Alexa never spoke again. She breathed faintly for a few hours, and then expired, — the victim of intense feelings, too long and too severely tried.
* * * * *
This story, almost verbally as I have repeated it to you, was told me by a lady who assured me that she knew all the leading facts to be true; though she confessed that she was obliged to pass rather slightly over some of the details, from not remembering them perfectly. If the catastrophe be indeed true, I think it may be doubted whether the poor Alexa died from sorrow or from joy.
LETTER LIX.
Procès Monstre. — Dislike of the Prisoners to the ceremony of Trial. — Société des Droits de l’Homme. — Names given to the Sections. — Kitchen and Nursery Literature. — Anecdote of Lagrange. — Republican Law.
It is a long time since I have permitted a word to escape me about the trial of trials; but do not therefore imagine that we are as free from it and its daily echo as I have kindly suffered you to be.
It really appears to me, after all, that this monster trial is only monstrous because the prisoners do not like to be tried. There may perhaps have been some few legal incongruities in the manner of proceeding, arising very naturally from the difficulty of ascertaining exactly what the law is, in a country so often subjected to revolution as this has been. I own I have not yet made out completely to my own satisfaction, whether these gentry were accused in the first instance of high treason, or whether the whole proceedings rest upon an indictment for a breach of the peace. It is however clear enough, Heaven knows, both from evidence and from their own avowals, that if they were not arraigned for high treason, many of them were unquestionably guilty of it; and as they have all repeatedly proclaimed that it was their wish to stand or fall together, I confess that I see nothing very monstrous in treating them all as traitors.
It is only within these few last hours that I have been made to understand what object these simultaneous risings in April 1834 had in view. The document which has been now put into my hands appeared, I believe, in all the papers; but it was to me, at least, one of the thousand things that the eye glances over without taking the trouble of communicating to the mind what it finds. I will not take it for granted, however, that you are as ignorant or unobservant as myself, and therefore I shall not recite to you the evidence I have been just reading to prove that the union calling itself “La Société des Droits de l’Homme” was in fact the mainspring of the whole enterprise; but in case the expressive titles given by the central committee of this association to its different sections should have escaped you, I will transcribe them here, — or rather a part of them, for they are numerous enough to exhaust your patience, and mine too, were I to give them all. Among them, I find as pet and endearing names for their separate bands of employés the following: Section Marat, Section Robespierre, Section Quatre-vingt-treize, Section des Jacobins; Section de Guerre aux Châteaux — Abolition de la Propriété — Mort aux Tyrans — Des Piques — Canon d’Alarme — Tocsin — Barricade St. Méri, — and one which when it was given was only prophetic — Section de l’Insurrection de Lyon. These speak pretty plainly what sort of REFORM these men were preparing for France; and the trying those belonging to them who were taken with arms in their hands in open rebellion against the existing government, as traitors, cannot very justly, I think, be stigmatised as an act of tyranny, or in any other sense as a monstrous act.
The most monstrous part of the business is their conceiving (as the most conspicuous among them declare they do) that their refusing to plead, or, as they are pleased to call it, “refusing to take any part in the proceedings,” was, or ought to be, reason sufficient for immediately stopping all such proceedings against them. These persons have been caught, with arms in their hands, in the very fact of enticing their fellow-citizens into overt acts of rebellion; but because they do not choose to answer when they are called upon, the court ordained to try them are stigmatised as monsters and assassins for not dismissing them untried!
If this is to succeed, we shall find the fashion obtain vogue amongst us, more rapidly than any of Madame Leroy’s. Where is the murderer arraigned for his life who would not choose to make essay of so easy a method of escaping from the necessity of answering for his crime?
The trick is well imagined, and the degree of grave attention with which its availability is canvassed — out of doors at least — furnishes an excellent specimen of the confusion of intellect likely to ensue from confusion of laws amidst a population greatly given to the study of politics.
Never was there a finer opportunity for revolution and anarchy to take a lesson than the present. It is, I think, impossible for a mere looker-on, unbiassed by party or personal feelings of any kind, to deny that the government of Louis-Philippe is acting at this trying juncture with consummate courage, wisdom, and justice: but it is equally impossible not to perceive what revolution and revolt have done towards turning lawful power into tyranny. This is and ever must be inevitable wherever there is a hope existing that the government which follows the convulsion shall be permanent.
Fresh convulsions may arise — renewed tumult, destruction of property and risk of life may ensue; but at last it must happen that some strong hand shall seize the helm, and keep the reeling vessel to her stays, without heeding whether the grasp he has got of her be taken in conformity to received tactics or not.
Hardly a day passes that I do not hear of some proof of increased vigour on the part of the present government of France; and though I, for one, am certainly very far from approving the public acts which have given the present dynasty its power, I cannot but admire the strength and ability with which it is sustained.
The example, however, can avail but little to the legitimate monarchs who still occupy the thrones their forefathers occupied before them. No legitimate sovereign, possessing no power beyond what long-established law and precedent have given him, could dare show equal boldness. A king chosen in a rebellion is alone capable of governing rebels: and happy is it for the hot-headed jeunes gens of France that they have chanced to hit upon a prince who is neither a parvenu nor a mere soldier! The first would have had no lingering kindness at all for the still-remembered glories of the land; and the last, instead of trying them by the Chamber of Peers, would have had them up by fifties to a drum-head court martial, and probably have ordered the most troublesome among them to be picked off by their comrades, as an exercise at sharp-shooting, and as a useful example of military promptitude and decision.
The present government has indeed many things in its favour. The absence of every species of weakness and pusillanimity in the advisers of the crown is one; and the outrageous conduct of its enemies is another.
It is easy to perceive in the journals, and indeed in all the periodical publications which have been hitherto considered as belonging to the opposition, a gradual giving way before the overwhelming force of expediency. Conciliatory words come dropping in to the steady centre from côté droit and from côté gauche; and the louder the factious rebels roar around them, the firmer does the phalanx in which rests all the real strength of the country knit itself together.
The people of France are fully awakened to the feeling which Sheridan so strongly expresses when he says, that “the altar of liberty has been begrimed at once with blood and mire,” and they are disposed to look towards other altars for their protection.
All the world are sick of politics in England; and all the world are sick of politics in France. It is the same in Spain, the same in Italy, the same in Germany, the same in Russia. The quiet and peaceably-disposed are wearied, worried, tormented, and almost stunned, by the ceaseless jarring produced by the confusion into which bad men have contrived to throw all the elements of social life. Chaos seems come again — a moral chaos, far worse for the poor animal called man than any that a comet’s tail could lash the earth into. I assure you I often feel the most unfeigned longing to be out of reach of every sight and sound which must perforce mix up questions of gove
rnment with all my womanly meditations on lesser things; but the necessity de parler politique seems like an evil spirit that follows whithersoever you go.
I often think, that among all the revolutions and rumours of revolutions which have troubled the earth, there is not one so remarkable as that produced on conversation within the last thirty years. I speak not, however, only of that important branch of it— “the polite conversation of sensible women,” but of all the talk from garret to cellar throughout the world. Go where you will, it is the same; every living soul seems persuaded that it is his or her particular business to assist in arranging the political condition of Europe.
A friend of mine entered her nursery not long ago, and spied among her baby-linen a number of the Westminster Quarterly Review.
“What is this, Betty?” said she.
“It is only a book, ma’am, that John lent me to read,” answered the maid.
“Upon my word, Betty,” replied her mistress, “I think you would be much better employed in nursing the child than in reading books which you cannot understand.”
“It does not hinder me from nursing the child at all,” rejoined the enlightened young woman, “for I read as the baby lies in my lap; and as for understanding it, I don’t fear about that, for John says it is no more than what it is the duty of everybody to understand.”
So political we are, and political we must be — for John says so.
Wherefore I will tell you a little anecdote apropos of the Procès Monstre. An English friend of mine was in the Court of Peers the other day, when the prisoner Lagrange became so noisy and troublesome that it was found necessary to remove him. He had begun to utter in a loud voice, which was evidently intended to overpower the proceedings of the court, a pompous and inflammatory harangue, accompanied with much vehement action. His fellow-prisoners listened, and gazed at him with the most unequivocal marks of wondering admiration, while the court vainly endeavoured to procure order and silence.
“Remove the prisoner Lagrange!” was at last spoken by the president — and the guards proceeded to obey. The orator struggled violently, continuing, however, all the time to pour forth his rhapsody.
“Yes!” he cried,— “yes, my countrymen! we are here as a sacrifice. Behold our bosoms, tyrants! ... plunge your assassin daggers in our breasts! we are your victims ... ay, doom us all to death, we are ready — five hundred French bosoms are ready to....”
Here he came to a dead stop: his struggles, too, suddenly ceased.... He had dropped his cap, — the cap which not only performed the honourable office of sheltering the exterior of his patriotic head, but of bearing within its crown the written product of that head’s inspired eloquence! It was in vain that he eagerly looked for it beneath the feet of his guards; the cap had been already kicked by the crowd far beyond his reach, and the bereaved orator permitted himself to be led away as quiet as a lamb.
The gentleman who related this circumstance to me added, that he looked into several papers the following day, expecting to see it mentioned; but he could not find it, and expressed his surprise to a friend who had accompanied him into court, and who had also seen and enjoyed the jest, that so laughable a circumstance had not been noticed.
“That would not do at all, I assure you,” replied his friend, who was a Frenchman, and understood the politics of the free press perfectly; “there is hardly one of them who would not be afraid of making a joke of anything respecting les prévenus d’Avril.”
Before I take my final leave of these precious prévenus, I must give you an extract from a curious volume lent me by my kind friend M. J* * *, containing a table of the law reports inserted in the Bulletin of the Laws of the Republic. I have found among them ordinances more tyrannical than ever despot passed for the purpose of depriving of all civil rights his fellow-men; but the one I am about to give you is certainly peculiarly applicable to the question of allowing prisoners to choose their counsel from among persons not belonging to the bar, — a question which has been setting all the hot heads of Paris in a flame.
“Loi concernant le Tribunal Révolutionnaire du 22
Prairial, l’an deuxième de la République Française une et
indivisible.
“La loi donne pour défenseurs aux patriotes calomniés, (the
word ‘accused’ was too harsh to use in the case of these
bloody patriots,) — La loi donne pour défenseurs aux
patriotes calomniés, des jurés patriotes. Elle n’en accorde
point aux conspirateurs.”
What would the LIBERALS of Europe have said of King Louis-Philippe, had he acted upon this republican principle? If he had, he might perhaps have said fairly enough —
“Cæsar does never wrong but with just cause,”
for they have chosen to take their defence into their own hands; but how the pure patriots of l’an deuxième would explain the principle on which they acted, it would require a republican to tell.
LETTER LX.
Memoirs of M. de Châteaubriand. — The Readings at L’Abbaye-aux-Bois. — Account of these in the French Newspapers and Reviews. — Morning at the Abbaye to hear a portion of these Memoirs. — The Visit to Prague.
In several visits which we have lately made to the ever-delightful Abbaye-aux-Bois, the question has been started, as to the possibility or impossibility of my being permitted to be present there “aux lectures des Mémoires de M. de Châteaubriand.”
The apartment of my agreeable friend and countrywoman, Miss Clarke, also in this same charming Abbaye, was the scene of more than one of these anxious consultations. Against my wishes — for I really was hardly presumptuous enough to have hopes — was the fact that these lectures, so closely private, yet so publicly talked of and envied, were for the present over — nay, even that the gentleman who had been the reader was not in Paris. But what cannot zealous kindness effect? Madame Récamier took my cause in hand, and ... in a word, a day was appointed for me and my daughters to enjoy this greatly-desired indulgence.
Before telling you the result of this appointment, I must give you some particulars respecting these Memoirs, not so much apropos of myself and my flattering introduction to them, as from being more interesting in the way of Paris literary intelligence than anything I have met with.
The existence of these Memoirs is of course well known in England; but the circumstance of their having been read chez Madame Récamier, to a very select number of the noble author’s friends, is perhaps not so — at least, not generally; and the extraordinary degree of sensation which this produced in the literary world of Paris was what I am quite sure you can have no idea of. This is the more remarkable from the well-known politics of M. de Châteaubriand not being those of the day. The circumstances connected with the reading of these Memoirs, and the effect produced on the public by the peep got at them through those who were present, have been brought together into a very interesting volume, containing articles from most of the literary periodicals of France, each one giving to its readers the best account it had been able to obtain of these “lectures de l’Abbaye.” Among the articles thus brought together, are morceaux from the pens of every political party in France; but there is not one of them that does not render cordial — I might say, fervent homage to the high reputation, both literary and political, of the Vicomte de Châteaubriand.
There is a general preface to this volume, from the pen of M. Nisard, full of enthusiasm for the subject, and giving an animated and animating account of all the circumstances attending the readings, and of the different publications respecting them which followed.
It appears that the most earnest entreaties have been very generally addressed to M. de Châteaubriand to induce him to publish these Memoirs during his lifetime, but hitherto without effect. There is something in his reasonings on the subject equally touching and true: nevertheless, it is impossible not to lament that one cannot wish for a work so every way full of interest, without wishing at the same time that one of the most
amiable men in the world should be removed out of it. All those who are admitted to his circle must, I am very sure, most heartily wish never to see any more of his Memoirs than what he may be pleased himself to show them: but he has found out a way to make the world at large look for his death as for a most agreeable event. Notwithstanding all his reasonings, I think he is wrong. Those who have seen the whole, or nearly the whole of this work, declare it to be both the most important and the most able that he has composed; and embracing as it does the most interesting epoch of the world’s history, and coming from the hand of one who has played so varied and distinguished a part in it, we can hardly doubt that it is so.
Of all the different articles which compose the volume entitled “Lectures des Mémoires de M. de Châteaubriand,” the most interesting perhaps (always excepting some fragments from the Memoirs themselves) are the preface of M. Nisard, and an extract from the Revue du Midi, from the pen of M. de Lavergne. I must indulge you with some short extracts from both. M. Nisard says —
“Depuis de longues années, M. de Châteaubriand travaille à ses Mémoires, avec le dessein de ne les laisser publier qu’après sa mort. Au plus fort des affaires, quand il était ministre, ambassadeur, il oubliait les petites et les grandes tracasseries en écrivant quelques pages de ce livre de prédilection.”... “C’est le livre que M. de Châteaubriand aura le plus aimé, et, chose étrange! c’est le livre en qui M. de Châteaubriand ne veut pas être glorifié de son vivant.”
He then goes on to speak of the manner in which the readings commenced ... and then says,— “Cette lecture fut un triomphe; ceux qui avaient été de la fête nous la racontèrent, à nous qui n’en étions pas, et qui déplorions que le salon de Madame Récamier, cette femme qui s’est fait une gloire de bonté et de grâce, ne fut pas grand comme la plaine de Sunium. La presse littéraire alla demander à l’illustre écrivain quelques lignes, qu’elle encadra dans de chaudes apologies: il y eut un moment où toute la littérature ne fut que l’annonce et la bonne nouvelle d’un ouvrage inédit.”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 551