refused to follow his lead. The prince therefore retreated towards the Column of Napoleon, and there planted the imperial flag. As it was yet very early in the morning, but few people were about in the streets; and so the prince, finding himself all but hemmed in by the soldiery and gens d'armes, thought it prudent to beat a retreat. It was too late, however, to make good his escape to the boat from which he had landed; and without much difficulty, and with the loss of only one or two lives, the prince and his two comrades were taken prisoners. They were hurriedly conveyed to Paris; and as the government of Louis Philippe felt more safe than it had done four years before, they were ordered to be brought to trial on a charge of treason before the Chamber of Peers.

Like the 'Affair of Strasbourg,' the attack on Boulogne was the result, not of an idle and chimerical dreamer, nor of a disordered brain, but of a 'profound conviction,' to use the prince's own words, 'that though his party was nowhere, his cause was everywhere,' and that such a step was necessary in order to elicit an expression of genuine feeling, if not in order to keep alive the cause which ever lay nearest to his heart. These efforts, crude and hasty as they were, must be regarded as the offspring of generous and confiding impulses, which would fain have believed that all who entertained the same opinions with himself were inspired with equal devotion to the imperial cause. His object was not to force himself into the imperial seat against the will of the nation, much less 'to wade through slaughter to a throne,' but simply to give his fellow-countrymen an opportunity of recording their verdict in favour of the imperial or the Orleanist régime, and there can be little doubt that if the nation at large could then have expressed its will, the verdict would have been largely in favour of the Empire, and probably of himself also as its embodiment. There were many who called him a 'madman' when he failed in this enterprise, who, as he himself remarked, would have praised him without measure if he had triumphed. It was to obey his destiny, to follow his star, to sound France with the sword of Napoleon, to bring to light what feelings of affection its people cherished for the once magic name of Bonaparte and the Empire, and to call upon the people, as one man, to declare their verdict upon the system which, he firmly believed, was most dear to them-this was the object which Louis Napoleon had in view when he landed on the shore at Boulogne on that August morning in 1840. Still, it is obvious that, on the mere strength of an idea, he attempted to subvert a settled government, and had consequently rendered himself amenable to the existing law of the country.

At Paris, the prosecution of the prince and his friends was conducted in a harsh and severe manner by the law-officers of the government, who were resolved to resort to every means in order to insure a conviction: at the same time, we have to bear in mind that

there was nothing singular in this; all dynasties which feel themselves unsafe are naturally jealous and vengeful. The prince was defended by M. Berryer; and when called on for his defence, he pleaded the twenty years of unmerited and cruel proscription through which he had passed, and his love of France in spite of all that he had suffered. He avowed that he, and he alone, was responsible for the abortive effort which he had made to ascertain the will of the French people with respect to the Empire, and to give them an opportunity of replying to the question: "Republic or Monarchy? Empire or Kingdom?' and of recovering for France her lost place in the scale of European nations. He ended his speech thus: One word more, gentlemen. I represent before you a principle, a cause, and a defeat. The principle is the sovereignty of the people; the cause is that of the Empire; the defeat is that of Waterloo. The principle-you have recognised it; the cause-you have served it; the defeat-you would revenge it. No, then, there is no discord between you and me. Representing a political cause, I cannot accept a political tribunal as the judge of my intentions and of my acts. Nobody will be imposed on by your forms. In the struggle which is taking place, there will be but one conqueror and one vanquished party. If you are in the ranks of the conqueror, I cannot expect justice at your hands, and I will not accept your generosity.'

M. Berryer's eloquence was exerted in the cause of the prince, but in vain. After some days, the court delivered its judgment and sentence. It is almost needless to state that the prince and his companions were found guilty. Count Montholon was sentenced to twenty years' imprisonment; the young officer who had responded to Napoleon's call at Boulogne, to transportation; and Prince Louis Napoleon himself to imprisonment for life in a French fortress.

It was towards the close of the same year (1840) that he found himself the inmate of two lonely and dreary rooms in the fortress of Ham, in Picardy, not far from the frontiers of Belgium.

For a forced seclusion that was destined to be life-long, he at once began to prepare himself, if not with content, at all events with dignity, declaring-in harmony with his constant assertion—that the knowledge that he was breathing the air of France and treading its soil would be ample solace in his solitude. His active and welldisciplined mind, too, found employment in pursuits worthy of one who had ever looked to political science as his rôle, and who, even in a prison, was far from abandoning the hopes and aspirations which belonged to a great cause. In the solitude of his prison he wrote a pamphlet on The Extinction of Pauperism, and a book entitled Fragments Historiques. Meantime, he found means to keep up some correspondence with friends outside the fortress, and in these he never failed to allude to the cause and the principle which he held to be committed to his keeping. Being subjected, by

the ministers of Louis Philippe, to certain indignities from which his rank as a prince ought to have exempted him, he protested against them in the strongest terms, as unfair to one who was 'born on the steps of a throne.' 'The sovereignty of the people made my uncle an emperor, my father a king, and me a prince by birth. Have I not, then, even as a prisoner, a right to the respect and regard of all those in whose eyes the voice of a great people, glory and misfortune, are everything?"

Two, three, four years passed by without bringing any change to the 'prisoner of Ham,' though from time to time the continued imprisonment of the prince was made the subject of not very complimentary remarks by the English journals, whose writers remarked that it was no very strong proof of the security of the throne of Louis Philippe. During this time, more than once he received messages sounding him as to his willingness to accept a pardon upon the condition of quitting France and abandoning his pretensions and claims; but to all such offers he turned a deaf ear, or rather regarded them as insults. Either he would be released by death, or by the king without terms; else he would be contented to live on even within the gates of a prison.

At this time he wrote to a friend as follows: 'If to-morrow the doors of my prison were to be opened to me, and I were told: "You are free; come and seat yourself as a citizen amid the hearths of your native country-France no longer repudiates her children," ah! then indeed a lively feeling of joy would seize my soul. But if, on the contrary, they were to come to offer me to exchange_my present condition for that of an exile, I should refuse such a proposition, because it would be in my view an aggravation of punishment. I prefer being a captive on the soil of France to being a free man in a foreign land. In a word, I should repeatsupposing that the occasion presented itself to me-that which I declared before the Court of Peers-"I will not accept of generosity, because I know how much it costs.""

In 1845 he applied to the French government for leave to hasten to the bedside of his father at Florence, promising on his honour to return to his prison on receiving notice from the government; but his request was curtly and peremptorily refused by Louis Philippe, except upon terms by which he refused to be bound. Attempts were made by several kind and well-meaning friends to obtain some concession in the prince's interest; but he declined to avail himself of their offices, for fear of being thought even for a moment to compromise those principles which had been the guide of his life. One advantage, however, he gained from his petition and its refusal-a knowledge of the true position in which he stood to Louis Philippe, and a feeling that henceforth there must be uncompromising war between the imperial name and the House of Orleans.

In the following May (1846), the prince's desire to see his father before he died led him to meditate an escape from the durance of his prison. This was no easy task, as the walls of the fortress of Ham are high, and surrounded by a fosse, and at the time of which we speak were guarded by four hundred men, sixty of whom in turn stood sentry day by day outside its walls. Moreover, the chief gate was guarded by three jailers, two of whom were on constant duty. In order to escape, it was necessary first to elude their vigilance; then to pass through the inside court, under the windows of the governor's house; and lastly, to pass through a gate well guarded by soldiers. The prince, however, shall tell the story of his escape in his own words. He writes:

'Not wishing to communicate my design to any one, it was necessary to disguise myself. As several rooms in that part of the prison which I occupied were under repair, it was not difficult to assume the dress of a workman. My good and faithful valet, Charles Thélier, procured a smock-frock and a pair of sabots; and after shaving off my moustaches, I took a plank on my shoulders.

'On Sunday morning I saw the workmen enter at half-past eight o'clock. Charles took them some drink, in order that I should not meet any of them on my way. He was also to call one of the turnkeys, whilst Dr Conneau conversed with the others. Nevertheless, I had scarcely got out of my room before I was accosted by a workman, who took me for one of his comrades; and at the bottom of the stairs I found myself in front of the keeper. Fortunately, I placed before my face the plank which I was carrying, and succeeded in reaching the yard. Whenever I passed a sentinel or any other person, I always kept the plank before my face.

'Passing before the first sentinel, I let my pipe fall, and stopped to pick up the bits. There I met the officer on duty; but as he was reading a letter, he paid no attention to me. The soldiers at the

guard-house appeared surprised at my dress, and a chasseur turned round several times to look at me. I next met some workmen, who looked very attentively at me. I placed the plank before my face, but they appeared to be so curious, that I thought I should never escape, until I heard them say: "Oh! it is Bertrand!"

'Once outside, I walked quickly towards the road to St Quentin. Charles, who had the day before engaged a carriage, shortly overtook me, and we arrived at St Quentin. I passed through the town on foot, after having thrown off my smock-frock. Charles procured a post-chaise, under pretext of going to Cambrai. We arrived, without meeting any obstacles, at Valenciennes, where I took the railway. I had procured a Belgian passport, but I was nowhere asked to shew it.

'During my escape, Dr Conneau, always so devoted to me, remained in prison, and caused them to believe that I was unwell, in order to give me time to reach the frontier. Before I could be

persuaded to quit France, it was necessary that I should be convinced that the government would never set me at liberty, if I would not consent to dishonour myself. It was also a matter of duty that I should exert all my efforts in order to be enabled to solace my father in his old age.'

It is impossible to speak too highly of the devotion of the prince's medical attendant, Dr Conneau, who, by feigning the continued illness of his illustrious patient, gained for him time to make good his escape beyond the French frontiers; and not content with this service, voluntarily remained in the prison, ready to bear his share of punishment, when he might have walked out free. He was tried for complicity in the escape of his charge, but was acquitted, the government probably not wishing to enforce a penalty against one who, if he had erred, had erred right nobly.

Having once gained the Belgian territory, the prince took ship for England. Foiled by the escape of the noble' prisoner of Ham,' the French government had the meanness to use its influence to prevent him from seeing his dying parent; and the Austrian ambassador, who likewise represented Tuscany at St James's, was instructed to refuse him the necessary passports. His venerable parent, therefore, was robbed of the solace of a last sight of his son, and thus far the immediate object of the prince's escape from Ham was frustrated.

What we have said, however, by no means applies to the remoter consequences of his escape, which before long made themselves felt through the length and breadth of France, although the prince continued for nearly another two years to make England his home, dividing his time between London and a country place which he hired near Sevenoaks, in Kent, and patiently waiting the turn which events should take in that native land to which he always turned his eyes. He had not very long to wait.

In February 1848 the government of Louis Philippe was overthrown, after a few days, or rather a few hours, of insurrection, by the indignation of the people whom it had failed to conciliate. We need not repeat here the story of the outbreak: how barricades were suddenly thrown up in the streets of Paris, the National Assembly broken up, the government declared to be at an end, and Louis Philippe only too glad to find himself able to effect his escape in disguise to the coast, and to land as an exile on those very shores to which in effect he had confined the prince whom he dreaded as the one formidable rival of his throne. The prince was in London; but he lost no time in making up his mind to go where duty called him. The 24th of February was the great day of the revolution; Louis Napoleon was in Paris on the 28th, in spite of the sentence of proscription against himself and his family being still unrepealed. He proceeded to pay his respects to the Provisional Government such as it was; but finding that his presence was likely to prove an embarrassment, he at once withdrew from the city, and returned