The Express.
London, England, 1851-03-08 00:00:00

ABDICATION OF BING LOUIS PHILIPPE.

11.IILATZD NT lIIIISILIP.
(November, 1849.)

From thn

of 25th February, 1151.

Such is the title of a pamphlet which is about to
he published very shortly by Michel Levy, Brothers, and
from which we borrow soave extracts. The author, M.
Edward Lemoine, commences thus:
It is little more than a year since I published the recital
of a first visit which I had the honour of making to King
Louis l'hilippe, in November, 1148.
Alter that publication, a friend of the royal family came
to thank me for the service I had rendered to the exiles
(these were the words employed), in causing to be made
known to the country, the truth of those fart, which
hatred and party spirit have been 18 years endeavouring to
disfigure.
This person added, that if say interests should again call
me to London, the King begged I would not forget that I
should be seep with great pleasure at Claremont.
I hastened to answer that I was profoundly grateful for the
permission which the King had given me, and I promised to
profit by it in the following month. This was in October
tew days alter I Peet out for England—the next morning
after my arrival in London I was at Claremont; if I recol-
lect right, it was on the 20th of November, 1149.
I found the house inhabited by the exiled as quiet, as
deserted, as I had found it a year before. The carriage
which conveyed me paned the gate without enybody think-
ing of asking that question, which is usually demanded
even at the door of the humblest, relative to the rank and
wishes of the visitor. Nevertheless, within the park there
reigned a certain animation of which some minutes biter 1
received an explanation. 'Three carriages were to he
seen approaching the modest residence of the family. A few
domestics, out of livery, appeared to he completing prepa-
rations for departure. Not wishing thus to arrive unes-
, pectedly and abruptly in the midst of one of those family
incidents where a stranger is always troublesome, I die-
mimed my coachman, and continued my route on foot. I
had not gone six paces along the principal avenue of the
park when I en,:ountered the Queen and the l'rince de
J oinville.
It was just a year since I had left the Queen a prey to
a disorder which the most aisle physicians had pronounced
mortal. I found her upright, strong, and walking at a ra-
pid and almost impatient pate. tier Mee breathed the must
Perfect serenity, her look shone with a sweet expression of
joy, and her voice was so clear and distinct that the sound
of it reached me, although respect did not allow me to ap-
proach very near to her Majesty, to whom 1 had net the
honour to he known. I preceded, therefore, towards the
mansion, when l wets approached by General It was
this personage who had visited me in Paris. Ili% first words
gave me to understand that my presentiment was right, and
that chance had brought nie to Claremont at the very
moment when a family encoring of great interest was about
to take place. The Duke of Nemoune who hail been absent
for three months in Germany, was about to arrive by rail.
A general move to the station was about to be made, that
the whole family might meet tea minutes sooner. I ex-
pressed my wish to retire ; but the General insisted that I
should stay, saying that the King would regret that I
should return to London without seeing him. I consented,
and allowed myself to be conducted into the library.
When the King entered, 1 was struck with die change
which a year had wrought in his appearunce. Ilia gait had
become heavy and slow, his look had lost its vivacity, his
back had rounded, and that head which had never bent
neither under the crown, nor the weight of the peace of
the world, had done so under its exile. As soon as ever
Louis Philippe perceived me, he held out both his hands
and aildreseed me in that strung and marked voice, which
he still preserved. "You have rendered me a true service ;
for, tb-enlist,, you, the truth has been printed respecting my
sentiments, and respecting me. During the 18 years of my
reign, never was similar fortune mine."
"Ills Majesty has then found my work exact ? "
" Perfectly exact. Nor have I been alone in this opinion.
One of ney sons read your pamphlet at Vienna, in a Ger-
man journal, which published a translation of it, and the
recital appeared so true to him as tee lead him to suppose
that it had been written under my dictation. And yet--"
Here Louis l'hilippe paused.
I hail divined from the tone of his voice, and from the
hesitation which was depicted on his countenance, that he
had come observations to make, but feared to wound my
suscetibility. I hastened to say that if I had made any
mistake 1 should be happy for it to he pointed out, my
modest ambition being, in the recital I had published,
only to serve as the stenographiet of the royal words.
" Oh," said the King, " it is a matter ief little import-
ance; hut in history everything is valuable. Now, you
make me say that ' if the troops have retired without fight-
ing, it is by my order.' That iv not absolutely exact. I had
named a general in chief, whom the new ministry had re-
cognised. It was to this general in chief to whom it be-
longed to give orders, under the constitutional responsi-
bility of the ministers. This was Marshal liugeaud. 'the
oppesition journals had named him the man of blood. It is
him, the man of blood, who dictated and signed an order so
conceived, if my memory does not deceive me. The order
that I gave was tee cease firing everywhere, and the Na-
tional Guard was tee go to do the duty everywhere."
" Your Majesty is in the right. certainly du recollect
' that General Bedeau, on the Boulevard Donne Nouvelle,
caused an order to be read by several persons, which was
signed thus, "The Marshal, Duke of Isly. "
" Let it he well understood," proceeded the King, with
vivacity, " that I do not regret, that I never have re-
gretted, that the marshal did not begin the battle. I have
all ray ife detested that profound iniquity named war, an
iniquity the result of which is to send to death thousands of
men who fur the most part are indifferent, by position and
temperament, to the questions for which their life is de-
manded. It is not for nothing that my enemies called me,
perverting truth, though as they always did, the King of
l'eace at all price. I leave fur civil war (speciall)• insur-
mountable horror. So it is certain, very certain, that if I
hail been consulted I should have been of opinion that
blemished was to be avoided, never mind by what methusl.
But I never was consulted."

" I promise your Majesty that, authorised by yourself, I
will rectify this error.'
"Is that worth while ? Not in my opinion. When I
cons cried with you I conversed in the abundance of my
heart, and without any ulterior thoughts, as I do with the
French who are so kind as to come to see me. I was fur
from supposing that you would put my words into print.
If you had communicated to me your intention, I should
probably have combated it, fur I du not think, situated as I
am, that it is worthy of me to occupy the public either with
my past acts or my personal opinions."
" Nevertheless, sire, your Majesty has done me the
honour of saying to me that it has been one of the greatest
misfortunes of the monarchy of July that during eighteen
years the King was always attack Cal, without anybody
having taken the pen to detend him."
Ah, I was king then; it was another affair. When
they attacked me it was royalty—it was authority that was
attacked. Nut to defend me was to permit the overthrow
of the throne. 50 when, after eighteen years of obstinate
attacks, it was judged that thr throne was sufficiently tot-
tering, there was nothing to do but to push it, and it fell to
pieces, to the great astonishment both of my friends and
enemies. It held torethcr no longer."
" But, sire, does not your honour exact ?"
" Oh! my honour will be preserved without that. I have
given to my country ten years of peace and of respectability.
Europe knows it, and posterity—you yourself have said it
to me—will pass judgment on all the calumnies with which
I have been overwhelmed. Now, lam nu longer anything,
and I do not wish that I should be spoken of, even in my
defence. Our enemies pretend that the Orleans family is
conspiring in exile, and th it it intrigues for replacing its
hand upon a crown which has been torn from it. I am
decided upon not furnishing a pre hAt for these ridiculous
accusations. Should any one take up the pen in my
favour, it would not fail to be said."

" There are the Orleans people in movement. They arc
intriguing, and conspiring !
At this moment, a knocking was heard at the door, and
the voice of the Queen, in a tone of supplication, said :
"Are we not going to set out. We shall miss the train."
"Oh! Oh! mid the king, good kumouredly, I shall be
scolded. The fact is that in a quarter of an hour the Duke
de Nemours is to arrive, and should he not bail us at the

station, he would thinCsome misfortune had happened to
us. I must go, but 1 should like to see you again. Will
you dons the pleasure of joining us the day after to-morrow
at our family dinner? That will be Sunday, and on that
day lam a little leas busy than on others. Besides I shall
have no visits, for Sunday is in England a day far one's
own family. You will conic early and we will converse—
but upon one condition, that you will not put my words
into print."
On the day appointed I arrived at Claremont towards
two o'clock in the afternoon. The King was informed, and
came immediately. His tirst words were:
" You are punctual. I thank you for it. For my part
also, I wish to keep the promise made to you, and to con-
verse with you at length. It would be better still, if you
have points to question me upon, to ask me them, and I
will reply with the greatest pleasure to them ; and upon
everything I will speak the truth, the whole truth—nothing
but the truth. Only I remind you of the conditions—our
conversation is not to be published, at least in my life-
time."
I will agree to it, sire ; happy in the certainty that the
publication will not take place before many years?.
" I believe you are wrong," replied the King; " it will
be probably with but little delay,"
" HOW, sire, can you have such thoughts—you, so full
of vigour, of health ? You "
My illustrious interlocutor interrupted me by a kind
gesture, adding:
I am old, and misfortune, which has not worn out my
courage, has in a remarkable manner worn out my strength.
Ab, these last times have been indeed fruitful to me in
painful proofs. Look back, I beg of you, to the past. I
have seen a cherished daughter, the pride of my house,
who would have been a princess by her talents, had she not
been one by birth, die in the flower of her age ; a eon,
also born to realise all hopes, whom the love of France en-
girded. I have seen my country, that I believed to have
matched for ever from the horrors of anarchy, precipitate
itself into the abyss of revolutions, and
that under pretext
of revenging itself of a king, whom no one has been able
to reproach excepting for a single fault—if that can be per-
mitted to be called one—to have pushed even to fanaticism
the respect due to the constitution of the country. For,