What may not to-morrow’s sun witness, ere it
goes down? But conjecture is vain in a crisis
in which every thing appears to go on in a mode so
wholly unaccountable. The exhibition of a powerful
force might and would, I am persuaded, have precluded
the collision that has occurred between the populace
and the military. Blood has been shed on both
sides, and this has rendered the breach between people
and sovereign too wide to be repaired except by something
almost miraculous, and alas! the time of miracles
is past.
I cannot help wondering at the calmness I feel on
this occasion. I experience no personal alarm;
but I am apprehensive for my friends, some of whom
are deeply interested in this struggle. How may
their destinies, lately so brilliant, be overclouded
by the change that menaces to take place!
Well may Monsieur Salvandy have observed at the ball
so recently given by the Duc of Orleans to the royal
families of France and Naples, “This may be
termed a Neapolitan fete, for they are dancing
over a volcano.”
All now seems quiet, so I will go to bed. Heaven
only knows if to-morrow night we may be allowed to
seek our pillows in safety.
28th.—My femme-de-chambre
undrew my curtains this morning, “with such
a face—so faint, so spiritless, so dull,
so dead in look, so woe-begone”—proclaiming
that barricades had been erected during the night,
and that the bodies of those killed in the encounter
yesterday have been paraded through the streets in
order to excite still more the angry feelings of the
people. This last measure reminds one of the
appalling exhibitions in the fearful and memorable
Revolution of former days; and the reminiscences it
awakens are not calculated to tranquillize the mind.
She states that the shops are all closed, and that
no provisions can be obtained; the cook complains
that his stockpots want replenishing; and the femme
de charge hints that the larder is not so well
supplied as it would have been had she known what
was to occur. Each and all of these functionaries
seem wholly occupied by the dread of not being able
to furnish us with as copious repasts as usual, unmindful
that a mighty throne is tottering to its foundation,
and that a struggle is going on in which many lives
may be sacrificed.
The Duc de Raguse has incurred great blame for his
intercourse with the supposed leaders of the Revolution.
This conduct has had the effect of destroying the
confidence of the troops in their chief, and of weakening
their attachment to the cause they were to support.
The Marechal was the Commandant appointed by the King,
and as such, bound to treat as rebels those who opposed
themselves to his government; instead of which, he
seemed more like the confident of a party who,
it is alleged, owe their victory to his supineness.
