HE events which took place on the 4th of September within the walls of the Palais-Bourbon and at the Luxembourg, if less exciting or less interesting to the reader than those witnessed in the streets of Paris and at the Tuileries, form, nevertheless, an integral and essential part of the drama that brought the Second Empire to its end. All these acts and scenes are closely connected, and none can be clearly understood except when looked at in its relation to the rest.

Not long after the representatives of the people---finding there was no means of continuing the session in the Chamber---had left the Palais-Bourbon, a section of the mob that had gathered upon the Place de la Concorde approached the great gates at the entrance of the Garden of the Tuileries, which were held by a detachment of Zouaves of the Guard. Some were workmen in their Sunday clothes; others wore the uniform of the National Guard. At first, seditious cries only were heard---"A bas l'Empire!" "Vive la République!"---but gradually the band came nearer and nearer, and pressed closer and closer, until at length the gates were reached; and then the ringleaders began to knock violently on the iron railing, and to demand loudly admittance to the enclosure. Very soon the eagles that ornamented the railing were broken down, the assailants meeting with no resistance. Encouraged by this, these men began to push against the gates, which were quickly forced open, when in rushed the whole band, followed by a body of Mobiles who had been stationed on the Place de la Concorde since noon.

As soon as the basin of the great fountain was passed, the invaders, who were now shouting "Aux Tuileries! Aux Tuileries!" at the top of their voices, saw the Voltigeurs of the Guard massed in the reserved garden---and they halted. To proceed farther would be dangerous. In view of the situation, which was critical in the extreme and might lead to a disaster at any moment, M. Louis Revenez, of the Mobiles, was delegated to go and parley with the officer in command. He left his comrades and advanced alone, with a white handkerchief fastened to the end of his musket; but he was joined on the way by M. Victorien Sardou, M. Armand Gouzien, and by one or two other persons. Having reached the reserved garden, they were stopped by a sentinel, who asked what they wanted. The answer was, "To speak to the Governor of the Tuileries." A short parley followed, after which, two or three of these gentlemen having sent him their cards, requesting an interview, General Mellinet, the Governor, came forward and entered into conversation with them.

They told him that the Republic had been proclaimed, and that the people were clamoring to be admitted to the Palace of the Tuileries; that the National Guards also desired to be admitted, on the ground that this palace was the property of the nation; and that they themselves had come to request that its safe-keeping be entrusted to the National Guards, who, they assured the General, would take care that the property of the nation should be respected.

"Withdraw the Imperial Guard, let the National Guards enter the reserved garden," they said, "and you can let the people in, and there will be no disorder, nor will anything be destroyed; for the palace will be under the protection of those whom the people respect."

"You are right," said the General, " and especially since the Empress has already left the Tuileries. I am quite willing to withdraw the Imperial troops, on condition that their places are immediately taken by the National Guards."

Orders were then given to retire the troops; and as they fell back, the movement being observed, the invaders began to advance towards the gate near which General Mellinet was standing, thinking that they could now push their way through. As the leaders very soon assumed a threatening attitude, General Mellinet---who had been joined by M. Ferdinand de Lesseps, at the suggestion of M. de Lesseps or of M. Sardou that the invaders should be held back, if possible, a little while longer---stepped up on a chair and harangued the tumultuous throng that had gathered in front of him, with great spirit and most happy effect.

The old General was very popular in Paris. He was one of the heroes of the Crimea, and his face, slashed by a deep saber cut, was well known to all the people, and they cheered him when they saw him. To their cries of "A bas l'Empire " he replied by pointing to the flagstaff.

"You see," he said, "there is no flag there. The Empress has gone."

And the crowd replied with a long "Ah! ah! ah!" and "Vive la République!

"You are Frenchmen," continued the General, "and you would not dishonor yourselves by endeavoring to insult a woman. But the palace and these grounds are the property of the nation, and it is your duty, and it is my duty, to protect them. The Imperial troops will be withdrawn. But commit no disorder. If you make an attempt to do so, I shall do my duty. Go back!"

While the General was holding the crowd in check, National Guards were introduced into the court of the Tuileries from the post near-by in the Rue de l'Echelle, and were massed in ranks in front of the palace, and aligned up in the vestibule and carriage-way leading through the palace to the Place du Carrousel. So that when, finally, the light railing enclosing the reserved garden yielded to the pressure of the increasing multitude, and the rabble rushed in on to the walks and over the flower-beds, they were soon brought to a halt, and then were gradually forced back, or permitted to go through the carriage-way and across the inner court of the palace, between a double file of guards to the Place beyond. And so into the vestibule and through this passage the crowd continued to move for nearly an hour; greatly disconcerted, however, to find a guard at the foot of each staircase and at every door of the palace, and at being unable to visit the interior of the building, and drink the wine from the cellars, and masquerade in the garments of princes, and sleep in the beds of their sovereign, as their progenitors had done in 1848.

It was fortunate, indeed, that the companies of the National Guard stationed in the neighborhood of the Tuileries on this day were composed largely of men devoted to the cause of order. They were prompt to obey when authority had lost its sanction, and were faithful to their self-assumed trusts. The palace was well protected; not a scratch did it receive, nor was there an article taken from it.

As the crowd scattered towards the Hôtel de Ville, and the howls of the would-be plunderers of the palace died away in the distance, quiet reigned again at the Tuileries. Its courts were deserted, the sentries were at their posts as usual, and no one about the palace seemed to know what had happened, or how all these things had come to pass.

A few hours later, when the interior of the Tuileries was visited by the representatives of the new Government, the public galleries and great salons were found to present their usual appearance. Many of the old guardians, having laid aside the Imperial livery, were still at their posts. It was only on entering the apartments which had been occupied by the Imperial family, that any appearance of disorder was observed. And even here the disorder was more apparent than real, for the reason that, the Empress having returned to Paris from Saint Cloud unexpectedly early in August, the rooms she occupied when at the Tuileries had not been prepared for her. The curtains had been taken down and the carpets removed; most of the furniture was covered up, and some of it had been sent off for repairs. The general impression conveyed to the mind of the visitor was that of rooms still in use, but from which the occupants had been suddenly called away. The standing furniture, the clocks, the candelabra, the jardinières, the rich bronzes and decorative pieces, were all in their places, the pictures on the walls, and the books on the shelves, in their cases. The commodes, and wardrobes also, had not been disturbed, and were filled with clothing and wearing-apparel of every description. But light, movable articles were scattered about in nearly every room. In the cabinet of the Empress, her table was found just as she rose from it for the last time, covered with writing-materials and the latest despatches; not one had been taken away. On a bureau near-by was a portmanteau containing a few articles of clothing, but open, as if being prepared for a journey. On the floor were two or three empty hat-boxes. In an adjoining room, a breakfast, scarcely touched, remained upon the table. It consisted of a boiled egg, a little cheese, and some bread

In the study of the Prince Imperial a toy was lying upon the floor. It consisted of a company of leaden soldiers, which could be put in motion by the turning of a handle. An exercise-book, which had been used for writing historical themes, lay open upon the table. One leaf was entirely covered with a small and correct handwriting. The theme began thus:

"Louis XV., Bourbon, Fleury, 1723-1741. Regency resumed. Bourbon, 1723-1725. Bourbon. Madame de Prie, Paris. Duvernois [Duvernay was intended]. At home, corruption, stock-jobbing, frivolity, intolerance. Abroad, marriage of the King with Marie Lesczynska. Rupture with Spain, which country displays Austrian tendencies," etc.

The apartment occupied by the Emperor on the ground floor, between the Pavillon de l'Horloge and the Pavillon de Flore, was found exactly in the state in which he had left it. It was full of books, maps, models, and military diagrams. It contained also a large number of political papers and much private correspondence. This correspondence was seized, together with all the letters and despatches addressed to the Regent. And so were the books containing the accounts kept of the expenses of the palace housekeeping. A selection from these papers was subsequently published by the Government;(47) greatly to the disappointment, however, of that portion of the public who had hoped to find in the correspondence of the Imperial family material for scandal. For it only served to prove how well the Emperor loved his country; that few sovereigns have ever taken so deep a personal interest in the affairs of the Government, or so carefully studied the questions most immediately concerning the economical prosperity and general welfare of their subjects, or have been inspired by loftier ideals or a more noble ambition; and that, true to himself, at the last hour he strove with singular self-abandonment to bear the burden of defeat, in order to save the army and cheek the tide of disaster that threatened to sweep over the land.

It was much to the credit of the new Government that the personal effects of the Imperial family were not retained, but after a few weeks were packed up, and either sent to England or deposited for safe-keeping with their friends in Paris.

But while these events were taking place without, the scene within the palace was no less moving and exciting. After her Majesty had dismissed the Deputation that had been sent to ask her to transfer her power, she waited to hear the result of their conference with General de Palikao, and what action the Assembly would take in order to meet the exigencies of the situation. But from moment to moment the despatches received from the Minister of the Interior, from the War Department, and from the Prefecture of Police, became more and more ominous. It was reported that the mob had invaded the Chamber of Deputies; that the Imperial arms were being broken in pieces wherever seen; that cries of "Vive la République! were to be heard in the streets. Then a messenger, flushed with excitement, came to announce that the eagles ornamenting the great gates fronting on the Place de la Concorde had been pulled down, and that the rioters were endeavoring to force their way into the Garden of the Tuileries. The Empress listened to all these reports unmoved, and without manifesting the slightest fear. But the persons near her began to see the meaning of these events, and to grow anxious for her Majesty's safety. They therefore advised her to leave the palace, and not to expose herself to the danger of falling into the hands of the populace.

To them all she replied simply: "I do not fear. How can I leave?"

Finally, three of the Ministers arrived at the Tuileries---M. Jérôme David, M. Busson-Billault, and M. Henri Chevreau.(48) Entering the salon, where the Empress was still standing, they reported to her Majesty that not only had the mob taken possession of the Chamber of Deputies, but that Deputies presumed to be loyal to the Imperial Government were going over to the Revolution, and that Paris was in the hands of the populace. It was the opinion of these gentlemen-and their official position gave great weight to their opinion-that the Empress should leave the palace immediately. They told her very plainly that she could no longer remain where she was, in safety. But she was undaunted by this account of the on-rush of the Revolution and the apprehensions of personal peril displayed, and was neither moved nor made afraid. She objected most decidedly to leaving, and with great spirit and feeling replied: "Here I have been placed by the Emperor, and here I will stay. To abandon my post will weaken the power to resist the invasion. Unless there is some recognized authority, the disorganization will be complete, and France at the mercy of M. Bismarck."

It was now nearly three o'clock, and the mob, crying "Aux Tuileries! Aux Tuileries!" were approaching the reserved garden. Their cries could be heard even by the Empress and the persons with whom she was talking. It was at this moment that Prince de Metternich, the Austrian Ambassador, and Signor Nigra, the Italian Ambassador, entered the antechamber and requested to be admitted into the presence of her Majesty.

"She is in great danger," they said." The mob that has taken possession of the Palais-Bourbon is now preparing to attack the Tuileries. She must be informed of this, and that resistance is impossible. She cannot stay here any longer, except at the risk of her life, and we wish to offer her our protection."

They were very soon introduced into her Majesty's private cabinet, where she was then debating with those near her the expediency of leaving the palace. The two diplomats had considerable difficulty in persuading the Empress that the time for her to retire had come. M. de Metternich was excited, insistent, and abrupt even; and Signor Nigra no less insistent, but as calm and polished in his manner of address as when reciting Italian poetry to her Majesty at Compiègne.

After hearing what they had to say, her Majesty expressed a desire to consult with M. Piétri, the Prefect of Police, who was then at his post in the Prefecture, where he had been all the morning, reporting to the Tuileries every few minutes the situation, so far as it was indicated by disturbances of public order in the streets. He was accordingly sent for. On arriving, he found the Empress still earnestly discussing with those about her the expediency of her leaving the Tuileries. Turning to M. Piétri the moment she saw him, she asked him what he thought of it. He replied by telling her what he himself had seen while coming from the Prefecture---that the mob were then pushing against the gates of the palace. He said that within ten or fifteen minutes they would probably force their way into the building; that it was impossible to say what they would do, or what crime they might not commit, should an entrance be effected. In a word, corroborating all that had been said by the others who were then urging her Majesty to go, he told her that she could not remain without putting in peril not only her own life, but the lives of some of her most intimate friends, as well as the lives of all the persons connected with the service of the palace, and who were there at their posts to aid and protect her.

To risk her own life was to the Empress nothing; but when she came to see that, by remaining, she might be putting in jeopardy the lives of many others, some of whom were very dear to her, she could no longer refuse to go. And yet she delayed, to bid adieu to her friends, la Vicomtesse Aguado, la Maréchale Canrobert, la Maréchale Pélissier, Mesdames de Rayneval, de la Poëze, de la Bédolière, de Sancy, de Saulcy, la Baronne de Bourgoing, and others, who gathered about her with hearts too full of emotion to find words to express their love and sympathy. To one of these ladies, who signified a desire to go with her, the Empress said:

"I fully appreciate your generous devotion to me, but I do not wish my misfortunes to be yours also. In France no one should be unhappy."

Then followed a clasping of hands, tears, sobs, a parting kiss, and yet the Empress lingered to say:

"I shall never forget what you all have been to me. I thank you. Good-by----Good--" And Signor Nigra interrupts this scene so full of tenderness and affection, by saying,

"Madame, M. de Metternich and I are waiting for you. You must hurry. In a few minutes escape may be impossible "; at the same time handing her a hat and veil that Madame Lebreton was holding, and assisting her to put on a light cloak---for there was no time now to prepare for a journey. She must leave the palace at once, and as she was.

With an effort, the Empress separated herself from her friends, looking back as she went, to give them, smiling through her tears, a last expression of her affectionate regard.

She was now with the Prince de Metternich, Signor Nigra, Admiral Jurien de la Gravière, of her personal service, M. Conti, the Chief of the Emperor's Cabinet, Lieutenant Conneau, an orderly officer, and Madame Lebreton, the sister of General Bourbaki, her reader and companion. And as the little company walked out of the private cabinet of the Empress, about half past three o'clock in the afternoon of the 4th of September, 1870, the tri-colored flag, that floated over the Tuileries when the sovereign was residing there, was lowered, never to be raised again. While passing through one of her own rooms, which had been furnished with elegance and a regard for home comfort rather than decorative effect, and which was full of souvenirs of love and friendship and devotion, the Empress, stopping for a moment and looking about her, said, as if she were speaking to herself and could scarcely believe it possible, "Is this the last time?" And then pressing forward, she herself led the way down the staircase to the ground floor of the palace, with the idea, it seems, that she could take the coupé which was generally stationed in the court-yard to the right, near the steps leading to the apartments of the Prince Imperial, and which, in fact, was there, with the coachman on his box, correctly dressed, looking neither to the right nor to the left, waiting his orders as usual. But the Prince de Metternich, noticing the livery, and the crown painted on the door of the carriage, thought it would be imprudent for the Empress to make use of it, and offered instead his own carriage, which was waiting on the quay near by. Lieutenant Conneau thereupon started off to bring the Prince's carriage into the court, and the Empress, who had been standing for hours, sat down on a bench in the vestibule. But in a very short time the young officer came running back, saying that it was no longer possible to pass out through the court-yard of the palace; that the Place du Carrousel was occupied by a tumultuous rabble, who were filling the air with songs mingled with cries of "A mort!" and "Aux Tuileries!" and that a band in advance of the rest were pounding on the railing that separated the courtyard from the Place. Admiral Jurien de la Gravière then left the company and went forward to the gate---which the rioters were now endeavoring to force open---for the purpose of parleying with them, and thus gaining time. In this work he was highly successful, as he managed to keep them out of the court altogether.

But when he returned to the vestibule the Empress and her escort were not to be found. Seeing that it would be dangerous, if not impossible, to attempt to leave the Tuileries by any direct way, and that there was no time to lose, they had reascended the staircase they had just come down, and, retracing their steps through the apartments of the Empress, and entering the long suite of rooms that led by the way of the Pavilion of Flora to the galleries of the Louvre, had passed on through the new Balle des Etats, not yet finished, and still embellished with the decorations used on the 21st of May---the day when, with imposing ceremony, the result of the Plebiscitum was officially announced to the Emperor. But on coming to the door that led into the great Gallery of the Louvre, it was found that it could not be opened. It was locked. To the knocking on the door there was no response; but, in the silence that followed, the cries of the people without could be distinctly heard. The members of the little company began to feel very anxious. Was all retreat cut off? What was to be done? Before anything had been decided upon, and as the bewilderment of counsel began to suggest the growing danger of the situation, M. Charles Thélin, the Emperor's treasurer, appeared. Having heard that the Empress had just passed through the Pavilion of Flora, going towards the Louvre, he followed after her to offer his services. Quite by chance, but most luckily, he had with him a key that would open all the doors of the building.

And so it happened, by a strange freak of fortune, that the doors which were closed against the Empress Eugénie on the 4th of September, 1870, were unlocked by the same Charles Thélin who opened the doors of the prison at Ham, from which Louis Napoleon made his escape a little over twenty-four years before, on the 25th of May, 1846.

The way being now free, the Empress and her escort walked down the "Long" or "Great Gallery" of the Museum, and through the Balle Carrée into the Pavilion of Apollo; passing down this, and turning to the right, they entered the "Jewel Room," and then continued on to the Salle des Sept Cheminées.

Here the Empress stopped; and having remarked that the number of persons accompanying her was so large as surely to attract attention, suggested that they all, except MM. de Metternich and Nigra, should now retire, and leave her and Madame Lebreton to be conducted to a place of safety under the escort of these two gentlemen alone.

Thereupon the Empress took leave of the last of her palace followers, who had been joined by several of the guardians of the Museum, some of whom, with tears in their eyes, kissed the hand which she extended, and all of whom bade her good-by with emotion. She thanked them all for the loyalty and the devotion they had shown to her; and so thoughtful was she of their safety also, that she urged them to be careful not to expose themselves to the fury of the mob, and made Lieutenant Conneau promise to take off his rather showy uniform before going into the street.

And then, as her friends left her, and as she herself turned to go, looking up, she saw on the wall before her Géricault 's famous picture, "The Wreck of the Medusa." She stood fixed for a few seconds, unable to remove her eyes from it. "How strange!" said she to herself.

And to me, and to others, she has since often said, How strange that this picture should be the last one I should ever look at in the galleries of the Louvre!

But the Empress having quickly recovered from the impression produced by this picture of ill-omen, the two ladies walked on, under the guidance of MM. de Metternich and Nigra, through the rooms containing the Greek antiquities, and through the Egyptian Gallery, until they reached the landing at the right of the great colonnade. Then, descending the three broad flights of stone steps that lead to the ground floor of the Egyptian Museum, the little company threaded its way through the colossal and somber antiquities of Old Egypt there assembled---the images of its gods, and the sarcophagi and funeral monuments of its dead kings and priests---until they reached the door at the extreme end, which opens upon the arched passage leading from the inner court of the Louvre to the Place in front of the Church of Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois.

On coming to this door, it was found that a crowd of noisy "manifestors" was pouring through the passage, and the two diplomatists thought it would be highly imprudent to attempt then to leave the building with the ladies. So they stood here and waited for the crush to spend its force. Standing in the vestibule of the Museum, this demonstration was watched with deep concern through the door held ajar; it seemed as if it would never end. But the Empress was the one least disturbed.

Signor Nigra has told me that, while standing here, observing the Empress seemed weary, he offered her his arm; and that soon after a peculiarly noisy band passed by, shouting "À bas Badinguet! " "À bas l'Espagnole! Vive la République!" Hearing these cries, he asked the Empress if she was afraid.

"Not a bit," she replied. "Why do you ask me? You are holding my arm; do you feel me tremble?"

By a curious coincidence, the same reply to the same question was made by Louis XVI. under nearly similar circumstances. When, on the 20th of June, 1792, the Paris mob, invading the Tuileries, entered the Royal apartment and laid hands on the person of the King, some one cried out, "Are you afraid?" And the King, turning to the man, said, "Put your hand upon my heart and see if I tremble."

Fortunately, the equal courage and firmness of the two sovereigns in the presence of danger did not prove alike disastrous to the two witnesses. The Italian ambassador has lived not only to repeat the story many times, but to serve his country with distinction to the present day; but during the Reign of Terror, the national guard, the poor tailor, Jean Lalanne, had his head chopped off for having," as the judicial sentence solemnly reads, "on the 20th of June, 1792, shown that he possessed the character of a tyrant's under-servant, and, especially, in that he has seemed to take pleasure, in the presence of a number of citizens, in telling how Capet took his hand and, pressing it to his heart, said, 'Do you feel it throb, my friend?’"

When, finally, the main body of the rabble appeared to have passed through to the Place, the Empress, who was tired of standing still, said, "Now let us go."

I think we had better wait a little while longer,'' answered Signor Nigra.

No, no," replied the Empress, "il faut de l'audace! and, saying this, she pulled the door open and stepped out on the pavement, followed by those with her.

Prince de Metternich at once went forward to try to find a carriage. Luckily, he soon found one, a common one-horse cab, but a closed one---provided seemingly by Providence for this special occasion. The Prince having come back to report that he had found a carriage, the four persons walked from the entrance of the Louvre towards the street, the space between the railings still being filled with people coming and going, when, just as they reached the sidewalk, where the cab had been drawn up, a boy cried out, "Voilà l'Impératrice! '' (Oh, there's the Empress!) Signor Nigra, hearing this, turned instantly, and asking, "What was it you said " stopped the boy and talked with him, to silence him. In the meantime Prince de Metternich had put the Empress and Madame Lebreton into the cab, and Madame Lebreton, having directed the driver to go to No. --- Boulevard Haussmann, the residence of M. Besson, a Councilor of State, the Prince lifted his hat and, bowing to the ladies, withdrew.

The personal and political relations of these two ambassadors, to the Imperial Court and to each other, were very remarkable. Metternich, the son of the famous statesman and diplomatist, was a reactionary by birth and education, so much so that the Emperor used to say that some day he would become a Capuchin friar; and Nigra, the disciple of Azeglio and Cavour, was a lover of freedom, with his face to the future. The former was fond of art, and an excellent musician; the latter a lover of letters, and a brilliant raconteur. They were rivals for the favors of the palace, the closest of personal friends, and, generally-, irreconcilable adversaries on matters of European policy, especially with respect to the Roman question, which was the burning question of the time. For a few months, just before the fall of the Empire, they worked in harmony to effect an alliance between their Governments and that of France, and on this day, impelled by a common motive, they met together at the Tuileries for the last time, to assist in her extremity the sovereign they each had so long and constantly admired. But while to Prince de Metternich this departure was the end of a hope that Napoleon III might help his country, Austria, to retrieve the defeat of Sadowa, to Signor Nigra it was the beginning of an assurance---that Rome was to be the capital of Italy.

While talking with the boy, Signor Nigra lost sight of his companions, and, not being able to rejoin them, or to find the Prince de Metternich, only learned several days later what became of the Empress after she disappeared in the moving throng of people on the Place Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois.

Indeed, she was there but a moment, for the cab turned quickly into the Rue de Rivoli, and, passing by the Louvre and the Tuileries, and on into the Rue de la Paix, and across the central boulevards, picked its way unnoticed through noisy bands of "clubbists" and " "manifestors," to the quiet quarter at the back of the Madeleine, the Empress herself having been an astonished witness of some of the most singular scenes of the mad carnival with which the populace of Paris celebrated the advent of the Third Republic.

On arriving at the given address in the Boulevard Haussmann, the cab was dismissed, and the ladies walked up the stairs to their friend's apartments, which were on the third or fourth floor. But on ringing the bell there was no reply. Again and again the bell was rung; but there was no answer. It was now about four o'clock. Should they wait? It would probably not be long before some one of the family returned. Feeling fatigued, the Empress sat down on the staircase, and waited five, ten, fifteen minutes. It seemed an age. At length she said, "I cannot stay here any longer. Let us go." And then the two sadly disappointed ladies slowly descended the stairs, and began to think very seriously about what should be done. They were alone; they had no carriage; they could not remain where they were; and so they walked on aimlessly, not knowing in what direction they were going, until finally they saw a cab, an open one; but the streets were deserted, and there was little danger of their being recognized. The driver was beckoned to, and stopped. And now the question, Where shall we go? must be quickly answered.

"Let us go," said Madame Lebreton, "to the American Legation, to Mr. Washburne. The Revolutionists will respect the American flag. Mr. Washburne will protect us."

"The American Legation---Mr. Washburne," repeated the Empress interrogatively---and then she thought of me.

"No," said she, " I will go to Dr. Evans. He is an American also, but he has no political responsibilities, and, besides, is an old friend. I am sure he will not hesitate to render us every assistance we may require."

And so it came to pass that the Empress and Madame Lebreton directed their cabman to drive them to my private residence, on the corner of the Avenue de l'Impératrice and the Avenue Malakoff, where they arrived at about five o'clock. On ringing the bell, the gate opened; there was some one here, at least. It proved, however, to be only a servant; but he told the ladies that Dr. Evans, for whom they inquired, although not at home, was expected to return before long, and that if they chose to do so they could come in and wait in the library until he came back.

he sun rose bright on the morning of September 4th. It was Sunday, and in the quarter of the city where I live---between the Are de Triomphe and the Bois de Boulogne---the stillness of the early hours of the day was broken only by the distant chime of bells, and the singing of birds in the private and public gardens. No dread alarms would appear to have disturbed the repose of my neighbors, and Nature, animate and inanimate, in the soft radiance of the morning light seemed full of joy and gentleness, and was invested with a serene beauty that possessed the soul with a delightful sense of security---a feeling which, when it succeeds quickly the fear of some great, impending catastrophe, as it then did, comes to us like a benediction from Heaven. How could one help yielding to the subtle influence of this impression? And thus it happened that, scarcely knowing why, I began to hope and to believe the ugly rumors of the preceding evening were unfounded, and that some turn in the tide of fortune might soon restore the prestige of the armies of France, and save the country and the Government. But it proved to be only the calm before the tornado.

At nine o'clock I went over to the American Ambulance which was being constructed upon grounds belonging to the Prince de Beaufremont, on the corner of the Avenue de l'Impératrice and the Rue Villejust. Here I found Dr. Edward A. Crane, it having been agreed between us that we should spend the morning together preparing the Ambulance for active service; since the news from the front, on Saturday, was of such a kind as to make us think that trains conveying the wounded might be expected to arrive in Paris at almost any moment. As we met, we had in our hands the morning papers. From them we learned for the first time that the Government admitted the French army had been defeated at Sedan. And yet the Imperial Government, according to the reports published and the comments of the papers, had every appearance of standing firm, and of being confident of its ability to meet the crisis.

At the session of the Chamber of Deputies convened at one o'clock on Sunday morning, General de Palikao, the Minister of War, after having announced the capitulation of Marshal MacMahon 's army, said:

"This cruel reverse does not shake our courage. Paris to-day is in a condition for defense. The military forces of the country are being organized. In a few days a new army will be behind the walls of Paris; another army is forming on the banks of the Loire. Your patriotism, your union, your energy will save France."

Jules Favre's order of the day, presented immediately after the Ministerial declaration, demanding that the Emperor should be deposed, was supported by no one; on the contrary, it was protested against with violence. After a sitting that lasted but half an hour, the Chamber adjourned to meet at 1 P. M. on the same day.

No revolutionary manifestations were reported, nor breaches of the public peace. On the surface everything was quiet. Knowing that the Germans were now marching towards Paris, it was our opinion the people would respond promptly to the appeal made by the Government, and that political differences and animosities would, for the moment, be held subordinate to considerations affecting the national honor, and interests in which all Frenchmen were equally concerned, and that a vigorous defense of the capital would be made. We also presumed that the Government had taken the precautionary measures necessary for dealing effectively with the agents of revolt and revolution, should they attempt to begin their work.

These matters we talked over at length. Whatever doubt we may have had with respect to the expediency of establishing our Ambulance in Paris was now removed. Paris was surely to be the scene of the final acts of this terrible Franco-German drama. There was no time to be lost, and we resolved to do our best to have everything in readiness to receive and take care of the wounded as soon as there should be a call for our services.

At noon Dr. Crane returned into the city, it being understood between us that we should meet again at my office in the Rue de la Paix at four o'clock, and, later, take a drive in the Bois de Boulogne.

A little after three o'clock, having ordered my horses to be put to a light American carriage---wishing to drive myself---I started off to keep my engagement. On the way, in the Avenue de l'Impératrice, and as far down the Champs Elysées as the Palais de l'Industrie, I observed nothing to indicate the existence of any popular excitement. The fountains were playing, and well-dressed people were moving about in carriages or on foot, as usual. The children, also, under the trees on each side of the Champs Elysées, were enjoying the day with their nurses, playing on the shaded walks, riding on the merry-go-rounds and in the little wagons drawn by goats, or gathering together about the Punch-and-Judy shows, exactly as they had done on every pleasant Sunday during the summer. Only as I approached the Place de la Concorde did I begin to see evidences that something extraordinary was taking place. I noticed groups of people scattered about, some near the Obelisk, others on the terrace of the Garden of the Tuileries, most of whom seemed to be watching the movements of small bands of men and boys, who were marching, and shouting what, as I drew nearer, proved to be "La déchéance!" "Vive la République!" or singing revolutionary songs; and then a detachment of the Garde Nationale came in sight singing the "Marseillaise," with their guns under their arms, reversed---the butts uppermost---a sign that they would not fire upon the people, in a word, had gone over to the Revolution. When I came to the Place de la Concorde, I noticed that the crowd on the other side of the Seine was dense in the neighborhood of the bridge, and that the approaches to the Palais-Bourbon were filled with a black, restless, swaying, seething mass that clung to the main entrance of the building like a swarm of bees at the mouth of a hive. Men and boys, and women even, were at the same time hurrying through the gilded gates that, flanked by the equestrian symbols of Fame, open into the Garden of the Tuileries---which seemed to be another center of excitement. Just what was going on there I only learned afterward-the "citizens" were parleying with the officer in command of the guard stationed at the Tuileries.

Driving across the Place de la Concorde, I entered the Rue de Rivoli, where I met groups, principally of workmen from the faubourgs, marching in the middle of the street and singing the "Marseillaise," or dancing the "Carmagnole" under the arches; while a still larger number of persons from the windows above, or on the sidewalk opposite---peering through the railings that enclose the Garden of the Tuileries---were watching in silent astonishment the riotous and fantastic scenes that were being enacted before their eyes.

Strange as it may seem, the streets were not obstructed; carriages were circulating freely to and fro; in fact, it was about this time---perhaps at this very moment---that the Empress was being driven in a cab through the Rue de Rivoli, on her way to my house.

Turning into the Rue Castiglione, I witnessed what struck me, at the time, as a most extraordinary performance a man well dressed, and wearing a tall silk hat, standing on a short ladder, with a hammer in his hand, striking furiously at and smashing in pieces a large shield on which, and under the Imperial Arms, in letters of gold, were the words, "Fournisseur de Sa Majesté, l'Empereur"; and as I passed on into the Place Vendôme and the Rue de la Paix, I saw other shopkeepers endeavoring in desperate haste to remove or destroy the insignia of a patronage that, only a few days before, they were so anxious to obtain or proud to possess.

Soon after I reached my office, Dr. Crane joined me, and reported what he had seen since leaving me at the Ambulance.

He said that between twelve and half-past twelve o'clock the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde were absolutely deserted, but that this was not remarked by him at the time as something unusual; it was noon, the lunch hour, and the sun was fiercely hot---a sun of Austerlitz. It was about one o'clock when he first noticed indications of the approaching revolutionary movement. Then small bands of "manifestors" began to make their appearance, coming from the faubourgs---Montmartre, Saint-Antoine, du Temple---and marching towards the Palais-Bourbon, where the Deputies were to meet. Some were working men in their Sunday clothes, and others the uncombed and unwashed ruffians, in greasy blouses and black silk caps, who emerge from the slums of Paris whenever public order is threatened. As the noise of the shouting rose in the air, they increased in numbers; and so did the number of the spectators who followed behind them and crowded round them, curious to see what they were going to do.

It was nearly or quite three o'clock before the Garden of the Tuileries was invaded. Dr. Crane, during the more than two hours he spent in the Rue de Rivoli or on or near the Place de la Concorde, witnessed no act of personal violence, except in the case of an unfortunate serjent de ville, whose sword was wrenched from him and whose uniform was nearly torn in pieces, but who, offering not the slightest resistance, and deathly pale and trembling with fear, was permitted to escape unhurt. It was, he said, a good-natured mob---a singing and a dancing mob---of men, women, children, and dogs, that had assembled apparently to celebrate some great victory, rather than engage in the serious business of overthrowing a Government. This work, they seemed to think and to feel had already been done at Sedan---thanks to the victorious and glorious Moltke. The police had mysteriously disappeared.

"But where are the troops? " asked the curious, quiet onlookers. And then came marching by, squads of Gardes Mobiles and of the Garde Nationale, fraternizing with the bands of demonstrators, and carrying flowers and green branches, the symbols of peace, in the muzzles of their guns, their women marching with them in the ranks. It now became evident to all the witnesses of these proceedings that the mob was meeting with no resistance; that the Army was acting in concert with it; and that Paris was in the hands of the Revolutionists. And, quick as a flash, the idea seized the flock of shopkeepers in the fashionable quarters to range themselves instantly on the side of Power; to obliterate with savage violence the evidence of their obligations to the Empire, and thus manifest their gratitude to the new Government for favors to come.

Dr. Crane and I remained for some time watching from the balcony of my office the movements of the people in the street, and reflecting on the probable consequences of the events that we were witnessing, and which had come to pass with such startling suddenness as to quite disconcert us.

The inconstancy of the French character is so well known, that it did not astonish me in the least to hear the people who the day before cried "Vive l'Empereur! now crying "Vive la République! "But the irreverence, the apparent animosity with which all the symbols of the past were trampled upon and destroyed, and the lack of courage displayed by those who at heart detested the opinions of the revolutionists, surpassed what I believed to be possible. It was sad to see so many new proofs of the old truth, that the populace cries to-day, "Hosanna!" and to-morrow, "Crucify!" And it seemed, indeed, very hard to believe that the illustrious family whose history was the story of the nation's glory, before the magic of whose name a large portion of the French people had bowed in admiration, after the first serious misfortune were disowned by all; the crowd hastening to pay homage to the new gods of the day---the gods of the "Red Republic."

And so from the tricolored flags the red stripes were cut out, and, having been torn into small pieces, were fastened by the" patriots "to sticks and umbrellas, and waved in the air as a sign of their adhesion to the "Red Republic," or, rather, to the "Commune." For although this latter species of craziness did not develop until some months later, the sparks were smoldering under the ashes, and it needed only a favorable wind to fan them into flames.

Yet there seemed to be something extremely superficial, and puerile even, in these demonstrations; and their factitious character was so apparent that it was difficult for us to understand how a revolutionary movement could be successful in the presence of such a lack of interest in it, on the part of the majority of the inhabitants of Paris, as was everywhere manifest. So far as we could judge, the active forces of the Revolution consisted of only a few hundred men and boys. For a long time they were afraid to act; they gradually grew bold through immunity, and, in the end, were surprised at the results of their own audacity. Why these bands were not quickly dispersed in a city then under martial law, and occupied by a strong military force, was to us at that time incomprehensible. Later, we learned how all these things happened so unexpectedly, and without any hitch in the proceedings. The program en cas que had been already sketched out by the chief conspirators.

It may be observed here that as, during the last two or three years of the Imperial régime, the Government became less personal and more liberal and democratic, the small band of irreconcilable opponents of the dynasty became more defiant and violent in their denunciation of the Government and all its acts. Every incident that could be made a pretext for a hostile manifestation was seized upon. Scurrilous journals, like the Lanterne, the Rappel, and the Marseillaise, were founded, and flourished also by reason of the very audacity of the personalities they ventured to publish, and the abominable insults they hurled at the Emperor, his family, and his Government. As more and more liberty of speech was permitted, in 1869-70, more and more inflammatory and intolerable became the utterances of this band of energumenes, among whom M. Henri Rochefort was facile princeps.

The Emperor proposed to give to France a constitutional Government. The Radicals demanded the Republic of 1848. At public meetings Revolution was openly advocated. Now it was that the names of Delescluze, Félix Pyat, Blanqui, Amoroux, Protot, Mégy, Flourens, Pascal Grousset, and others, began to make their appearance in the newspapers. It was the État Major of the Commune of 1871. Grave disturbances of public order soon became frequent, and early in the year 1870 suddenly assumed formidable proportions.

I shall never forget the surprise occasioned in Paris by the immense gathering of people at the funeral of Victor Noir, that took place on the 12th of January.

Noir, having gone to the house of Prince Pierre Bonaparte and becoming engaged in a violent altercation, was shot and killed by the Prince. This unfortunate occurrence was instantly seized upon by the revolutionary group as offering a most opportune subject for a popular manifestation against the Imperial dynasty. Elaborate preparations were made for a spectacular funeral. The Imperial family were subjected in the Radical press to a storm of insults. "For eighteen years," said Rochefort, in the columns of the Marseillaise, "France has been in the blood-stained hands of these cutthroats. Frenchmen, can it be that you do not think you have had enough of them?"

As the hour of the funeral approached, in spite of the rain, more than a hundred thousand persons assembled along the route that the procession was to take. Seditious cries of "Vive la République!" "Mort au Bonaparte!" were heard on every side. As soon as the procession began to move, the horses were taken from the hearse, which was then drawn by working men, while behind it Noir's brother, the principal mourner, was carried on the shoulders of the agitators. It was no longer a funeral: it was a triumph. In the cemetery, at Neuilly, speeches were pronounced over the body of Noir, calling upon the people to avenge his death and to overthrow the Government. On returning to Paris, at the gates of the city, past the Arch of Triumph, and down the Champs Elysées, the demonstrations assumed so violent and threatening a character, as for a moment---before the arrival of a regiment of cavalry---to frighten even the leaders.

This revolutionary manifestation of the 12th of January, 1870, was a revelation to the world, and, although generally regarded at the time as simply an exhibition of the insatiable curiosity of the Parisians, left a profound and painful impression upon the minds of all the friends of the Imperial family.

But all this was forgotten when, in July, the Government was dealing with a question that seemed to be of far more serious import to the nation, if not to the dynasty, than the sayings and doings of certain political malcontents. And, after hostilities had actually begun, very few persons, carried away themselves by the immense wave of patriotic sentiment which swept over the land, suspected that there were Frenchmen who were then watching events in the hope that some great disaster might overwhelm the armies of France.

Just after the declaration of war, a well-known Radical Deputy met in the Garden of the Tuileries M. Roché, a member of the Council of State. The conversation turning to the events of the day, this patriot, shaking his fist at the palace, cried out, "The creature that lives there has had such wonderful luck that he is capable of beating the Prussians; and then we should be---in the soup! And there were others like him, as there are, unfortunately, in all countries---men who acknowledge no sovereign authority, and recognize no patriotism but their own fanaticism.

And yet, paradoxical as it may seem, the insurrectionary movement in the streets of Paris, on the 4th of September, was not a manifestation of hostility against the Empire and the Napoleonic dynasty; it was in reality simply a rising to the surface of the social sediment of the city, after the shock of a national defeat, and at the same time a protest of the proletariat against every form of orderly government. The rioters were the men, or the descendants of the men, who in 1848 erected the barricades in the boulevards of the capital, reenforced by the teachings of German socialists or Russian anarchists, and organized under the direction of the Société Internationale des Travailleurs. They were that "democracy of our day, full of peril," of which M. Guizot spoke in 1861, in his famous address before the French Academy, on the occasion of the reception of Lacordaire succeeding to the chair of Tocqueville, when he said: "It thinks it is society itself, and all there is of it. It wishes to dominate alone. And it has no respect for, and, I may say, refuses to recognize the existence of, any rights except its own."

They appeared in force at the funeral of Victor Noir, and they filled the ballot-boxes with their votes on the 8th of May, 1870. While 7,358,786 votes were then cast by the French electors in favor of the Empire, and but 1,571,939 votes were cast against it, the Government obtained in Paris but 138,000 votes, while 184,000 votes were cast against it. And Lyons, Marseilles, and other large cities gave at this plebiscitum similar majorities against the Government. But there is no occasion to attribute to these votes a political significance they do not possess. They were cast by men who are the products of the social conditions of our time, who thrive and multiply in the centers of industrialism, and who often become threatening, and are always to be taken seriously into account wherever universal suffrage obtains. They have no respect for the individual or his liberty, and are without patriotism, boasting that the world is their country. They would seem to have no special preference for any form of government, except it be that of a despotic oligarchy, but to be systematically opposed to, and determined to upset, when possible, the one that happens to be in power. In 1885 they came to the conclusion that they could do this, and destroy the Third Republic, and so they set up the cry of "C'est Bou-c'est Bou-c'est Boulanger qu'il nous faut." They were not disturbed in the least by the possible consequences of their success, and hailed even with delight, the monarchical prospects which the electoral campaign of that year opened to their view. They failed then to accomplish their purpose, but they triumphed in the cities, as they had in 1870.

And to-day they cast the majority of the votes in Paris and in the principal cities of France, and fill the municipal offices with men hostile to the parliamentary Republic. In fact, the state of affairs in these cities would be very serious indeed, were it not that the national Government exercises its right of sovereignty and the right of veto whenever it thinks proper, in every matter of municipal administration; and its power to enforce its will is provided for by the maintenance of a strong garrison or army corps in the immediate neighborhood of each of the large cities. The control of the central Government over municipal affairs in Paris and elsewhere, in the present year, 1896, is as direct; as absolute and Cæsarean, as it was in 1866, with this difference only, that the Government was then called "the Empire," and is now called "the Republic"---a dissimilarity which our late eminent Secretary of State, Mr. William H. Seward, the last time he was in Paris (in 1871), told me was the only one he had been able to detect between the Government then in power and the one that had preceded it. And the difference between the Governments in France in their dealings with the liberties of the people will continue to be one only of names and labels, so long as a centralized bureaucracy is considered by every party when in power not only as essential to its own existence, but as necessary for the preservation of public order.

But so long as any kind of government, from an autocracy to anarchy, may be called "the Republic," and so long as the form of "the Republic" is not so definitely fixed that the most ultra Radicals may not hope to be able finally to shape it as they wish, there is no reason why the French proletariat should manifest its hatred of the social system represented by the present French Parliamentary Republic in any other way than by upsetting the Administration, and forcing the Executive to form a new Ministry, whenever it is in the humor to do so; which during the past twenty years has been on the average once in six months.

Were the Paris electorate, however, called upon to vote now, as in 1870, on the simple issue, "for" or "against" the existing Government, I am confident that the present Parliamentary Republic would obtain even a smaller vote than did the Empire in 1870. To infer, therefore, from the presence in the streets, on the 4th of September, of an overflow from the slums of the city, that these "manifestors" and "roughs" had assembled to express their opinion as to the merits of dynasties or republics, is absurd. They were there because they had been summoned by their leaders to be there---to smash things. And they did the work they were expected to do. "I myself," said General Le Flô, a man whose republicanism was above suspicion, "was a witness of the invasion of the Chamber by that horde of scoundrels who appeared again in the Commune." But Favre, and Gambetta, and the Deputies of Paris got the fruit, because they were prepared to gather it the instant it fell.

Before the end of August, a program having regard to the formation of a government had been prepared by Ledru Rollin, Gambetta, and others. This was to be acted upon immediately the success of a revolutionary movement could be clearly foreseen. The Republic was to be proclaimed, but under the tricolored flag of France, not under the "red" flag of the socialist democracy. And so, when the Chamber of Deputies was invaded and the déchéance was proclaimed, and the flag that had floated over the Tuileries was hauled down, there was a rush for the Hôtel de Ville; and it was a race between Favre, Gambetta, de Kératry, and a number of the Paris Deputies, on the one side, and Delescluze, Millière, and the representatives of the Internationale, on the other, which should get there first. Fortunately, the Paris Deputies won. And when Delescluze and the "clubbists" arrived, they found that the building was already occupied by the Government of the National Defense. The leaders of the mob were compelled to accept the accomplished fact, but they were furious in their disappointment, and violent in their denunciation of the "bourgeois assermentés du Corps législatif." And the "Sociétés des travailleurs " discovered, shortly afterward, that they had been the tools of the lawyers and the clever political conspirators by whom, with the complaisant cooperation of General Trochu, the Republic had been adroitly escamotée (filched), to use the picturesque language of the day. (See Appendix VIII.)

I trust that in these few paragraphs I have so far cleared up a small but important part of the field of French politics, that the reader will have no great difficulty in seeing why and how, on the 4th of September, things came to pass as they did, easily and smoothly, and how the "Third Republic" came into existence, as it were, by a process of natural evolution.

The clamor of the Radicals in the Chamber of Deputies, when the first unfavorable news arrived from the frontier, demanding that the National Guard should be called out, had the appearance of being an appeal to the patriotic sentiment of the nation. In fact, its purpose was to arm the mob, that they might be able to take advantage of any opportunity to upset the Government which chance should offer.

Not satisfied with calling out the National Guard, Jules Favre proposed that in each ward of the city of Paris a gun should immediately be put in the hands of every citizen whose name was inscribed on the electoral list; and thirty-three Deputies were ready to vote for this extraordinary proposition---that is to say, to arm the mob at once. Could any act have more clearly revealed their purpose?

And now the opportunity looked for, hoped for, had arrived. The day before, the Governor of Paris had been approached. It was understood that he would not oppose a revolutionary movement; the way would be made smooth; every door would be found wide open. And so it was that, on Sunday morning, the special details of the police about the public offices were dismissed, and the 2,500 troops of the line who had been guarding the Chamber of Deputies were ordered away, and their places taken by a few companies of the Garde Nationale. National Guards also were posted about the Tuileries. They, the "mob lots," as they were affectionately called by the populace, could be trusted by the plotters; they would be ready to cry "Vive la République!" when the order was given. Just as, six months later, these Pretorians of anarchy and misrule were ready to cry "Vive la Commune!" and to reestablish the Reign of Terror.

And then was revealed the meaning of those strange words in the strange letter that Trochu addressed, on the 20th of August, to the editor of the Temps, in reply to an article published in that newspaper. "The mistake," said he, "of all the Governments I have known, has been to consider force as the ultima ratio of power. The idea of preserving order with the bayonet and the sword in Paris, when given up to the most legitimate anguish and the disturbances that are its consequences, fills me with horror and disgust." In a word, public notice was then given by the Military Governor that in a certain eventuality---namely, an insurrection breaking out in Paris---he would not employ force to suppress it.(49)

If further evidence of his state of mind is required, it may be found in his own testimony before the Parliamentary Commission ("Enquête Parlementaire," tome i, p. 313). He there says: "I repeat, it is not my business to defend General Caussade; but you think that the troops would have fired if he had given the order. That is your mistake---to imagine that in the circumstances these troops would have been disposed to employ force---whoever may have affirmed it. I declare it absolutely contrary to the truth; you may think so, it is your right, but you are mistaken. It was morally impossible; I have said so several times. My conviction on this subject is of long date."

The Second Empire fell, seemingly, like a house of cards before a puff of wind; but why it so fell, and without an effort to save it, is no longer a mystery. Not only the Regent and her Ministers, but the representatives of the people constituting the Legislative Body, had been betrayed. And that at the very moment when, conscious of the immense responsibilities resting upon her, animated by patriotic considerations alone, and with the noblest self-abnegation, the Empress was devoting every thought to the one object of checking the advance of the German invasion, and protecting in the largest measure possible the prestige, the honor, and the territorial integrity of France. When the treachery was discovered it was too late; the armed force at the capital had been arrayed against the Government. It was powerless to resist; it was forced to retire; and for the very same reason that the Government which usurped its place was compelled not long after to steal out of Paris under cover of the night, and without striking a blow in its own defense.(50)

Leaving the Rue de la Paix, we passed into the boulevards, which were full of Sunday promenaders, quiet and orderly, only curious to see everything and hear all about what was taking place. On reaching the Madeleine, we drove up the Boulevard Malesherbes, now peaceful and silent, and through the Park Monceau---beautiful as always, with its fresh green lawns and bright parterres of flowers, and groups of happy children---and then along deserted streets and avenues, until we reached my house. Here, as I had arranged to have this evening a gentlemen's dinner-party, I wished to stop to give an order, before driving on to the Bois. It was then about six o'clock. Handing the reins to Dr. Crane, I said, "I shall be gone but a few minutes."

On entering my house, a servant said to me: "There are two ladies in the library who wish to see you. They have not given their names, and decline to state why they have come here; but they seem to be very anxious to see you, and have been waiting for you more than an hour."

After giving my order, I went to see who these visitors were that had called upon me in this rather singular and mysterious manner. When I stepped into the room, and found myself standing in the presence of the Empress Eugénie, my astonishment can hardly be imagined.

"Perhaps you are surprised to see me here," said the Empress. "You know what has taken place to-day---that the Government is in the hands of the Revolutionists."

Then in a few words she told me how she had been obliged to leave the Tuileries suddenly, without preparation, almost without warning. "And I have come to you," she said, "for protection and assistance, because I have full confidence in your devotion to my family. The service I now ask in my behalf and in that of the lady (Madame Lebreton) who is with me, will be a severe test of your friendship."

I at once assured her Majesty that I should be only too happy to give her the protection she sought; that I held myself entirely at her service, and would willingly do anything in my power which might be necessary to secure her personal safety, or to assist her in any way. She thanked me with emotion. And referring again to the events that had just occurred, she contrasted them with her surroundings only a few short weeks before.

"You see," she said, " I am no longer fortunate. The evil days have come, and I am left alone."

She stopped. speaking, and tears filled her eyes.

The fact that the lady whom I had known for so many years as the illustrious sovereign of France was a fugitive under my roof; that she who had been surrounded by friends and courtiers, and all the powers of the State, now seemed to be deserted and forgotten by every one in her own country; that she had been forced to come to a foreigner for help---these things could not fail to produce in my mind a feeling of pain as well as of sympathy.

While her Majesty was talking I had scarcely spoken; I was too much absorbed in hearing what had happened to her, why she had come to me, and what she wished to do. Indeed, there was little occasion for me to ask questions, so directly and simply did she say all that was necessary for me to clearly understand the essential facts of the case. Moreover, I was the privileged witness of her sorrow and distress. While speaking, she sat in a deep armchair; and the pale light from the window by her side falling upon her still paler face, careworn and sad but singularly beautiful, I could not help being profoundly touched by the pathos of the situation. And if I felt a certain pride in having been chosen as the protector of this noble but unfortunate lady, I knew that I should have still better reason to feel proud and happy when I had justified the confidence she had placed in me, by my efforts to rescue her from the danger that seemed imminent, and which she certainly had cause to fear.

I now asked her Majesty if she had any special plan that she desired to carry out.

She replied that she wished to go to England, if she could, and expressed, in particular, a very earnest desire to leave Paris as quickly as possible. She thought that an attempt might be made, when it was discovered she had left the Tuileries, to find out where she had gone, and that orders might be issued by the promoters of the Revolution to arrest her. She also wished to get beyond the reach of the mob; for she was quite aware that the false and malicious representations respecting her personal responsibility for the war, which had been industriously circulated by the enemies of the Imperial Government, had excited a bitter feeling of animosity against her among certain classes of the people only too eager to seize an opportunity to manifest it by some act of vindictive violence. It was her opinion, therefore, that no time should be lost; that she should proceed on the way at once, without stopping too long to consider the direction to be taken or to fix upon a halting-place. But it was not that she was unduly alarmed. In fact, she did not appreciate the real danger she was in. Morally, she was brave and resolute. She had no fear of any peril that might be encountered, so long as she could feel that she was doing something. But to stop and quietly wait, doing nothing, this seemed to her to be very hard indeed. It was quite natural that it should have been so, and was only a momentary matter of nerves. The Empress was, at the time, weary and nearly exhausted by the stress and strain of incessant work, emotional excitement, and the fearful sense of responsibility to which she had been subjected during the whole period of the Regency. She was also suffering greatly from insufficient sleep and the want of food. In constant receipt of important despatches, she had been unable to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time for over a week, and had scarcely eaten anything in the preceding twenty-four hours. That under these circumstances, and at a critical moment, she should have appeared to be ill at ease, and have shown a little nervous impatience to start off on her journey, is certainly not surprising.

I endeavored to reassure her. I told her that as no one knew where she thought of going when she left the Tuileries, it was not likely any one could immediately discover where she had gone; and, furthermore, that I was quite sure she would not be disturbed, and was perfectly safe so long as she remained under my roof. I urged upon her the necessity of taking some refreshment; after which, I told her, we should have plenty of time to consider what would be the safest and best course for us to follow, in order to carry out her wishes. I then begged her Majesty to excuse me for a little while.

Having directed a servant to prepare a lunch for the ladies in my library, I ordered the gate to be opened and the carriage to be brought into the yard.

Dr. Crane had been patiently waiting my return for a continuation of our drive, and its abrupt end seemed to surprise him. But he was still more surprised when I whispered into his ear, as he stepped out of the carriage,

"The Empress is here!" After a moment I continued:

"The question is, what are we to do? Come in, and let us talk this over. It is now half past six o'clock. My guests who have been invited to dine with me this evening may be expected to arrive, some of them, very soon. Shall we dismiss them as they come, or go on with the dinner? The situation is not only awkward, but difficult."

The conclusion we came to was that Dr. Crane should receive the gentlemen as they arrived, and excusing my absence on the ground that the events of the day had made it necessary for me to look after certain private affairs, should entertain them in my place; that in the meantime I would have a good opportunity to confer with her Majesty with respect to her plans and wishes; that after the dinner Dr. Crane should join in the conference, and a final decision then be reached.

Little did I think, when I invited these gentlemen to my house, that the overthrow of the Imperial Government would prevent me from doing the honors of the occasion myself. I had expected, before we separated-my company being mostly members of the American Sanitary Committee ---to talk over the questions which were then especially interesting us, and with respect to which our decisions would become important in the event of a siege.

I had hoped, also, the opportunity was at hand for me to show to France, and to the reigning family, that I was not unmindful of the hospitality which I had received from them for many years past, and that I was now ready to reciprocate kindnesses by offering relief to those who might suffer in their behalf upon the field of battle. Providence had seemingly ordered it otherwise: that I was to prove to the world my devotion to the Imperial family by saving for the Emperor his wife, and for the Imperial Prince his mother; while to France I was to repay my debt of gratitude by preventing the people from the possible committal of a crime which, in a moment of excitement---forgetting the old traditions of French courtesy, the respect due to misfortune, the regard due to the feeble---they might have been led to, and which would have left an ineffaceable stain upon the name of the country.

And it is a pleasure for me to say here that not only the adherents of the Empire, but a great many Monarchists, together with some of the most ardent Republicans, among whom I wish to mention in particular the Count de Paris and M. Gambetta, expressed their gratitude to me afterward in the warmest terms for having placed the Empress beyond the reach of the insults of the Paris mob.

Dr. Crane and I had scarcely come to an understanding in the matter under consideration, when the gatebell rang and my guests began to arrive. I then returned to the ladies in the library. They had had their lunch, and I found the Empress had wonderfully revived. She talked with animation, narrating to me some of the incidents that occurred during the last days of the Regency, reverting, however, constantly to the subject of her immediate solicitude---how she was to get away from Paris.

It seems that, shortly before the 4th of September, several of the persons attached to the Court, officially or otherwise, being aware of the gravity of the political situation, became anxious about the safety of her Majesty, and suggested to her that preparations should be made to meet the very worst that could happen---a Revolution in Paris. But she did not care to listen to this advice, and cut it short by saying: "Here I have been placed by the Emperor; here all the interests of the army and the country are centered; here it is my duty to be. I shall never run away from the Revolution."

However, a number of passports were prepared, to be used in case they were needed, and among the countries of refuge, Belgium and England had been named. But no definite plan for securing the safety of the Empress, should she be compelled to abandon the Tuileries, had been fixed upon by any one, when the storm that swept away the Government suddenly broke on the afternoon of the 4th of September. Indeed, one of the most remarkable facts connected with the Empress' departure from her palace is that no officer of the Imperial Government, no one of those even who accompanied her and her lady companion through the galleries of the Louvre to the exit on the Place Saint Germain l'Auxerrois, seems to have assumed any direct personal responsibility for her Majesty's safety. They, one and all, whether present in the palace or absent, appear to have supposed that somebody else had charged himself with this delicate and perhaps dangerous mission. Nor did the action of Prince de Metternich and Signor Nigra have in view anything more than the removal of the Empress from imminent danger---the peril to which she would have been exposed had the mob invaded the palace and found her still occupying her apartments. Once the street and a carriage were reached, the mission of these gentlemen came abruptly to an end, and the Empress, abandoned to the chances of the day, was left to work out her own salvation as best she could.

It has often been said that during the last hours the Empress spent in the Tuileries she was deserted by nearly everybody attached to her person or connected with the service of the palace. This is untrue. All her ladies of honor who were in Paris came to the palace as usual on the 4th of September. Not an officer attached to the household was missing; and the domestics continued to perform their duties in the most perfect order until the Empress' departure was announced. Even then, the principal servants and the ushers did not quit their posts. M. d'Hérisson, who went to the Tuileries about half an hour after the Empress had left her apartments, told me that, on reaching the first floor, he was stopped by an usher in full costume-chocolate coat, short breeches, black silk stockings, and a silver chain around his neck---who asked him what he wanted. To his statement, "I have a letter which it is important her Majesty should receive immediately," the answer was, "But she has gone," and M. d'Hérisson was obliged to retire. In his " Journal d'un Officier d'Ordonnance," where he seems to take a malicious satisfaction in describing what he discovered in the private rooms of the Empress, when he visited them on the following day, M. d 'Hérisson admits that even then he observed only the evidences of a hurried departure. He says: "Were I to affirm that there was any great disorder, I should lie."

The simple truth is, that up to the very last moment everything connected with the formal service of the palace went on as usual. Indeed, had it been otherwise, it would have been surprising to every one who knows that there were very few persons in Paris, on the 4th of September, 1870, who, before the flag disappeared from the Tuileries, had the least suspicion of what was to take place on that day. Its unexpectedness was the characteristic feature of the Revolution of 1870. And it was this unexpectedness also which, while saving appearances for a time, caused a good many persons to lose their heads the instant they became fully conscious of the peril of the situation.

In the absence of any prearranged plan, the Empress was at a loss to know what should be done in order to accomplish her present purpose---which was to go to England. At first she suggested that, at about ten o'clock that evening, I should take her in my carriage as far as Poissy, some fifteen miles from Paris; saying that we might there meet a night train which would leave the Saint Lazare station at a quarter before one o'clock in the morning, and would reach Poissy at half past one o'clock, and arrive in Havre a little before eight o'clock; she added that we could stop in Havre the next day (Monday), and take the boat which would leave for Southampton in the evening.

The objections to our adopting this course were pointed out, and other suggestions were offered and considered. Several points were made pretty clear: all public conveyances were to be avoided if we wished to escape the danger of recognition; ten o'clock in the evening was a bad hour at which to begin a journey in a carriage without a definite stopping-place in view; we were quite safe where we were till morning. It also occurred to me that it might be well for her Majesty to remain in Paris at least long enough to ascertain if the revolutionists were in full possession of the city; because, from what I myself had seen, it was almost impossible for me to believe that the Imperial Government had really been overthrown. The questions to be considered were too important to be decided hastily; and, moreover, it was evident that her Majesty was never more in need of a few hours' rest than now. However, I told her that I would have my horses ready to leave soon after ten o'clock, if it was thought best, all things considered, that we should start off at that time. I then begged to be excused again, and occupied myself in making arrangements for the journey, and for a possible absence from Paris for an indeterminate time.

About half past nine o'clock a servant announced to me that the dinner had been served and that my guests were leaving. Soon after, Dr. Crane joined me, and the question of the ways and means of enabling the Empress to make her escape from France with the least risk was very carefully reconsidered. So many persons had been led to believe that she was the principal instigator of the war, and that the Empress had recklessly sacrificed the French nation in an attempt to consolidate the Imperial dynasty, so violent had been the expressions of hostile feelings towards her in certain quarters, that we were quite of her own opinion that, if seen and recognized, she might be the object of a personal attack, or might be arrested by some individual without authority, but ambitious to signalize in a dramatic way his zeal for the Revolution.

How absurd these accusations were, will be evident to all who have read the preceding chapters of this book; but at the time most Frenchmen were unwilling to recognize the truth. Rulers, when they are unfortunate and are crushed by the hand of fate, find few defenders, and whatever may be said against them is generally believed, for people are afraid to offend those who are in power; and at the downfall of the Empire, the power passed into the hands of men who had no respect for the late Government or sympathy for its friends.

The people in every country have certainly a right to regulate their own political affairs in their own way. Whether the Empire or the Republic may have done the most for the welfare of the nation, and which form of Government is to be considered as the most conducive to the prosperity of France, are questions that time must decide; but the men of whom I speak, and who held the power during the days that immediately followed the 3d of September, were not Republicans; they were usurpers who represented no settled form of government; and in France there is no real patriot, to whatever party he may belong, who is now willing to defend the policy these men thought it expedient to adopt, and who is not ashamed of the license and anarchy that reigned in Paris for a long while after the fall of the Second Empire.

Again, the Empress' arrest might be attempted for another reason. It was not certain that the Revolution proclaimed in the streets of Paris either was or would be successful. No one knew how it would be received by the country or by the army. The Empress, although a fugitive, was still Regent. Were she, therefore, once out of the capital and beyond the reach of the insurgents, the members and friends of the Imperial Government, and the army, might rally round her and a new seat of government be established. To prevent the possibility of such an event, the leaders of the Revolution might think it of the utmost importance to obtain possession of her person. With the Emperor a prisoner in the hands of the Germans, and the Empress lodged at the Conciergerie in Paris, the overthrow of the Empire might properly be considered as complete and final.

I was not surprised afterward to learn it was generally expected in the Chancelleries of Europe that, in the event of a successful insurrection in Paris, the Regent would attempt to transfer the seat of the Imperial Government to some place in the provinces. That the leaders of the Revolution should apparently not have thought of this, nor taken any means to prevent it, is a remarkable fact, which reveals the extreme confusion and want of foresight existing at the time among those into whose hands power had suddenly fallen. They were so dazed and intoxicated by the prodigious results of a street riot, that for many days, happily, they forgot the very existence of the Empress.

We were thoroughly impressed with the idea that we were about to engage in an undertaking attended by many risks, and that it would require great discretion on our part if it was to be successfully executed. What made. caution all the more requisite was that, although very plainly dressed, the Empress could not divest herself of the air of distinction that marked every feature of her personality; while from her frequent appearance in public, and through pictures and photographs, her face was so well known to Frenchmen, that were she seen by any half dozen of them she would almost certainly be recognized by more than one.

Taking all these things into consideration, we were convinced that the journey to the coast could be made with some degree of safety only by keeping away as much as possible from all assemblies of people, and by making use of private conveyances alone.

The next thing to do was to select some point on the coast from which we could easily embark, and at which, also, we could arrive without being exposed to public notice.

My wife had been spending the month of August in Normandy, and was still at the Hôtel du Casino in Deauville, a quiet seaside resort near Trouville, and not far from Havre. I was acquainted with the neighborhood, and, furthermore, my wife might be able to render us valuable assistance. Having, for these reasons, fixed upon Deauville as our objective point, as a place where, or near which, we should be likely to find a yacht or boat of some kind in which we could cross the Channel, it was next settled that we should begin the journey in my own carriage; since we felt pretty sure that we could count on finding relays of horses along the route in such towns as Mantes, Évreux, and Lisieux. And, finally, it was thought best that we should leave Paris early the next morning.

This plan having been agreed upon between us, it was submitted to her Majesty, who accepted it very willingly, and evidently with a feeling of great relief; for a decision had been reached. It only remained to arrange a few details.

The passports which the Empress had brought with her were now examined, and one of them was found to have been obtained at the British Embassy. In it, all whom it might concern were "requested and required to allow Dr. C----- (British subject), going to England, accompanied by a patient, Mrs. B----- (also a British subject), to pass freely, also without let or hindrance, and to afford them every assistance and protection of which they may stand in need."

This passport was dated the 13th day of August, and was signed "Lyons." It had been viséed and stamped, on the same date, at the Prefecture of Police in Paris. It was exactly what we wanted; it was not only a passport to England, but its terms were such as to enable us to complete our plan, and justify it in the most plausible manner possible. Dr. Crane would personate the physician, Dr. C----; the Empress, the patient; I, her brother; and Madame Lebreton, the nurse.

It may be remarked that this passport was a bonâ fide document; that it had been made out for a well-known English physician and a patient, which, after having been viséed at the Prefecture of Police, for some reason had not been called for. It was sent to the Tuileries shortly before the 4th of September, with several other passports, signed by Prince de Metternich, the Austrian Ambassador, to be used if needed, and according to the special requirements of the case.

It was arranged that we should all be ready to leave my house at half past five o'clock in the morning. The Empress and Madame Lebreton then retired for the night---but not to sleep, as her Majesty told me afterward.

And it was no wonder; for the hours the unfortunate Empress spent that night in my house were the first in which she had really had time to reflect upon the events which had taken place on that fatal day. It was now for the first time that she began to realize their meaning---that she was no longer sovereign of France. Her husband was a prisoner of war; her son's fate was unknown to her; she had lost an Empire, and was not only homeless, but her nearest friends did not know what had become of her. What a turmoil of thoughts, of memories, and emotions, must have troubled her! All the scenes of the strange drama that had just been enacted at the Tuileries must have forced themselves upon her weary and unwilling mind most painfully and vividly, disappearing only to reappear, like the confused phantoms of an evil dream, but leaving behind, finally, the awful conviction that these things were no dream. And then the memories of other and happier days must have caused her to feel all the more acutely this fearful reverse of fortune. Of all that she once possessed, nothing now remained to her. Not only the homage of ministers, and chamberlains, and ladies of honor, and the splendor of palaces, but the objects to which her heart was most attached---the portraits of her father and mother and dearest friends, the sacred souvenirs of her youth, her marriage tokens, the playthings of her son---all these things, invaluable on account of their tender associations, were lost to her, perhaps forever. And tomorrow---the future---with its possible dangers and its dark uncertainty, may it not have filled her anxious mind with sinister suggestions of other and even still greater misfortunes?

Probably not. The future was all that remained to her; here it was that the greatest interests of her life were now centered. If, in the sequence of events, something was to be feared, much could be reasonably hoped for. Fortune, who had been so prodigal of her gifts in other days, might not have exhausted all her favors; it was pleasanter to think of happiness yet to come, and more useful to consider what her own course should be in order to avoid difficulties and dangers and secure the objects most ardently desired. The Empress was not the woman to abandon a ship that seemed to be sinking, or to give way to vain regrets. She was never a pessimist, but possessed a happy, hopeful temperament that always inclined her to look upon the bright side of things. And I am disposed to believe that, if she slept but little during this night, it was very much less on account of looking back and grieving about what she had lost, than for the reason that her active, resourceful mind was engaged in looking forward, and thinking where her duty lay and of what might still be saved.

As it was not late, Dr. Crane returned to the city to ascertain what the situation was there, and, if possible, to learn if anything new had occurred that would cause us to alter our plans, or might in any way especially concern us. He came back a little before one o'clock, and reported the quarters he had visited to be perfectly quiet. The Guards were on duty about the Tuileries as usual. He noticed also on the walls of the palace, and at the sides of the arched passageways leading into the Place du Carrousel and the courts of the Louvre, the words "Propriété Nationale" in large letters written in chalk.

It was evident that there had been no invasion of these buildings. He had heard that a new Government had been proclaimed at the Hôtel de Ville, of which Jules Favre, Gambetta, and Rochefort were members. At midnight, except at the cafés, the streets were deserted. Indeed, he had seen very little to indicate that the population of Paris was yet fully conscious of the profound and far-reaching consequences of the events that had occurred during the day, although it was quite clear that the revolutionists were in undisputed possession of the city.

In the meantime, I had thought it best to make a sort of reconnaissance in the direction of the Porte Maillot, the gate at the end of the Avenue de la Grande Armée, through which we were to attempt the next morning to leave the city. The streets along which I passed were silent and deserted. On reaching a point from which I could see the gate, I stopped, and, after watching a little while, noticed that cabs and carriages were permitted to pass in and out without apparently being subjected to much, if any, inspection on the part of the guard on duty. I was very soon convinced, from what I saw, that no orders had been given establishing a rigid surveillance at the exits from the city, and returned to my house feeling quite confident that we should be able to pass this post in the morning without much difficulty.

Neither Dr. Crane nor I thought of rest, and although I could rely entirely on the fidelity of my servants, we both sat up the whole night watching over the safety of her Majesty.

During the gloomy hours that dragged slowly on, my mind was filled with memories and pictures of the past. I remembered the Empress as she appeared when I first saw her, her memorable marriage, her brilliant Court; and the Emperor, his kindnesses to me personally, and how profound an interest he always took in the welfare of his people---a swiftly moving, countless multitude of scenes and thoughts, that under the shadow of the somber realities of the day came to me as souvenirs, not of things once witnessed by myself or that happened within my own knowledge, but rather of some story of Wonderland.