Lamartine was a Romantic poet, a member of the provisional government, and a
one-time presidential candidate. Here he recounts events in France in 1848. Initial
demands were for liberal political reforms. Soon social and economic issues came quickly
to the fore as an organized working class began to make demands.
The 12th arrondissement [note: district]of Paris had arranged a banquet. The
opposition had promised to verify the right by its presence, and the banquet was to take
place on the 20th of February. The ministry did not oppose it by force. They merely
proposed to certify the offence by a commissary of police, and to try the question by the
courts of law. The opposition was unanimous for accepting the judicial debate on this
ground. Everything was prepared for this peaceable demonstration.
On the eve of it, the ministry, disturbed by a summons addressed to the National
Guards, without arms, by the impatient republicans, declared at the tribune that they
retracted their concessions, and would disperse the manifestation by force.
M. Barrot summoned the constitutional opposition to his house to deliberate.
It was proposed to keep aloof from the extreme resolution of the government, and M.
Barrot and his friends yielded to this counsel.
On the next day a second deliberation took place at a restorator's in the Place de la
Madeleine, and M. de Lamartine, M. Berryer, and M. de Laroche-jacquelein were invited to
attend. They went thither.
About two hundred deputies of all complexions of moderate opposition were present. The
course to be pursued was discussed. The discussion was long, varied and embarrassing, and
no firm or worthy decision was reached in any quarter. If the opposition receded, it would
destroy itself, dishonor its name, and lose its moral influence over the nation. It would
pass under the Caudine yoke of the ministry. If it persisted, it would incur the risk of
conquering too much, and giving victory to the party which desired-what it feared-a
revolution. But revolution for revolution, the risk of an advanced revolution seemed more
acceptable to certain minds than a backward revolution....
Night came without blood having been shed. It was silent as the day, disquieted as on
the eve of a great event. However, the news of a probable change of ministry, which
relaxed the danger, reassured the citizens. The troops bivouacked in the squares and
streets. Some benches and chairs on the Champs-Elysées, set on fire by the children,
lighted up the horizon with an irregular illumination. The government was everywhere
master of Paris, except in that kind of citadel fortified by the nature of the
construction and the narrow winding of the streets, near the convent Saint Méry, in the
centre of Paris. There some indefatigable and intrepid republicans, who observed
everything and despaired of nothing, were concentrated, either by a concerted plan of
tactics, or by the same spontaneous revolutionary instincts. Even their chiefs disapproved
their obstinacy and rashness. They were estimated at four or five hundred in number, more
or less. Another detachment of republicans, without chiefs, disarmed during the night the
National Guards of the Batignolles, burned the station of the barrier, and fortified
themselves in a neighboring timber-yard to await the event. They did not attempt to
At dawn the routes which led to the gates of Paris were covered with columns of
cavalry, infantry and artillery, which the commands of government had collected. These
troops were imposing, obedient, well-disciplined, but sad and silent. The sadness of civil
war clouded their brows. They took successively their position on the principal streets
branching off from the quarters which pour forth the population of Parts. The multitude
did not fight en masse upon any point. Dispersed and floating bands disarmed only isolated
stations, broke open the armorers' shops, and fired invisible shots upon the troops. The
barricades, starting from the centre of the church Saint M6ry, were raised, branching out
and gradually multiplying almost under the feet of the army. Hardly were they reared when
they were abandoned. The troops had only stones to contend with,-It was a silent battle,
whose progress was felt without hearing the noise.
The National Guard, assembled by a tardy call, collected legion by legion. It remained
neutral, and confined itself to interposing between the troops and the people, and
demanding with loud voice the dismissal of the ministers, and reform. It thus served as a
shield to the revolution....
Such was the state of Paris on the morning of the twenty-fourth of February. The
troops, fatigued from seeing no enemy, yet feeling hostility on all sides, stood faithful
but sad at their different posts. The generals and officers discussed with low voices the
inexplicable indecision of events. Groups of cavalry were seen at the ends of the
streets, enveloped in their gray cloaks, with drawn swords in their hands, immovably
stationed for thirty-six hours in the same place, allowing their horses to sleep under
them, trembling with cold and hunger. The officers of ordnance gallop by every moment,
carrying from one part of Paris to another orders and counter-orders. There was heard in
the distance, on the side of the Hotel de Ville [note: City Hall], and the deep and
winding labyrinths of the adjacent streets, some firing from groups of people, which
appeared to subside and become silent as the day advanced. The people were not numerous in
the streets; they seemed to allow the invisible spirit of revolution to fight for them,
that small band of obstinate combatants who were dying for them in the heart o Paris.
It is said there was a watch-word between the masses of the people and that group of
republicans-a silent signal of intelligence, which said to some, "Resist a few hours
longer," and to others, "You have no need of mingling in the contest, and
shedding French blood. The genius of the revolution fights for all; the monarchy is
falling; it is only necessary to push it; before the sun sets the republic will have
triumphed." . . .
The fate of the day was at the disposal of the National Guard. The government thus far
had not wished to sound its equivocal disposition, by asking ii to take an active part in
the affair, and fire on the citizens of Paris...
The National Guards, called, in fact, on the morning of the 24th, to interpose between
the people and the troops of the line, answered slowly and weakly to the appeal. They
recognized, in the prolonged movement of the people, an anti-ministerial demonstration, an
armed petition in favor of electoral reform, which they were far from disapproving. They
smiled upon it in secret. They felt an antipathy to the name of M Guizot. His irritating
and prolonged authority oppressed them. They loved his principles of government, perhaps;
they did not love the man. They saw in him at one time a complaisance, at another an
imprudent vexation, of England. They reproached him for a peace too dearly purchased by
political servility in Portugal; they reproached him for the war too rashly risked, for
the aggrandizement of the Orleans family at Madrid. They rejoiced at the downfall and
humiliation of this minister, equally unpopular in peace and war.
They wee not too much alarmed by seeing the people vote with musket-shot against the
system pursued by the king....
A small number of combatants, concentrated in that quarter of Paris which forms by the
crookedness and narrowness of its streets, the natural citadel of insurrections, preserved
alone a hostile attitude and an inaccessible position. These men were nearly all veterans
of the republic, formed by the voluntary discipline of sects in the secret societies of
the two monarchies; trained to the struggle, and even to martyrdom, in all the battles
which had made Paris bleed, and contested the establishment of the monarchy. Their
invisible chief had no name nor rank. It was the invisible breath of revolution; the
spirit of sect, the soul of the people, suffering from the present, aspiring to bring
light from the future; the cool and disinterested enthusiasm which rejoices in death, if
by its death posterity can find a germ of amelioration and life.
To these men were joined two other kinds of combatants, who always throw themselves
into the tumultuous movements of seditions; the ferocious spirits whom blood allures and
death delights, and the light natures whom the whirlwind attracts and draws in, the
children of Paris. But this germ did not increase. It watched in silence, musket in hand.
It contented itself with thus giving time for the general insurrection.
This insurrection was nowhere manifested. It needed a war-cry to excite it, a cry of
horror to sow fury and vengeance in that mass of floating population, equally ready to
retire to their homes, or to go forth to overthrow the government. Some silent groups
collected here and there at the extremity of the faubourgs of the Temple and of St.
Antoine. Other groups, few in number, appeared at the entrance of the streets which open
from the Chaussée d'Antin upon the boulevards.
These two kinds of groups were different in costume and attitude. The one was composed
of young men belonging to the rich and elegant classes of the bourgeoisie, to the schools,
to commerce, to the National Guard, to literature, and above all to Journalism. These
harangued the people, roused their anger against the king, the ministry, the Chambers,
spoke of the humiliation of' France to the foreigner, of the diplomatic treasons of the
court, of the corruption and insolent servility of the deputies sold to the discretion of
Louis Philippe. They discussed aloud the names of the popular ministers whom the
insurrection must impose upon the Tuileries. The numerous loiterers and persons passing
by, eager for news, stopped near the orators, and applauded their proposals.
The other groups were composed of men of the people, come from their workshops two days
since at the sound of musketry; their working-clothes upon their shoulders, their blue
shirts open at the breast, their hands yet black with the smoke of charcoal. These
descended in silence, by small companies, grazing the walls of the streets which lead to
Clichy, la Villette, and the Canal de l'Ourcq. One or two workmen, better clothed than the
others, in cloth vests, or in surt0UtS with long skirts, marched before them, spoke to
them in low tones, and appeared to give them the word of command. These were the chiefs of
the sections of' the Rights of Man, or of the Families.
The society of the Rights of Man, and of the Families, was a kind of democratic
masonry, instituted, since 1830, by some active republicans. These societies preserved,
under different names, since the destruction of the first republic by Bonaparte, the
rancor of betrayed liberty, as well as some traditions of Jacobinism, transmitted from
Babeuf to Buonarotti, and from Buonarotti to the young republicans of this school. The
members of these purely political societies were recruited almost entirely from among the
chiefs of the mechanic workshops, locksmiths, cabinet-makers, printers, joiners, and
carpenters of Paris.
Parallel to these permanent conspiracies against royalty, the keystone of the arch of
privilege, philosophical societies were organized, composed of almost the same
elements,-some under the auspices of St. Simon, others under those of Fourier,-the former
comprising the followers of Cabet, the latter those of Raspail, of Pierre Leroux and of
Louis Blanc. These conspiracies in open day were alone spread by means of eloquence,
association and journalism. Sects so far pacific, these societies discussed their
opinions, and caused them to be discussed freely.
The difference between these two kinds of revolutionists is, that the first were
inspired by the hatred of royalty, the second by the progress of humanity. The republic
and equality was the aim of the one; social renovation and fraternity the aim of the
other. They had nothing in common but impatience against that which existed, and hope for
that which they saw dawning in an approaching revolution.
Towards ten o'clock in the evening, a small column of republicans of the young bourgeoisie passed through the rue Lepelletier; it formed a group in silence around the gate of
the journal Le National, as if a rendezvous had been appointed. In all our
revolutions, counsel is held, the word of command is given, the impulse comes, from the
journal office. It is the comitia, of public union, the ambulatory tribune of the
people. We hear a long conference between the republicans within and the republicans
without. Short and feverish words were exchanged through the low, closed window of the
porter's lodge. The column, inspired with the enthusiasm which had just been communicated
to it, advanced with cries of Vive la refornie! à bas les ministres! [note: long live
reform! Down with the ministers] towards the boulevards.
Hardly had it quitted the office of Le National, when another column of workmen
and men of the people presented itself, and halted there, at the command of its chief. It
seemed to have been expected. It was applauded by the clapping of hands from within the
A red flag floated amidst the smoke of torches over the foremost ranks of this
multitude. Its numbers thickened as it continued to advance. A sinister curiosity became
intent upon this cloud of men, which seemed to bear the mystery of the day.
In front of the Hotel of Foreign Affairs, a battalion of the line, drawn up in battle
array, with loaded arms, its commander at the head, barred the boulevard. The column
suddenly halts before this hedge of bayonets. The floating of the flag and the gleaming of
torches frighten the horse of the commander. Rearing and whirling on its hind legs, the
horse throws itself back towards the battalion, which opens to surround its leader. A
discharge of fire-arms resounds in the confusion of this movement. Did it proceed, as has
been said, from a concealed and perverse hand, fired upon the people by an . agitator of
the people, in order to revive by the sight of blood the cooling ardor of the struggle?
Did it come from the hand of one of the insurgents upon the troop? In fine, what is more
likely, did it come accidentally from the movement of some loaded weapon, or from the hand
of some soldier who believed his commander was wounded when he saw the fright of his
horse? No one knows. Crime or chance, that discharge of fire-arms rekindled a revolution.