Old and New Paris: Its History, Its People, and Its Places, v. 2

Nevertheless, he had several accomplices, who cannot be supposed to have been actuated by a love of notoriety. In the midst of the general horror caused by Fieschi’s murderous, and in the case of many members of the king’s suite fatal attempt, the Legitimist journals taunted the Republicans with the crime, who, in their turn, cast the responsibility upon the Legitimists. Louis Philippe had been duly warned by the police that some conspiracy was being prepared against him. He was to proceed on the 28th of July, 1835, to a review, accompanied by a numerous staff. Endeavours had been made, if he insisted on going to the review, to induce him to take another route. He refused, however, to make any change in his arrangements, and as he was passing along the lower boulevard, close to the Jardin Turc, a battery, formed of twenty-four musket-barrels – afterwards to be known as the “infernal machine” – discharged upon the king and his staff a hail of bullets. The Duc de Trévise (Marshal Mortier), General de Vérigny, and several other officers fell mortally wounded; and inside a house from whose window the bullets had been fired was arrested Fieschi, the chief of the assassins. It was found impossible to connect the crime with the action of any political party, though at the trial suspicion was indirectly cast upon the Revolutionists, whose hopes had been so bitterly disappointed by the proclamation of a constitutional king instead of the establishment of a republic. That many of the attempts made upon the life of Louis Philippe were due to this party – who could not forget that they had driven away Charles X. only to replace him by Louis Philippe – is indisputable. But the trial of Fieschi (the details of whose crime have been already related) brought to light in connection with the case no political circumstances of any kind. Against the theory generally accepted by French historians, that Fieschi, in preparing his diabolical outrage, was moved only by love of notoriety, must be placed the fact that he did not possess enough money to construct the “infernal machine” without assistance, and that he was supplied with funds by several workmen, who cannot themselves be supposed to have been burdened by any superfluity of cash, and who, in their turn, must have been supplied from some quarter destined to remain unknown. It was not until a month afterwards that, through his avowals, some of Fieschi’s accomplices were discovered; and it was not till the February of the following year that the trial before the Chamber of Peers was brought to an end. After eleven appearances before the court on eleven different occasions, Fieschi and two of the direct participators in his crime were condemned to death.

In the course of the evidence abundant particulars were furnished as to the life led by Fieschi since his earliest days. He had served in the Neapolitan army under Murat, whom, after the general collapse of the Napoleonic system, he seems to have betrayed to the Austrians. He had been imprisoned for various offences, and when at liberty had acted, in Italy and in France, as informer and spy. He had at last succeeded in obtaining a very small post under the Administration as keeper of some kind of mill; and as he was dismissed from this appointment only a few months before his attempt on the life of the king (a warrant being at the same time issued for his arrest), it is barely possible that in preparing his crime he was moved by some idea of personal vengeance acting upon a disordered brain.

Endeavours were made to obtain a commutation of the capital sentence on behalf of Fieschi’s accomplices; to which the Duke of Orleans, Louis Philippe’s eldest son, replied: “If I myself, or any member of the king’s family, had been struck, it might have been possible to grant the commutation demanded; but no relation of any of the victims has suggested it.” Fieschi and two of his accomplices were accordingly executed, without either of them saying the least word as to the origin of the foul conspiracy. Nineteen persons had been killed or mortally wounded by the explosion of the infernal machine, and twenty-three wounded seriously.

The prosecution of Louvel, another of the political prisoners arraigned at the Luxemburg, (to go back some years) began before his victim, the Duke of Berry, was dead; and in the very opera-house at whose doors, just as he was stepping into his carriage, the unfortunate man had been stabbed. In the manager’s private apartments the unhappy prince lay stretched on a bed, hastily arranged and already soaked with blood, surrounded by his nearest relatives. The poignant anguish of his wife was from time to time relieved by some faint ray of hope, destined soon to be dispelled. In a neighbouring room the assassin was being interrogated by the ministers Decazes and Pasquier, with the bloody dagger on the table before them; while on the stage the ballet of “Don Quixote” was being performed in presence of an enthusiastic public. In the course of the night King Louis XVIII. arrived; and his nephew expired in his arms at half-past six the next morning, begging that his murderer might be forgiven. The same day (Feb. 14th, 1820) the Chamber of Peers was, by special order of the king, constituted as a court of justice to try Louvel.

Meanwhile the assassin had, according to custom, been confronted with the body of his victim, and in the presence of the corpse was subjected to a full interrogatory.

In the body you see before you, do you recognise, he was asked, the wound made by your hand?

A. Yes.

Q. In the name of a prince who, until the last moment, supplicated the king in favour of his assassin, I call upon you to name your accomplices, and those who suggested to you the horrible project of assassination.

A. There are none to name.

Q. Who induced you to commit this crime?

A. I wished to give an example to the great personages of my country.

Q. Was the arm you employed poisoned?

A. No; I neither poisoned it nor caused it to be poisoned.

The next ceremony was the opening of the body, which was performed by MM. Dupuytren, Bourgon, and Roux. The doctors in a formal report described the wound, and certified that the lesions caused by it had “without doubt” produced the prince’s death. To leave nothing in a state of uncertainty – not even what was strikingly obvious – they examined the dagger which had been “represented as having served for the commission of the crime,” and introduced it into the wound; after which they certified that the latter corresponded in dimensions and form with the former.

The post-mortem examination and the report on the condition of the body having been finished, the clothes of the murdered prince were at the request of his wife given to her. They consisted of a green tail-coat, a yellow waistcoat, a pair of grey trousers, a shirt, and a flannel vest; the coat, waistcoat and trousers composing a costume which was doubtless fashionable at the time, but which in the present day would look somewhat grotesque.

Louvel was kept 114 days in prison, while minute inquiries were being made in every direction with the view of discovering his supposed accomplices. But, like Damiens and Ravaillac, he had acted alone, and in pursuance of a fixed idea which tormented him until he struck the fatal blow. He was kept in solitary confinement, and during the greater part of the time in a strait-waistcoat. During his imprisonment he spoke much and with all the agents who were put to guard him; and he was guarded day and night. He displayed remarkable vanity, being quite proud of sleeping at the Luxemburg while the trial lasted, and of being able to date his letters from the Luxemburg Palace. He was much preoccupied with the effect that this would produce. He continued to attribute his crime to a fixed idea which had never quitted him for six years, and which at last destroyed him. “I know I have committed a crime,” he said; “but in fifty years it will, perhaps, be regarded as a virtuous action.”

The trial of the prisoner was begun on the 5th of June and concluded on the following day, Towards the end of the proceedings the president of the court, in the name of God and of Heaven, adjured Louvel, since he was to succumb to human justice, not to draw upon himself “the eternal punishment to which execrable men are condemned by refusing to declare the instigators and accomplices of the crimes they have committed.” Louvel, rising hurriedly from his seat, exclaimed in a strong, steady voice: “No; I am alone.”

Asked if he had anything to say why sentence should not be passed, he spoke as follows: —

“If I have this day to blush for a national crime which I alone have committed, I have the consolation of believing in my last moments that I have not dishonoured the nation. I have not dishonoured my family. You must see in me nothing but a Frenchman resolved to sacrifice himself in order to destroy, according to his mind, the greatest enemies of his country. You accuse me of being guilty of having attacked the life of a prince. Yes, I am guilty of that crime; but some of the men who compose the Government are in their present position because they also have mistaken crimes for virtues.”

There was not and could not be any substantial defence to the charge of assassination; and after a long trial, in which every conceivable question, connected or unconnected with the case, was put to the prisoner, and after an imprisonment of some four months, he was at last condemned to death. He bore the announcement of the sentence with equanimity, and on the morning of the execution seemed only anxious to know whether the crowd assembled to witness his death would be enough to give national importance to the incident.

Twenty years later the Chamber of Peers was again to be convoked – this time under Louis Philippe – in order to judge Prince Louis Napoleon, who had invaded France to assert Napoleonic principles and his own personal right to the French throne. Only a few years previously Prince Louis Napoleon had made a like attempt at Strasburg, when, though a certain measure of support had been secured beforehand from the officers in the Strasburg garrison, he was arrested, and dismissed with no further punishment than an engagement on his part never again to set foot in France.

After the failure at Strasburg Prince Louis Napoleon went for a time to Switzerland, whence he made his way to England, where, as princes usually are, he was well received. A friend of Count d’Orsay, he was a frequent visitor at Lady Blessington’s. What was more important, he maintained friendly relations with Lord Palmerston, who, according to some good authorities, looked from the first with favour upon Prince Napoleon’s project of gaining supreme power in France. Louis Blanc, in his “History of Ten Years” (from 1830 to 1840), declares that before starting on his expedition to Boulogne, the prince received a secret visit from Lord Palmerston; and in the Russian “Diplomatic Study on the Crimean War” it is set forth that during Prince Louis Napoleon’s stay in London, Lord Palmerston laid with him the basis of the understanding by which some dozen years afterwards France and England formed a compact against Russia. The tardy speculations of these prophets of the past must be taken for what they are worth. Prince Louis Napoleon formed, in any case, a plan for invading France, and, followed by the troops who at every step were to join him, marching towards Paris, there to be received with acclamations by an enthusiastic population, eager for the restoration of the Napoleonic dynasty and the Napoleonic mode of government. For Prince Napoleon appealed to democrats as well as imperialists. He was to give with the one hand universal suffrage and with the other military government.

No one makes an invasion without reconnoitring beforehand the country to be invaded; and Prince Louis Napoleon’s emissaries had already ascertained that at Boulogne, at Calais, at Saint-Omer, and at the great military centre of Lille, there were officers ready to cast in their lot with his. According to Louis Blanc, Prince Louis Napoleon’s intention was, after securing the adhesion of the Boulogne garrison, to march upon Calais, whence he was to make his way to Saint-Omer. But the better-informed Count Orsi, who took part in the expedition, and was one of the prince’s most trusted friends, tells us, in a valuable little volume devoted to the subject, that the plan of campaign was to march from Boulogne straight to Saint-Omer. The point to be reached after Saint-Omer was in any case Lille; and if the garrison of Lille had once been secured, the prince’s enterprise would have been far, indeed, from hopeless.

To return once more to Louis Blanc – that brilliant, sensational, but by no means accurate historian. Prince Louis Napoleon was, according to his account, encouraged in his hazardous project by Lord Palmerston; not because that statesman believed in its success, but because he knew that it must inconvenience and possibly injure Louis Philippe, whose policy he detested. Louis Blanc also holds, in connection with the Boulogne expedition, that the French embassy in London was kept well informed as to the progress of the enterprise, but did not interfere because, anticipating with confidence a complete failure, it looked upon this fiasco as destined to have a strengthening effect on the existing Government, certain at once to suppress it. However all this may have been, Louis Napoleon’s friends engaged for him, in the month of July, 1840, a steamer named the Edinburgh Castle. On the 4th of August the arms, ammunition, and baggage were taken on board at Gravesend, where the vessel remained for some little time. Here it was that the famous eagle, which has become the subject of a ridiculous legend, was brought on board. An officer of the party who had gone on shore happened to meet with a youth who was offering an eagle for sale. Struck by the appropriateness of the bird, he determined, more in a jocular than in a superstitious spirit, to purchase it and place the expedition under its auspices. It was afterwards pretended that the eagle had been trained in London to fly round the head of Prince Louis Napoleon; this gyration, according to Louis Blanc, being caused by the bird’s knowledge that a piece of bacon was secreted beneath the rim of his master’s hat.

Louis Blanc, in his “Histoire de Dix Ans,” gives a long account of the Boulogne expedition, which is in the main correct. Several inaccuracies, however, have crept into his narrative, so often one-sided; and the only authentic account of this invasion on a small scale that has been written by a participator in the events is the one published for the first time some dozen years ago by Count Orsi. In asking the count to join him in the expedition, Prince Napoleon declared that if he ever succeeded in placing himself on the throne of France, which, sooner or later, he was convinced he should do, one of his first cares would be to free Italy from the domination of Austria, and unite the different Italian states into one independent kingdom. Apart, however, from this assurance. Count Orsi was quite prepared to throw in his lot with that of the Prince. He it was who secured the Edinburgh Castle for the expedition, and who, before the day of starting, obtained for the prince a loan of twenty thousand pounds. The steamer left London with about sixty of Napoleon’s adherents on board, and anxious inquiries were made as to its destination before it had got farther than Gravesend.

“I want to know,” said the custom-house officer who came alongside in a boat, “what you are doing here in the middle of the river.”

“We are waiting for a party of friends, who should have arrived by this time.”

“Where are you going?”

“To Hamburg.”

“Have you goods on board?”

“None; the steamer is chartered for a pleasure-trip.”

“How many people have you on board?”

“I have several private gentlemen, and I expect two more from London. I have three more to take up at Ramsgate.”

Here it is that the incident of the tame eagle comes in. Colonel Parquin had gone on shore to buy some cigars, when, on his way back from the tobacconist’s, he saw a boy seated on a log of wood feeding an eagle with shreds of meat. The eagle had a chain fastened to one of its claws, with which it was secured. The colonel asked whether the bird was for sale, and it was ultimately purchased for a pound. Conveyed on board, the eagle was fastened to the mainmast, and from that moment was never taken notice of until it was discovered and seized by the authorities at Boulogne. The eagle was for many years afterwards on view at the Boulogne slaughter-house, where there were abundant opportunities of supplying it with raw meat. The unhappy bird was destined, however, from first to last, to be made the subject of fables. Even Count Orsi’s account of its adventures at Boulogne is in some particulars incorrect. He had been informed that after the capture of Prince Napoleon and his followers the eagle was taken to the museum, whence, he says, it fled away next morning, owing to some carelessness on the part of the men who had it in charge. It was, as a matter of fact, however, taken to the abattoir, where the present writer remembers seeing it some half-dozen years after Prince Napoleon’s landing.

After vainly waiting at Gravesend for some hours after the time at which the prince was due, Count Orsi took a post-chaise and hastened to Ramsgate, where General Montholon, Colonel Voisin, and Colonel Laborde had been sent on by the prince in anticipation of his arrival. Colonel Voisin was the only one of the three who understood the real purport of the expedition. The count reached Ramsgate late on the night of the 4th of August, and put up at the hotel where the prince’s friends were staying. With Colonel Voisin, after General Montholon and Colonel Laborde had gone to bed, Orsi had a secret conference. Voisin was in the greatest state of concern at the delay in the prince’s arrival, because the whole success of the expedition depended on his reaching Boulogne early next morning. “Colonel Voisin,” we are assured, “was in utter despair at the non-appearance of the steamer, and almost out of his mind.” He declared to Orsi that the expedition would be a disastrous failure unless the Edinburgh Castle were at Boulogne by four o’clock the next morning. The only man, he said, whom the prince had to dread was Lieutenant-Colonel Puygellier, commanding the battalion at Boulogne – a man unflinching in the discharge of his duty and a staunch Republican, whom nothing could tempt to join an Imperial pretender. Orsi replied to the distracted Voisin that the hour of the ship’s arrival at Boulogne could not make much difference, since the hostility of Puygellier must at one time or another be faced. “You are mistaken,” said the colonel. “Puygellier will not be at Boulogne all day to-morrow. The prince has purposely fixed the 5th for presenting himself before the battalion, because he knows that Puygellier has been invited to a shooting-party at some distance from Boulogne, and in all probability not be back until late at night. If we miss being there to-morrow we are doomed to perish.”

It was one o’clock in the morning. Colonel Voisin, in a state of feverish agitation, threw the window open to get a breath of the sea-breeze, and walked up and down the room. The night was bright and calm. Leaning against the window-sill, Orsi perceived to the left, at some distance, a black column of smoke slowly elongating itself along the surface of the water, and fancied he heard the regular beat of paddle-wheels. For some little time he did not mention the circumstance to the colonel, lest he should be disappointed and the steamer should prove to be merely one of the many boats trading with Calais, Hamburg, and various Continental seaports. Ere long, however, the steamer reached the shore, and presently there was a hurried ring at the bell of the hotel. Thélin, one of the prince’s party, announced that Napoleon had arrived. Orsi was ordered to go on board at once with Voisin, Montholon, and Laborde. Thélin, hurrying to the room of the two last-named, made them get out of bed, dress, and follow him downstairs. As they were going out General Montholon drew Orsi aside and whispered: “I now understand; the prince has planned a coup-de-tête.” In a few minutes the party were on board the Edinburgh Castle. Not a soul was on deck. The prince had assembled his followers in the cabin, and was on the point of addressing them when Orsi and his friends joined the company. The address of the prince roused everyone to the highest pitch of enthusiasm – though the expression of this enthusiasm was restrained by Napoleon himself, who feared that the attention of the captain and crew might be attracted by the noise.

On the conclusion of the address the cabin was, at the prince’s request, cleared of everyone but General Montholon, the colonels Voisin, Montauban, Laborde, Count Persigny, Forestier, Ornano, Viscount de Querelles, Galvani, D’Hunin, Faure, and Orsi himself, who were summoned by their leader to deliberate in council as to the programme now to be followed.

The four hundred men of the 42nd line regiment, forming the garrison of Boulogne, were ready to proclaim the prince, and all preparations had been made in the town for a popular rising to succeed the military demonstration. But, inasmuch as it was now too late to reach Boulogne on the appointed day, the expedition was one of grave hazard and difficulty. There was no use in landing at or near Boulogne until the 6th, as nothing could be attempted in broad daylight.

The prince requested each member of his improvised council to give his opinion as to what course should be pursued in the emergency. Out of twelve three of his advisers begged him to go back to London. The rest were for landing at Boulogne, and making a dash towards the barracks in order to secure the adhesion of the garrison at all hazards.

The prince asked Count Orsi what would occur if they went back to London. “It is difficult to say,” was the reply; “though if the British Government took a bad view of the matter we should most likely be arrested and tried for misdemeanour.” What, moreover, was to be done with the arms, the uniforms, the printed proclamations and other revolutionary documents, which the Custom-house officers would find when the steamer got back to London Bridge? “We steer between two great dangers,” said Orsi to the prince. “By returning to London we become the laughing-stock of everybody; and ridicule kills. If we cross the Channel we run the risk of being shot or imprisoned for a longer or shorter period. Of the two I prefer the latter. As regards yourself, nothing would be more disastrous to your future prospects than being shown up to the public as a man who, at the eleventh hour, had been acted upon by considerations of a purely personal character. Let us save, at least, our honour, if we are doomed to lose everything else.”

Napoleon, who had been showing his approval of these words by constantly nodding at the count as he spoke, now rose and said: “Gentlemen, a show of hands from those who wish to be left behind and to return to London.” There was a dead silence, and then the prince, eyeing each of his auditors in succession as though he would read their inmost souls, exclaimed: “Gentlemen, a show of hands from those who are ready to follow me and share my fate.”

These words produced an indescribable outburst of enthusiasm, mingled with expressions of the most touching devotion. All sprang from their seats. For a few moments the prince was too much overpowered with emotion to vent his gratitude in words. Then he said: “Friends, I thank you for the alacrity and high spirit with which you have responded to my call. I never doubted your willingness to aid me in my projects, but the devotion you have just displayed has lent a new vigour to my mind and has bound my heart to you with a sense of deep, of eternal gratitude. Let us bear together the consequences of this enterprise, whatever they may be, with the calmness befitting men who act on conviction. Our cause is that of the country at large. Sooner or later success will be ours. I feel it. I have faith in my destiny. I look forward to the future as confidently as I expect the sun to rise this morning to dispel the darkness. We shall have obstacles to grapple with and obloquy to face; but the hour will come, and we shall not have long to wait for it.”