bridge.
Our luggage was not examined at the Octroi. The bottle-green ones
were scared at our shouts, and retreated, howling: they knew us,
"'My faithful Peers and Deputies will rally around me. I have a
friend in Turkey--the Grand Vizier of the Mussulmans: he was a
Protestant once--Lord Brougham by name. I have sent to him to
legislate for us: he is wise in the law, and astrology, and all
sciences; he shall aid my Ministers in their councils. I have
written to him by the post. There shall be no more infamous mad-
houses in France, where poor souls shiver in strait-waistcoats.
"'I recognized Louis Philippe, my good cousin. He was in his
counting-house, counting out his money, as the old prophecy warned
me. He gave me up the keys of his gold; I shall know well how to
use it. Taught by adversity, I am not a spendthrift, neither am I
a miser. I will endow the land with noble institutions instead of
diabolical forts. I will have no more cannon founded. They are a
curse and shall be melted--the iron ones into railroads; the bronze
ones into statues of beautiful saints, angels, and wise men; the
copper ones into money, to be distributed among my poor. I was
poor once, and I love them.
"'There shall be no more poverty; no more wars; no more avarice; no
more passports; no more custom-houses; no more lying: no more
"'My Chambers will put the seal to these reforms. I will it. I am
"Some alarm was created yesterday by the arrival of a body of the
English Foot-Guard under the Duke of Jenkins; they were at first
about to sack the city, but on hearing that the banner of the
lilies was once more raised in France, the Duke hastened to the
Tuileries, and offered his allegiance to his Majesty. It was
accepted: and the Plush Guard has been established in place of the
Swiss, who waited on former sovereigns."
"The Irish Brigade quartered in the Tuileries are to enter our
service. Their commander states that they took every one of the
forts round Paris, and having blown them up, were proceeding to
release Louis XVII., when they found that august monarch, happily,
free. News of their glorious victory has been conveyed to Dublin,
to his Majesty the King of the Irish. It will be a new laurel to
add to his green crown!"
And thus have we brought to a conclusion our history of the great
French Revolution of 1884. It records the actions of great and
various characters; the deeds of various valor; it narrates
wonderful reverses of fortune; it affords the moralist scope for
his philosophy; perhaps it gives amusement to the merely idle
reader. Nor must the latter imagine, because there is not a
precise moral affixed to the story, that its tendency is otherwise
than good. He is a poor reader, for whom his author is obliged to
supply a moral application. It is well in spelling-books and for
children; it is needless for the reflecting spirit. The drama of
Punch himself is not moral: but that drama has had audiences all
over the world. Happy he, who in our dark times can cause a smile!
Let us laugh then, and gladden in the sunshine, though it be but as
the ray upon the pool, that flickers only over the cold black
On the 1st of January, 1838, I was the master of a lovely shop in
the neighborhood of Oxford Market; of a wife, Mrs. Cox; of a
business, both in the shaving and cutting line, established three-
and-thirty years; of a girl and boy respectively of the ages of
eighteen and thirteen; of a three-windowed front, both to my first
and second pair; of a young foreman, my present partner, Mr.
Orlando Crump; and of that celebrated mixture for the human hair,
invented by my late uncle, and called Cox's Bohemian Balsam of
Tokay, sold in pots at two-and-three and three-and-nine. The
balsam, the lodgings, and the old-established cutting and shaving
business brought me in a pretty genteel income. I had my girl,
Jemimarann, at Hackney, to school; my dear boy, Tuggeridge, plaited
her hair beautifully; my wife at the counter (behind the tray of
patent soaps, &c.) cut as handsome a figure as possible; and it was
my hope that Orlando and my girl, who were mighty soft upon one
another, would one day be joined together in Hyming, and,
conjointly with my son Tug, carry on the business of hairdressers
when their father was either dead or a gentleman: for a gentleman
me and Mrs. C. determined I should be.
Jemima was, you see, a lady herself, and of very high connections:
though her own family had met with crosses, and was rather low.
Mr. Tuggeridge, her father, kept the famous tripe-shop near the
"Pigtail and Sparrow," in the Whitechapel Road; from which place I
married her; being myself very fond of the article, and especially
when she served it to me--the dear thing!
Jemima's father was not successful in business: and I married her,
I am proud to confess it, without a shilling. I had my hands, my
house, and my Bohemian balsam to support her!--and we had hopes
from her uncle, a mighty rich East India merchant, who, having left
this country sixty years ago as a cabin-boy, had arrived to be the
head of a great house in India, and was worth millions, we were
Three years after Jemimarann's birth (and two after the death of my
lamented father-in-law), Tuggeridge (head of the great house of
Budgurow and Co.) retired from the management of it; handed over
his shares to his son, Mr. John Tuggeridge, and came to live in
England, at Portland Place, and Tuggeridgeville, Surrey, and enjoy
himself. Soon after, my wife took her daughter in her hand and
went, as in duty bound, to visit her uncle: but whether it was that
he was proud and surly, or she somewhat sharp in her way, (the dear
girl fears nobody, let me have you to know,) a desperate quarrel
took place between them; and from that day to the day of his death,
he never set eyes on her. All that he would condescend to do, was
to take a few dozen of lavender-water from us in the course of the
year, and to send his servants to be cut and shaved by us. All the
neighbors laughed at this poor ending of our expectations, for
Jemmy had bragged not a little; however, we did not care, for the
connection was always a good one, and we served Mr. Hock, the
valet; Mr. Bar, the coachman; and Mrs. Breadbasket, the housekeeper,
willingly enough. I used to powder the footman, too, on great days,
but never in my life saw old Tuggeridge, except once: when he said
"Oh, the barber!" tossed up his nose, and passed on.
One day--one famous day last January--all our Market was thrown
into a high state of excitement by the appearance of no less than
three vehicles at our establishment. As me, Jemmy, my daughter,
Tug, and Orlando, were sitting in the back-parlor over our dinner
(it being Christmas-time, Mr. Crump had treated the ladies to a
bottle of port, and was longing that there should be a mistletoe-
bough: at which proposal my little Jemimarann looked as red as a
glass of negus):--we had just, I say, finished the port, when, all
of a sudden, Tug bellows out, "La, Pa, here's uncle Tuggeridge's
housekeeper in a cab!"
And Mrs. Breadbasket it was, sure enough--Mrs. Breadbasket in deep
mourning, who made her way, bowing and looking very sad, into the
back shop. My wife, who respected Mrs. B. more than anything else
in the world, set her a chair, offered her a glass of wine, and
vowed it was very kind of her to come. "La, mem," says Mrs. B.,
"I'm sure I'd do anything to serve your family, for the sake of
that poor dear Tuck-Tuck-tug-guggeridge, that's gone."
"That's what?" cries my wife.
"What, gone?" cried Jemimarann, bursting out crying (as little
girls will about anything or nothing); and Orlando looking very
rueful, and ready to cry too.
"Yes, gaw--" Just as she was at this very "gaw" Tug roars out,
"La, Pa! here's Mr. Bar, uncle Tug's coachman!"
It was Mr. Bar. When she saw him, Mrs. Breadbasket stepped
suddenly back into the parlor with my ladies. "What is it, Mr.
Bar?" says I; and as quick as thought, I had the towel under his
chin, Mr. Bar in the chair, and the whole of his face in a
beautiful foam of lather. Mr. Bar made some resistance.--"Don't
think of it, Mr. Cox," says he; "don't trouble yourself, sir." But
I lathered away and never minded. "And what's this melancholy
event, sir," says I, "that has spread desolation in your family's
bosoms? I can feel for your loss, sir--I can feel for your loss."
I said so out of politeness, because I served the family, not
because Tuggeridge was my uncle--no, as such I disown him.
Mr. Bar was just about to speak. "Yes, sir," says he, "my master's
gaw--" when at the "gaw" in walks Mr. Hock, the own man!--the
finest gentleman I ever saw.
"What, YOU here, Mr. Bar!" says he.
"Yes, I am, sir; and haven't I a right, sir?"
"A mighty wet day, sir," says I to Mr. Hock--stepping up and making
my bow. "A sad circumstance too, sir! And is it a turn of the
tongs that you want to-day, sir? Ho, there, Mr. Crump!"
"Turn, Mr. Crump, if you please, sir," said Mr. Hock, making a bow:
"but from you, sir, never--no, never, split me!--and I wonder how
some fellows can have the INSOLENCE to allow their MASTERS to shave
them!" With this, Mr. Hock flung himself down to be curled: Mr.
Bar suddenly opened his mouth in order to reply; but seeing there
was a tiff between the gentlemen, and wanting to prevent a quarrel,
I rammed the Advertiser into Mr. Hock's hands, and just popped my
shaving-brush into Mr. Bar's mouth--a capital way to stop angry
Mr. Bar had hardly been in the chair one second, when whir comes a
hackney-coach to the door, from which springs a gentleman in a
black coat with a bag.
"What, you here!" says the gentleman. I could not help smiling,
for it seemed that everybody was to begin by saying, "What, YOU
here!" "Your name is Cox, sir?" says he; smiling too, as the very
pattern of mine. "My name, sir, is Sharpus,--Blunt, Hone and
Sharpus, Middle Temple Lane,--and I am proud to salute you, sir;
happy,--that is to say, sorry to say that Mr. Tuggeridge, of
Portland Place, is dead, and your lady is heiress, in consequence,
to one of the handsomest properties in the kingdom."
At this I started, and might have sunk to the ground, but for my
hold of Mr. Bar's nose; Orlando seemed putrified to stone, with his
irons fixed to Mr. Hock's head; our respective patients gave a
wince out:--Mrs. C., Jemimarann, and Tug, rushed from the back
shop, and we formed a splendid tableau such as the great Cruikshank
might have depicted.
"And Mr. John Tuggeridge, sir?" says I.
"Why--hee, hee, hee!" says Mr. Sharpus. "Surely you know that he
was only the--hee, hee, hee!--the natural son!"
You now can understand why the servants from Portland Place had
been so eager to come to us. One of the house-maids heard Mr.
Sharpus say there was no will, and that my wife was heir to the
property, and not Mr. John Tuggeridge: this she told in the
housekeeper's room; and off, as soon as they heard it, the whole
party set, in order to be the first to bear the news.
We kept them, every one in their old places; for, though my wife
would have sent them about their business, my dear Jemimarann just
hinted, "Mamma, you know THEY have been used to great houses, and
we have not; had we not better keep them for a little?"--Keep them,
then, we did, to show us how to be gentlefolks.
I handed over the business to Mr. Crump without a single farthing
of premium, though Jemmy would have made me take four hundred
pounds for it; but this I was above: Crump had served me
faithfully, and have the shop he should.