Rich possessions are seldom if ever willingly resigned, and a crown is one said to have such irresistible charms to the person who has once worn it, that history furnishes but few examples like that of Charles the Fifth, or Christina of Sweden. Time will prove whether Louis-Philippe d'Orleans will offer a _pendant_!

I walked with Comte d'O---- this evening into the Champs-Elysees, and great was the change effected there within the last few days. It looks ruined and desolate, the ground cut up by the pieces of cannon, and troops as well as the mobs that have made it a thoroughfare, and many of the trees greatly injured, if not destroyed.

A crowd was a.s.sembled around a man who was reading aloud for their edification a proclamation nailed to one of the trees. We paused for a moment to hear it, when some of the persons recognising my companion, shouted aloud, "_Vive le Comte d'Orsay! Vive le Comte d'Orsay!"_ and the cry being taken up by the ma.s.s, the reader was deserted, the fickle mult.i.tude directing ail their attention and enthusiasm to tho new comer. We had some difficulty in escaping from these troublesome and unexpected demonstrations of good will; and, while hurrying from the scene of this impromptu ovation to the unsought popularity of my companion, I made him smile by hinting at the danger in which he stood of being raised to the vacant throne by those who seem not to know or care who is to fill it.

Comte d'O---- was as much puzzled as I was how to account for this burst of enthusiasm, for, taking no part in politics, and all his family being attached to the legitimate cause, this demonstration of regard appears more inexplicable. It seems, however, to establish one fact, and that is, that though the monarch has fallen into disrepute with the people, the aristocracy have not, and this alone proves how totally different are the feelings of those who have effected the present revolution with those of the persons who were engaged in the former one, a difference, perhaps, not more to be attributed to the change produced in the people by the extension of education, than in the _n.o.blesse_ by the same cause, aided by the habits and feelings it engenders. Whatever may be the cause, the effect is salutary, for the good understanding evident between the two cla.s.ses tends greatly to the amelioration and advantage of both. There is something very contagious in popular feeling. It resembles an epidemic from which few of the cla.s.s more peculiarly exposed to it escape.

Walked into the streets to-day, for a carriage cannot yet pa.s.s through them. Never did any town, not actually sacked, present a more changed aspect. Houses damaged by shots, windows smashed, pavements destroyed, and trees cut down or mutilated, meet the eye along the Boulevards. The destruction of the trees excited more regret in my mind than that of the houses. There, many of them lay on the ground shorn of their leafy honours, offering obstructions on the spots which they so lately ornamented, while others stood bare and desolate, their giant limbs lopped off, their trunks shattered by bullets, and retaining only a few slight branches oh high, to which still adhered the parched, discoloured, and withered leaves, sole remnants of their lately luxuriant foliage.

The houses may be rebuilt and the streets newly paved, but how many years will it take before these trees can be replaced! Those who loved to repose beneath their shade, or who, pent in a city, were solaced by beholding them and thinking of the country of which they brought pleasant recollections, will grieve to miss them, and, like me, own with a sigh, while contemplating the ravages occasioned by the events of the last few days, that if good ever is effected by that most dangerous of all experiments, a revolution, it is too dearly bought.

The people seem as proud and pleased as possible with the accomplishment of the task they took in hand. How long will they continue so? They are like a too-spirited horse who, having mastered his rider, requires a bolder and more expert hand to subjugate him again to obedience, and the training will be all the more painful from the previous insubordination. Of one thing the people may be proud, and that is, their having not stained this revolution with any of the crimes that have left so indelible a blot on the former one.

How soon does the mind habituate itself to an unnatural state of excitement! My _femme de chambre_ positively looked blank and disappointed this morning, when, on entering my _chambre a coucher_, she answered in reply to my question, whether any thing new had occurred during the night, "_Non, miladi, positivement rien_." Strange to say, I too felt _desoeuvre_ by the want of having something to be alarmed or to hope about,--I, who meddle not with politics, and wish all the world to be as quiet and as calm as myself. Every one I see appears to experience this same flatness, just like the reaction produced on the spirits the first day or two after the Italian Carnival, when the cessation of gaiety, though felt to be a relief to the frame, leaves the mind unfitted for repose.

I find this feeling is generally experienced, for several of the shop-keepers, whose profit,--nay, whose very bread, depends on the restoration of social order, confess it. One person, the wife of a jeweller, owned to me to-day that Paris was now beginning to be very _triste_.

"To be sure they were no longer afraid to open their shops, and commerce they hoped would soon become active again, but there was no more the same interest continually awakened, as when every hour,--nay, every minute brought some new event, and she and her neighbours looked out to behold the fighting in the streets, the wounded and the dying dropping around, and trembled for their own lives, and for the safety of those dear to them." In short, as she admitted, the want of excitement was experienced by all those who had lately become accustomed to it, as much as it is felt by the habitual gamester who cannot live without play.

This is a dangerous state for the people of a great city to find themselves in. Vastly more dangerous than if subdued by a long-continued excess of excitement, their moral as well as their physical force required repose, and they gladly resigned themselves to it.

To a sober-minded denizen of England, the ungovernable pride, insatiable vanity, and love of fighting, inherent in the French, appear really little short of insanity, to so great an excess do they push these manias. This will always render them so difficult to be governed, that it will require no ordinary abilities and firmness in him who undertakes the arduous task of ruling them. Yet the very excess of these pa.s.sions renders the French the most able, as they decidedly are the most willing, instruments to be employed in achieving the aims of the wildest ambition, or the most glorious enterprises. He will the longest and most securely govern them, who calls these pa.s.sions into action, provided always that they meet no check, for the French not only bear adversity impatiently, but soon turn against him who has exposed them to it: witness their conduct to the Emperor Napoleon, who, while success frowned his banner, was their idol.

Playing at soldiers is the favourite game of Frenchmen of every cla.s.s and description, and every opportunity afforded them of indulging it is gladly seized. When I compare the reluctance with which the yeomanry of Ireland, or the local militia of England, leave their homes and their business to "a.s.sume the spear and shield," with the enthusiasm evinced by the _Garde Nationale_ when they are called to leave their _boutiques_ and don their uniforms, I am more than ever struck with the remarkable difference existing between two nations separated by so short a distance. The English local militia man will fight when occasion requires, and with determined courage, too, because he believes it to be his duty, but the French National Guard will combat for the mere love of combating, and forget home and interest in the pleasure of the excitement.

The d.u.c.h.esse de Guiche has returned to Paris, while her amiable and n.o.ble-minded husband has accompanied the royal family to Cherbourg, where they are to embark for England. Nothing can exceed the courage and dignity with which she supports her altered fortunes. She thinks only of those to whom the Duc and herself have been so long and so truly devoted; and in her chagrin for their sufferings forgets her own.

The Duc has such a perfect confidence in her good sense and tact, that he has sent her his _procuration_ to act for him in his absence. No sooner had she arrived at her abode, than she sent to demand the protection of General Gerard[10] for the house and stables of the Dauphin, and ho immediately ordered a guard to be placed there. Heaven grant that she may not be exposed to any annoyance during the absence of her husband!

The d.u.c.h.esse de Guiche gave a new proof of her courage and presence of mind yesterday. Early in the morning, having heard a noise in the courtyard of her dwelling, she beheld from the window of her chamber an officer gesticulating with violence, and menacing the grooms of the Dauphin. The upper servant entered at the moment, and announced that the officer insisted on seizing six of the finest horses in the stable, by order of General Lafayette.

The d.u.c.h.esse descended to the courtyard, informed the officer that the whole establishment was under the protection of General Gerard, without whose orders no horse should leave the stables. He attempted to enforce his pretensions; but the d.u.c.h.esse desired the head groom to call out his a.s.sistants, about thirty in number, who, armed with pitchforks and other implements of their calling, soon came forth; and the d.u.c.h.esse a.s.sured the intruder that, unless he immediately retired, he should be forcibly expelled.

Seeing the courage and determination of this high-spirited and beautiful woman, the officer withdrew, and the horses were saved. It has since been ascertained, as the d.u.c.h.esse antic.i.p.ated, that General Lafayette had never given any orders to the officer who had used his name.

_7th_.--The Duke of Orleans has at length accepted the crown; and various are the conjectures and reports to which his doing so has given rise. Many of them, as may be easily imagined, are not creditable to him; but on this occasion, as on most others, the least charitable motives are generally a.s.signed to those whose conduct is judged by the ma.s.s often wholly ignorant of the reasons on which it is based. The vast wealth of the Duke of Orleans has a powerful influence; and those who a few days ago exclaimed against royalty, and vaunted the superior advantages of a government without a king, are now reconciled to having one whose immense private fortune will exempt the nation from the necessity of furnishing funds for a civil list. Should the new sovereign hereafter demand one, his popularity will be endangered; and the King of the French, as he is styled, will be likely to find as little favour in the eyes of his subjects as the King of France experienced.

Popularity, always, and in all countries, an unstable possession, is in France infinitely more so; and Louis-Philippe must have more luck, as well as more wisdom, than falls to the lot of mankind, to retain this fleeting good when the novelty of his reign has worn away. That he is a man of great ability no one seems to entertain a doubt; but his wisdom would, in my opinion at least, have been more surely manifested had he declined instead of accepting the crown.

Those who profess to be best acquainted with his sentiments declare, that he only acceded to the wishes of the people in ascending the vacant throne, in order to preserve the charter, and to preclude the dangerous theoretical experiments into which the republican party was so desirous to plunge. It remains to be proved whether, in a few years hence, those who have subverted one monarchy by violence may not be tempted to have recourse to a similar measure in order to free themselves from the successor they have chosen; for even already it appears clear to me, that the expectations entertained, not only by the partisans of Louis-Philippe, but by the generality of the people, are such as he never can fulfil. He may be their idol for a brief s.p.a.ce, but, like all other idols, he will be expected to perform miracles; and not having the sanct.i.ty with which time invests even false G.o.ds, he may be thrown from the pedestal to which he has been elevated as unceremoniously as he was raised to it.

I saw General Lafayette to-day, and never felt more disappointed, as his appearance does not at all correspond with what I had imagined it to be. The "Lafayette _aux cheveux blancs_," as the popular song describes him to be, is, _au contraire_, a plain old man, with a dark brown scratch wig, that conceals his forehead, and, consequently, gives a very common and, to my thinking, a disagreeable expression to his countenance. The _cheveux blancs_ would be a great improvement; for, independently of the song thus describing him, one looks for the venerable mark of age in this Nestor of revolutions, who in his youth has seen his idol, Liberty, commit fearful crimes in France as well as great deeds in America, and who now, when on the threshold of the grave, in which ere long he must repose, beholds her regeneration in his native land, redeemed from the cruelty that formerly stained her course.

"_Voila le grand Lafayette_!" exclaimed one of the people as he pa.s.sed to-day; "_Oui, la ganache des deux mondes_," replied the other. Such is popular favour!

I walked in the Palais-Royal to-day; and felt much more disposed to pity than envy the King of the French, as Louis-Philippe is styled, when I beheld a crowd of idle miscreants, a.s.sembled in front of his dwelling, rudely and boisterously vociferating his name, and in a tone much more resembling command than entreaty, desiring his presence. He at length came forward, bowed repeatedly, pressed his hand to his heart, and then withdrew, looking, as I thought, rather ashamed of the _role_ he was called on to enact, while his riotous audience seemed elated at exhibiting his docility.

The Queen was then called for, and, after some delay, was handed forward by Louis-Philippe. It made me sad to look on the altered countenance of this amiable woman, whom all parties allow to be a most faultless wife and mother. She is hardly to be recognised as the same being who only a very few months ago looked the personification of happiness. Already have deep care and anxiety left their furrows on her brow, proving that

A diadem, howe'er so bright it be, Brings cares that frighten gentle sleep away, E'en when from buried ancestors it comes, Who bless'd when they bequeath it to their heir; For great is the responsibility Of those who wear the symbol of a king, In regular succession handed down From sire to son through long antiquity.

But when th' anointed head that wore it once Sleeps not in death--but exiled, worse than death-- And scions legitimate live to claim Their birthright, oh! how heavy is that crown (Though loose it fits), which well the wearer knows, A people's breath may blow from of his brow, Sear'd by the burning weight, it yet would guard, E'n though it crush him.

I am told that no day pa.s.ses in which a crowd does not a.s.semble beneath the windows of Louis-Philippe and loudly vociferate for his presence.

M. Laffitte is not unfrequently seen with the king on these occasions, and when they embrace the crowd applauds.

I cannot imagine a more painful position than that of the Queen of the French. Devotedly attached to her husband and family, she will have often to tremble for their safety, exposed, as it must be, to the inconstancy and evil pa.s.sions _soi-disant_ subjects, who may, ere long, be disposed to pull down the throne they have erected for Louis-Philippe as rapidly as they raised the barricades for its elevation.

Had the King of the French succeeded to the throne by the natural demise of those who stood between him and it, how different would be his position; for it is agreed by all who know him, that he has many qualities that eminently fit him to fill it with credit to himself and advantage to the people; but as it is, I foresee nothing but trouble and anxiety for him,--a melancholy change from the domestic happiness he formerly enjoyed. Any attempt to check the turbulence of the people will be resented as an act of the utmost ingrat.i.tude to those who placed the crown on his head; and if he suffers it with impunity, he will not only lose his empire over them, but incur the contempt of the more elevated of his subjects.

I saw the King of the French walking through the Place Vendome to-day, attended only by one person. He was recognised, and cheered, and returned the salutation very graciously. And there stood the column erected to commemorate the victories of one now sleeping in a foreign grave; one whose very name was once the talisman that excited all Parisian hearts into the wildest enthusiasm!

Louis-Philippe pa.s.sed near the base of the column, which seemed to return a sullen echo to the voices that cheered him; did he, or those around him, remember their vicinity to this striking memorial of the inconstancy of the nation? The scene awakened more reflections in my mind than I dare say it did in that of those whose voices rent the air; but though it might be only fancy, I thought the King of the French looked very grave.

Monsieur Mignet spent last evening here; his conversation is full of interest, being the overflowing of a rich mind, free from prejudices, and his ideas, though methodically arranged and subjected to the ordeal of a sober judgment, bear the warm tint of a brilliant imagination, that might have rendered him a poet, had he not chosen to be a historian. The Revolution has produced no visible change in this clever and agreeable man, who, filling the office of Keeper of the Archives, devotes his time to studies and researches in harmony with the pursuits to which he has many years been accustomed, and hears the success of the popular cause, to which he has long been attached, with a moderation and equanimity highly indicative of a philosophical mind, allied to an amiable disposition. There is something so striking in the appearance of Monsieur Mignet, that all strangers, who meet him here, remark the fine character of his head and the expression of his countenance.

The celebrated General Peppe dined here yesterday, and is very unlike the revolutionary hero I had pictured him to be. Mild, well-bred, and amiable in his manner, he seems much more suited to command a regiment in support of a legitimate monarchy, than to subvert one. Although liberty appears to be with him a monomania, the warmth with which he advocates it in conversation never urges him beyond the bounds of good breeding.

It is a strange infatuation to suppose that as civilisation extends its influence, men will have faith in the Utopian schemes of well-meaning visionaries, and risk evils they know not, in exchange for a state which, if not quite faultless, has at least much of good. How many brave and honourable men become the dupes of heated imaginations and erroneous opinions, which, urging them to effect an amelioration of some grievances, incur the penalty of imparting greater ones! General Peppe is liked by all who know him, though all lament the monomania that has gained such an ascendency over his mind. His brother, General Florestan Peppe at Naples, whom we esteem so much, is one of the most excellent men I ever knew.

The Duc de Guiche has returned to Paris, after having seen the royal family safely embarked at Cherbourg. The departure of the aged monarch presented a melancholy scene. At his time of life, he can never hope to behold his country again, and the sudden change from the throne of a great kingdom to a compelled exile in a foreign land is a reverse of fortune that demands a philosophy to support, with which few are blest.

There is something touching in the attachment of the Duc and d.u.c.h.esse de Guiche to this unfortunate family, and above all, to the Dauphin and Dauphine. Always aware of their affection for them, I never imagined the strength of it, until the adversity which has sent so many of those who had previously loudly professed their devotion to them away, but which has increased the feelings of reverence towards them in this estimable couple, by mingling with it a sentiment of deep commiseration, that induces a still greater display of respect, now that so many others dispense with evincing it. The Duc is charged with the disposal of the property of the Dauphin; and, when this task is accomplished, he and his family will follow the fallen fortunes of Charles the Tenth, and join him at Holyrood.

Loving France as they do, and wishing their sons to be brought up in the land of their birth, strong indeed must be the affection that induces them to abandon it, in order to devote themselves to the exiled Bourbons. This devotion to the fallen is the more meritorious when the liberality of the Duc's political opinions is taken into consideration.

How few sovereigns find such devotion in adversity! and how seldom are men to be met with capable of sacrificing their own interests and the future prospects of their children to a sense of duty!

A lapse in my journal.--All seems now settled. The foreign powers have acknowledged the King of the French; and this acknowledgment has not only delighted his subjects, but confirmed them in the belief of their own right to make or unmake sovereigns according to their will and pleasure.

The English are very popular in Paris at this moment, and the ready recognition of Louis-Philippe by our government has increased this good feeling. A vast crowd escorted the carriage of Mr. Hamilton, the Secretary of the Emba.s.sy, to his door, as he returned from his first accredited audience of the new monarch, and cries of _Vivent les Anglais!_ filled the air. As Mr. Hamilton resides in the house next to the one I occupy, I had an opportunity of beholding this ovation offered to him, and the people certainly evinced very groat enthusiasm on the occasion.

M. Thiers, M. Mignet, Count Valeski, and Mr. Francis Raring, dined here yesterday. M. Thiers was very brilliant and amusing. It is impossible to meet him even once without being struck with the remarkable talent that characterises every sentence he utters; and yet each observation comes forth with such spirit and vivacity, that it is easy to see it has been elicited at the moment by some remark from another, and not from meditation.

There is a hardiness in his conceptions, and an epigrammatic terseness in the expression of them, that command attention; and the readiness with which he seizes, a.n.a.lyses, and disposes of a question, betrays such a versatility of mental power as to convey a conviction that he is a man who cannot fail to fill a distinguished place in France, where, at present, abilities furnish the master-key that opens the door to honours and fortune. M. Thiers appears to entertain a consciousness of his talents, but does not, I really think, overrate them.

The Prince and Princess Soutzo with their family, spent yesterday with us. Their eldest daughter, the Princess Helena, is a beautiful girl, with captivating manners, and highly cultivated mind, and the little Mary, though still in infancy, is one of the cleverest children I ever saw. Never did I see young people better brought up than are the sons and daughters of this excellent couple, or a more united family.

Mr. and Miss Poulter, and William Spencer the poet, I dined here yesterday. Mr. Poulter is a sensible man, and his sister is well informed and intelligent.

It is now decided that we go to England! Two years ago I should have returned there with gladness, but now!--I dread it. How changed will all appear without _him_ whose ever-watchful affection antic.i.p.ated every wish, and realised every hope! I ought to feel pleased at leaving Paris, where the heaviest trial of my life has occurred, but _here_ I have now learned to get inured to the privation of his society, while in England I shall have again to acquire the hard lesson of resignation.

_November_, 1830.--This is the last entry I shall make in my journal in Paris, for to-morrow we depart for England.

I have pa.s.sed the day in taking leave of those dear to me, and my spirits have failed under the effort. Some of them I shall probably never again behold. The dear and excellent Madame Craufurd is among those about whom I entertain the most melancholy presentiments, because at her advanced age I can hardly hope to find her, should I again return to France. She referred to this to-day with streaming eyes, and brought many a tear to mine by the sadness of her antic.i.p.ations.

The Duc and d.u.c.h.ess de Guiche I shall soon see in England, on their route to Edinburgh, to join tho exiled family at Holyrood, for they are determined not to forsake them in adversity.