The French Revolution of 1848; its causes, actors, events and influences

Front matter

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION OF 1848: ITS CAUSES, ACTORS, EVENTS AND INFLUENCES. B\ G. G. FOSTER AND THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH. PHILADELPHIA: G. B. ZIEBER & CO., NO. 141 CHESTNUT STREET. 1S4S. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 18-18, By G. B. ZIEBER \. Co., in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. J. H. JONES, PRINTER, 34 CARTERS ALLEY, PHILADA.

ADVERTISEMENT.

. The present work is offered to the public rather as a tiraely exposition of the opening of a new era in history — an era in which sentiments and truths are to play the part heretofore enacted by brute force — than as a highly polished work of art. The science of word weaving has lost much of its force since the fabric of human thought has begun to assume the more palpable tissue of action ; and it has been our object to deal in ideas and movements rather than in phrases and cadences. The incidents of the great event which we have feebly depicted, have been necessarily collected with haste, yet we have bestowed the utmost pains in seeing that they are authentic and dearly arranged. The authorities we have consulted, in procuring our facts and data, are very numerous, and it would be only a piece of useless tediousness to enumerate them here. THE AUTHORS. Philadelphia, April, 1S4S.

Book I The Causes Errata

The proof sheet of the Chapter on Poland was not read by the writer. In consequence some errors have crept in the work. Liberren veto, on the 207th page, should be liberum veto. The remaining errors are those occurring in proper names of persons and places. THE FRENCH REVOLUTION OF 1848.

Chapter I

The revolution expected, but not now. Reason for this. France under Louis XIV. The bourgeoisie as a class. "Why this revolution is so peaceful. Spread of intelligence. The doings of the bourgeoisie and their opposition to the people. Causes of order. Heal occasion of the first French revolution. Love of Napoleon, and why. Men expected that France would be given up to a new revolution, yet were astonished when it came. They wondered — not at the event, but at the time of the event. Accustomed to regard a coming change in France as inevitable, they waited for the death of the King as the period of its accomplishment. Settled in the belief that Louis Philippe had wound the French around with the cord of his craft, they supposed his death to be the only sword which would cut the Gordian knot, tied by his life.

If they wondered at the time, they wondered more at the actors. The French were supposed by all men to be the slaves of a military passion, and France was therefore to be regenerated — if, indeed, the mass did not sink back to passive inertia, or travel to despotism through the path of internecine warfare — by the sharp sabre and the loud cannon. If they wondered more at the men who led on the people to an assertion of their rights and a vindication of their supremacy, they wondered most at the self-control of the arisen masses at the very moment of their recovered strength. For the revolution has not waited for the death of an imbecile tyrant; the leaders are civilians; and the people have gone coolly and clearly to work to secure those benefits which, thrice-won, have been twice surrendered.

The wonder, then, is intense, and mixed with admiration. Now all this wonder arises from a superficial examination into the causes and objects of the recent movement, produced by a mean know ledge of French history, or what is worse, opinions formed through the medium of English writers and English reviewers. Indeed, it is the fault of our public that their knowledge of all continental affairs — as of continental literature — has been acquired at second-hand. Too indolent to examine, or too busy to think, they have permitted Englishmen to examine or think for them. If not, they have based their thought upon the per versions of Alison, that most lying of historians ; or of Scott, that most bigoted of biographers. A careful examination of facts would have rendered all which now excites wonder mere certainties of the suture.

Their hands would not now be uplifted in astonishment. They would have been rather wearied by exclaiming for many years — " How long before France will fulfil her destiny, and stand in the van of continental regene ration!" Whoever would look for the true solution to all the events of 1848 must go back nearly a century — must travel to the palace of Versailles during the gloriously guilty days of Louis Quatorze; must explore the deep recesses of tbe gloomy Bastile ; and must lay bare to the very centre the arcana of French despotism. Never did eastern rule assume a more terrific aspect than that of the Louis Quatorze and his two successors. Never was there, during all time, a country so fruitful in al! that begets revolution, as France after the death of Richelieu. During the time of the Cardinal-sovereign there was at least some show of justice — there was even some consideration for the poor and wretched people.

After his departure France became one va.->t Gomorrah. Corruption ruled the court ; infidelity controlled the church ;. degradation was spread over the people. The King tyrannised over the nobles; the nobles over the people. Licentiousness pervaded all classes. To be modest was an offence ; to bt virtuous was a crime. Lewdness and debauchery were the only passports to the favor of the King; and a servile readiness to be the instrument of pleasure or vengeance was the only road to the regard of the nobles. What cared those who had been born lords if their vassals lived with difficult}', and died with fierce hunger-pangs ? They fared luxuriously — their couch was of down — their robes were of purple and fine linen. Why needed they to reck of the sufferings of the poor beings who seemed born to minister to their comforts and pleasures I It was enough for them if they could escape a lettre de cachet.

So long as they were outside of the Bastile all might take its course. The rank luxuriance of royal and noble excess, under such culture, could not astonish. But neither should it astonish that the workmen entered the field when it was ready. The time came. The ploughshare of revolution passed through ; the noxious weeds of royalty were turned down ; and the cold and starved sub-soil of the people was exposed to light and warmth. True, indeed, all had to be ploughed thrice ; but the third ploughing has produced the desired result, and henceforth France is to be fertile of all good and glory. The revolution of 1792, like the revolutions which have succeeded it, were the work of the bourgeoisie, that class of capitalists and non-produc ing tradesmen, the bankers, monopolists and venders, who stood between the nobility and the people.

The avocations and consequent character of this class are directly in contrast and opposed to that of the rest of France. They are totally incompatible with the enthusiasm, ardency and high tone of the French people. Wrapped up in sordid desires; devoured with a thirst for accumulation; clad from head to foot in a selfish wish for gain and self-aggrandizement, and having none of that love of the noble and beautiful which seems to be an instinct with the meanest Frenchman — the bourgeoisie acquiesce in any state of affairs which gratifies their avarice, and are only stimulated to motion by the distress of their own pockets. It is this class which has originated every revolution in France, whether for or ao-ainst the Kins;. To them is due the downfall of Napoleon — the entrance of the allies — the accession of Louis Philippe.

In truth, Louis Philippe was one of the bourgeoisie, and endeavored to make France as mercenary, as avaricious and as cold-hearted as himself. The bourgeoisie, then, began all these revolutions, evidently; and, save the last, they turned all to their own account. In the last, however, they were overpowered by the pro ducing classes, who had learned the secret of their own strength, and comprehended their own wishes. The working-man of France was no longer to be satisfied with mere husks, when he should have more sub stantial fare. He struck the blow no more through caprice, or an unmeaning enthusiasm, but with a cool and determined object. The reason why the working class has, in this final struggle, emanci pated itself from the chains of the bourgeoisie, is to be read in a few facts. France has advanced in the path of general information, far more swiftlv than any other nation.

The average of her inhabitants at the present time, who can read and write, is estimated from very safe data, to be over four-tenths. This exceeds the proportion in that of any country of the world, save the United States. Prussia, celebrated as a country where education is widely diffused, has not more than one-seventh who can read and write ; England has about one-eleventh ; and Russia only one in three hundred and sixty-seven. A people so circumstanced, having access to the various cheap publications of the day, with whom the actions and motives of the government were themes for daily discus sion, were not to be long enslaved by either the bourgeoisie of the city, or those of the court. The very attempt on the part of the royal shop keeper, was to be met with punishment. The people knew intimately the condition of France.

They beheld a nation of thirty-six millions of inhabitants, of whom twenty-five millions were engaged in cultivating the earth. Of this mass, according to M. Dupin, there were, some years since, about five millions of landholders — the number of which must have increased, from the absence of a law of primogeniture. They beheld an army of nearly half a million of men, and an extensive navy. To all this immense mass, they saw only two hundred and twenty-three thousand voters; of whom one hundred and forty thousand — a large majority — were placemen — mere creatures of the sovereign. Under these circumstances they could not fail to see that the King was in effect a despot — or rather the chief of an oligarchy of the bourgeoisie. The non-producers controlled the liberty and lives of the French, and swayed the destiny of France.

Nearly eight millions of artisans and ordinary laborers, and twenty-five millions of cultivators of the earth, creating an enormous amount of fabrics and tilling ten-elevenths of the soil — were disfranchised — were mere serfs — unrepresented, unnoted, and utterly uncared for — unless that could be called care which provided them with amusements and spectacles, for all the world as froward children are provided with toys. The King saw the effect which this general acquisition of knowledge would have upon the security of his dynasty, clearly enough ; but, instead of yielding to the inevitable course of events, and securing the gratitude of his people, by granting rather more than they asked — he entrenched him-* self behind the bourgeoisie, and resorted to the old Bourbon trick of muzzling the press.

And this he did effectually without violating the words, although he did the spirit, of the charter. He knew that presses could be crushed more certainly and safely through the forms of justice lacking law, than by royal ordinances. But there was a weapon more powerful yet than the leaders of the daily press. The feuilleton sur vived — the throne was sapped by romances. The people saw their rights, their prospects and their hopes, in the novels of Sue and others. Their course was shadowed out in plays at the theatres, from one of which their very chaunt — "Mourir pour la Patrie" — rendered famous by the funeral procession, and the super-added chorus of " Vengeance !" was taken. His torical works, composed for and dedicated to the people, were powerful weapons. They were mirrors, by which the light of the past was thrown upon the future.

Reason and romance both united to show France the falsehood, the mockery and the wrong of king-craft. The Kino saw his measures fail, and prepared for stronger moves. He was confident in his own resources and strength. He was well-convinced that the bour geoisie, on whose shoulders he had been borne to power, would not desert him. Nor was he altogether deceived— for they did not, to the last, desire anything save a change of ministers. They raised a wind, which the people fanned into a whirlwind, before whose power the bourgeoisie had to give way. France was made republican by the people. The working classes also detested the bourgeoisie, for the very reason, as we have before insisted, that the motives and actions of the latter were incompatible with the glory of France, and a libel on her renown.

For who was it that caused the elevation of Napoleon over the crushed and frantic republic ? The soldiers were the instruments, it is true ; but the bourgeoisie wielded them. Who caused the abdication of Napoleon , The bourgeoisie. Who brought in the Bourbons, when even Alexander had no desire to humble France at the feet of the dynasty she hated . The bourgeoisie. Who brought the allies into Paris, by suffering Romain ville to fall ; and thus entailed eternal shame and lasting disgrace upon the national escutcheon ? The bourgeoisie. Who, when the people were rife for better things, installed the treacherous son of the infamous Philippe Egalite, in the palace of the elder Bourbons? Again, and always, the bourgeoisie. Their whole existence as a class has been marked by con tinual strife against the honor and the true interest of their countrymen.

It was no matter of wonder, then, that their countrymen had learned to distrust and detest them. The order which has been preserved in Paris ; the coolness with which the people have gone to work to secure what they obtained ; are to be explained by the fact, not that they have obtained all that they desire, but because they are better capable to appreciate their rights and their own dignity than at any previous time. Governments are the results of a compromise. The many of those who are too weak to preserve their individual rights against the few of those who are strong, find in combination their shield, and delegate to one the task of providing for their wants. Government, in its original state, is patriarchal. The children yield obedience to the parent — the parent confers protection on the children.

The first governments on record are patriarchal chieftainships — these soon pass into hereditary despotisms. The wandering tribes of the desert choose their chieftains from among the boldest, bravest and most strong-minded of their number. Gratitude to a wise ruler, fear of the combination which supports his interest, or mutual jealousy among the combined few, cause them to entail authority. An imbecile or over-tyrannical ruler causes a change of dynasty — wherein we have nothing more than an exchange of a burthen of wood for one of stone, upon the shoulders of the people. After many changes of this kind, as the nomadic character of the people passes ; as commerce and manufactures confer distinct nationality ; as the arts and sciences become cultivated, despotism becomes shorn of its locks ; a privileged few arises to contest the supremacy ; and a limited monarchy is established.

A combined trenching upon popular privileges, which at this time first begin to be regarded as rights, follows; and the whole fabric falls. An oligarchy succeeds, which being more odious than its predecessors, a strong deliverer arises — some Napoleon, who delivers for himself — and despotism again rears its throne, assumes its crown and wields its sceptre. The sole object of the people during all this time is protection. Their government is the mere incubation of a truce between individual strength and combined weakness. The true philosophy of government is not understood, until men have felt their individual rights ; until they can look inwardly, and open for self-perusal, the great book of human dignity. Such are Frenchmen now — such they were not at the period of their first revolution.

The seed sown broad-cast over earth by the separation of England and her American colonies, has not fully germinated till now. Men knew that it had been sown on battle-fields and watered with much blood; but they knew not of the wholesomeness or goodness of its fruit, nor would they taste it until now. But good food is not always rejected — never when men know of its goodness. And men could judge ofthe nature of the American political regimen by ample opportunities. The annual message of the President of the United States, voluminous in statistical details, whose accuracy is unquestionable, has °-one out on its errand — a yearly apostle of republicanism over the reading universe. None tbe less effectual has been its mission, because through a strict cen sorship of the press, men became its commentators for themselves.

It told of a problem solved, which the theorists of old vainly strove to explain. It showed a practical result. It was the evidence of something tangible. The people of France saw this, as well as others — nay, more than others. Hence it was that we see, in all the turmoil of insurrection, the social and true political duties preserved — hence we see the thieves shot and the criminal prisoners guarded — hence we see armed law and order springing up from the field wherein had been sown the seeds of revolution. But though we claim for the silent teaching of American progress and prosperity, much of the immediate occasion of French emancipation, we do not fall into the vulgar and slanderous error of considering the first French revolution as the result of the independence achieved by .the Thirteen American Colonies.

For that view cannot be sustained. The French masses would have risen, had we not struck a blow. They had already suffered to that extent beyond which they could suffer no longer, and live. France, at the moment of the outbreak, was a mighty lazaar house, magnificent without, and loathsome within. Her armies, her pos sessions and her regal splendor, rendered her glorious in the eyes of won dering nations; but the licentiousness of her court, and the degradation of her people, made her odious in her own. For her soul-sickness and heartsickness there was but one remedy — and it came. Men rose for the occa sion — the magnificent Robespierre, that high priest of revolution, under whose ministrations were so many bloody sacrifices to patriotism ; the bold and bitter St. Just; the terrible and implacable Marat; the fearless and mighty Danton — all these sprang from the times, Minerva-born of the revolution.

It is the province of a great occasion to give birth to its instruments, which it often destroys. And this occasion came in a fearful shape ; but not more fearful than necessary, nor more desperate and bloody than that of any contest between starving wretchedness, on the one side, and pampered tyranny, on the other. The throne and court of France had sown suffering, and they reaped it an hundred fold. The revolution was not the effect of the American struggle — a contest in no respect similar. It was a destined result, whose commencement had been i°:no rantly made long before. The concessions of Louis Quatorze to the poissardes of Paris had taught the people what they might achieve if they trusted to their physical force, and shutting their eyes to the glare of regal splendor, bore down, by sheer strength, their prison-walls.

They remembered the royal lesson. They rose at the harking on of the bour geoisie, and glutted their vengeance. But neither France nor the French were prepared for what they, at heart, desired. Good motives were drowned in the waters of inexperience. Unaccustomed to power, the mob became intoxicated with the inspiriting draught. Their own rights had been so long trampled down, that they had no knowledge of the rigrhts of others. Having: been lonotau°-ht to O D ODD have no respect for themselves, when they were abject, they paid no respect to their oppressors, when those became abject in turn. Fear alone had held them in compulsory allegiance — when that fear was withdrawn, and they had learned the secret of their own strength, everything was borne away by the stream of newly-created power.

The stream subsided, and France, after a few convulsive struggles, was dazzled during a short day of imperial grandeur, and then sunk to passive inaction, under a monarch imposed by the intrigues of the bourgeoisie and the points of foreign bayonets. But let no man mistake the enthusiasm with which the name of Napo leon is hailed by the French, for an attachment to him of himself. The bourgeoisie loved nothing — save gold. The people loved Napoleon, be cause he was the incarnation of French glory. His name was synonymous with France. He might, with more justice than Louis, have said, " I am the state." The Frenchman loved the Emperor, because he conferred glory on that of which the Frenchman was a constituent part. Admira tion of the imperial achievements was a species of self-admiration after all.

It was a kind of patriotism, if thoroughly analyzed. The Frenchman is a patriot of the most self-sacrificing kind. His inhabitiveness is earnest. The Englishman says, " England is my country" — the Frenchman exclaims, " I am of France." No descendant of Napoleon can move France, or inspire her with an enthusiastic love, because their deeds do not cover her with grandeur. The soldier who followed Napoleon, followed him to glory. His worship of the Emperor was not man-worship, but a sublime patriotism. The eidolon, which sat enthroned in his heart, clad in a gray surtout and covered by a cocked hat, was the renown of France — the admirable genius which he beheld with a patriot's eye, as it soared over the smoke, and shrieked louder than the cannon-sound, at the bloody pas sages of Jena, Marengo and Austerlitz.

Chapter II

Causes of Napoleon's fall. Louis XVIII'S courting of the bourgeoisie. "Weakness of the peerage under the Restoration. Usurpation of the bourgeoisie. The chamber dissolved. Assassination of the Duke de Berri. Charbonnerie in France. Its organization. Its suppression. The ordonnaxices. The dynasty of Napoleon was essentially military. In order to con ciliate the bourgeoisie he endeavored to replace his system by that of com merce. Hence it was, that he made such strong efforts to secure universal peace — to found new colonies — to create a commercial navy. He saw clearly enough two things — the first of which was, that France would not stand a continual conscriptory drain — the second, that the bourgeoisie must be pampered. But here Napoleon was met and driven back by England. The self-styled queen of the ocean could not afford a rivalry which would be directed by the sublime genius of the Emperor.

Hence it was that the English broke faith, and plunged the world into a sea of contests whose final turbulence swallowed up the French empire. Napo leon was again forced into war. The bourgeoisie saw their ruin in pros pective. So long as generals and nobles, the extravagant members of an imperial court, kept up an expensive gala-day in Paris — so lon°- as the bourgeoisie could profit by the folly and dissipation of the imperial retinue — it was well enough. But when the court was shorn of its splendor, by the absence of Napoleon and his chieftains, Napoleon was waffin°- * DO war against the pockets, which made up the soul of the bourgeoisie. That they should wage war against him was but natural. At any cost they must have a money-creating dynasty — one which would further their wishes and desires— and knowing little of the afterward Louis Philippe, they chose the Bourbons.

The bourgeoisie found in the generals of the Empire, fit tools for their purposes. The Emperor had committed the fatal error of gorging his hounds, while the hunt was yet unfinished. He had pampered his doo-s too much, and they would not stir from their kennels. Ribbons, batons, coronets and crowns had been all given. There were no further rewards to hope for. The continent had been parcelled out. But there was work to be done. Toil was in prospective. Long and arduous campaigns against Europe loomed up in the distance, for which they could expect no further reward. Their labor was to be given for the glory of France, with which that of Napoleon was identified. Hence, they naturally enough opposed new campaigns ; and lent a ready ear to the murmurs and intrigues of the bourgeoisie. It is true that the mass of tbe army were with the Emperor, and there was no lack of material from which to mould his generals.

He could have re-organized his army, and awed the bourgeoisie — thus pre serving Paris and his kingdom. But like all those whom the world call great, he had his fits of weakness. When he beheld those, on whose shoulders, as it appeared to him, he had been borne to power, shrink and tremble, his own soul gave way. His own spirit caught the infection of their fears. In tears and agony, he signed the fatal abdication of Fontainebleau. The triumph of the bourgeoisie was complete ; and the fat and foolish Louis assumed the keeping of the lillies. But neither the defection of his generals nor the approach of the allies could have overthrown the Emperor, if the bourgeoisie had not opened the gates of Paris to the invader. The people— the men in blouses — the unwashed and unterrified, preferred imperial splendor to national dishonor, when such a dilemma presented.

They would have let out their own hearts' blood — have immolated their very offspring, to have preserved Paris from the shame of the invaders' feet. The bourgeoisie paralyzed the rio-ht arm of this succor, and Napoleon and the honor of France fell together. Louis the Eighteenth, marked his reassumed power by insulting the bourgeoisie — by offending the bankers and shop-keepers. He called his placemen from among the old nobility — be affected the estate of his de capitated predecessor. Discontent arose, and when the dethroned Emperor returned from Elba, the bourgeoisie afforded no opposition. The new dynasty dissolved rather than fell. It melted away. The bourgeoisie had not time to reason for itself, and see in the re-construction of the empire, their death-knell. The suddenness ofthe movement, combined with their deep affront at Louis, for a moment paralyzed their intrigue.

It was but for a moment. They excited their ready tools, the repub licans. The result at Waterloo was an occasion for the commercial con spirators. They seized it. The people shouted " Vive l'Empereur !" under the palace walls, and the cry of "Vive le Petit Caporal !" rang along the lines of the army ; but in the legislature was heard the still and small but potent voice of the bourgeoisie — "Abdicate !" No compromise, no regency would satisfy them. They would not listen to the accession of the King of Rome; they scoffed at a regency ; though even the allies were inclined to the latter step, as perhaps the surest guarantee for the satisfaction of France, and tbe consequent peace of Europe. Their gain was at risk. Like those of Ephesus, their craft was in danger ; and any dynasty which would preserve to them their craft, they were willing to hail as their Diana of the Ephesians.

And the occupation, if we may believe the most reliable chroniclers, laid tbe foundation for many a colossal fortune among the members of the bourgeoisie. There were nearly two months of profuse outlay, on the part of the allied troops, who left in Paris the plunder they had gained from the rest of France. Some idea ofthe immense expenditure made at this time may be formed from the fact that one general of the allied armies, who received three millions of francs from the French government, sunk the whole of it in Paris, and was obliged to mortgage his estates. This glutted the purses of the bourgeoisie, and completed the centralization of France at the metropolis. The grand aim of the bourgeoisie from the time of the Restoration was to make royalty and the people the slaves of its combination — or rather to make the King their tool for enslaving the people to their own use.

Their king was money — their country was money — their idol was money — their god was money. At the day of the last Restoration, the court was wiser than previous to the One Hundred Days. They began to behold the immense power of the bourgeoisie. If they did not identify themselves with its interests, they gave it a recognized place in the state. The first administration of affairs was formed to conciliate it. It was partly and principally formed of new men ; of what were considered by the nobles as upstarts — in other words, of the bourgeoisie. The people, per se, had no representative. It was not considered as any thing but a necessary basis; a footstool for the throne — a carpet for the bourgeoisie. The nobles were scarcely a distinct class at this time, nor have they ever been since. The bourgeoisie recruited the ranks of tbe peerage from among their sons.

The law of entail had been abolished; patrimonies were divisible and divided ; the peerage could not present any front against the gold of the non-operative upstarts. The result of this was, of course, that the throne had the alternative of endeavoring to retain power, or succumbing to the bourgeoisie. The crown and the legislature became contestants. The former, obliged to temporize at least, was wise enough to assume conciliation to the money power, and acknowledged the Parisian Juggernaut by the elevation of its chosen priest, Decazes. It is true that Decazes was a half-apostate from liberal principles. So much the better. The easier tool he for the bourgeoisie, who were only liberals from the lips out, and whose idea of freedom was of that state of affairs which suffered them most readily to thrust their hands in the public purse.