or miles away from the city, and their | delays, it was not until five o'clock that commanding officer in his bed. The Suppression of the Riots. From before daybreak on the Monday morning bands of country people had been pouring into the city on every road men of the worst class, and many of them armed with heavy bludgeons. Within it parties of from ten to twenty had, during the night, been going about demanding money, breaking the windows, and plundering the houses when their demands were refused. At three in the morning the mayor, who had taken refuge in a friend's house, sent a peremptory order to Colonel Brereton to take the most decisive measures to save the remainder of the city. Captain Warrington, to whom the order was delivered at the quarters of the Dragoons near College Green, in the absence of his superior officer, hesitated to open the letter, and when at last he was persuaded to do so, and to read the orders, declared that "he could do nothing without a magistrate, and would require one to go every step of the way with him." Nothing was done. Another hour passed, and then Alderman Camplin and some gentlemen came again to Captain Warrington, told him the state of affairs in Queen's Square, and demanded the immediate aid of the military. The answer was, that the troopers and their horses were too jaded to act with efficiency they had been in their quarters since 10 o'clock on the Sunday night. Again said the captain he could not act without a magistrate there was one ready to ride with him. "Troops," he then said, "should not fire; he had received a letter from the mayor for Colonel Brereton, and could not find him." The alderman volunteered to go in search of the missing colonel if the few dragoons (twenty-five in number), whom the captain declared were all that he could spare, would go with him. "He could not turn out the men," said the captain, "without the colonel's orders." At length, on the urgent entreaties of the magistrate, Captain Warrington went with him to the Military Office in search of the missing colonel. It was shut up. Recollecting that the lieutenant of the recruiting staff lived hard by, in Unity Street, they went there, and found the colonel in bed. When roused, he seemed hardly to believe that the riots were still going on, and at first peremptorily refused to call out "the jaded troops," as he called them. At last he gave the orders, but, thanks to all these the troops were formed on College Green, marched into Queen's Square, and formed up in front of the house of a Mr. Clayton, which the mob was busily sacking. The reception which the troops met with from the rioters was such as might have been expected from their knowledge of their previous inaction. A portion of the mob, indeed, withdrew; but the remainder crowded round the soldiers, held up to them bottles of liquor, and cheered them as friends. Still Colonel Brereton was unwilling to use force. In his opinion, nothing could be done with so small a body of troops. He refused even to attempt to drive back the crowd, and clear away the mob, now much reduced in numbers, in the front of Mr. Clayton's house. Six o'clock had struck, and as yet the colonel had done nothing but show the mob the troops. Happily for the city, at this moment Major Mackworth, an aidede-camp of the commander-in-chief, interfered, and by his unhesitating remonstrance overcame the colonel's hesitation so far as to get him to give orders for the Dragoons to drive the rioters from the wine-cellars. Convinced that further troops were required, Major Mackworth rode off to Keynsham, whither the Hussars had been sent, and ordered them to mount and follow him to the city. Irritated at the stigma that had been thrown upon them, the men mounted with more than usual alacrity, and followed the major. On their road they were joined by the Bedminster troop of yeomanry, and, after a short halt at the stables, came on the ground. Here they were soon afterwards joined by a yeomanry troop from Gloucester, under Major Beckwith, to whom one of the expresses for assistance had been sent by the mayor. Major Beckwith entertained a very dif ferent opinion of the character of the mob form Colonel Brereton. As soon as he had obtained a written order from the mayor to use force he ordered out his men, rode to the palace, where he learned that the rioters were again at work, and easily dis persed them. Hence he was called to Queen's Square, where the mob were renewing their violence. Spreading his troops across the square, he charged and easily scattered the rioters, some dozen of whom were cut down. It is needless to follow the charges of the troops in other parts of the city. So quickly and effectually was their work done, that in less than an hour the reign of the mob was at an end. The more respectable citizens, who had previously held back, now readily | of the Academy, headed by the Prince de came forward to serve as constables; a Beauvau; these were succeeded by the civil force of nearly five thousand men actors of the Théâtre Français, all in deep was soon formed and the troops withdrawn mourning on account of the recent death to their quarters. of Lekain, whose funeral had taken place on the very day of Voltaire's arrival in Paris. The latter, who had been kept purposely in ignorance of the event, and who had counted on the co-operation of the great actor for his new tragedy, looked anxiously around in search of his favorite pupil; upon which Bellecourt, the spokesman of the company, pointing gravely to his colleagues, murmured in a voice broken by emotion, "This is all that remains of the Comédie Française!" The old man stood for an instant speechless, then, overcome by the sudden shock, fainted away. Now, when the work had been done done thoroughly by a comparatively small force by the order of government, troops poured into the city from various quarters. The activity of the government was almost amusing. A battery of artillery was ordered from Woolwich. Orders were sent to march troops on Bristol from every available depot, and some frigates were despatched to the Bristol Channel. The widespread destruction had been effected, and it only remained for the rioters to pay for it with their lives or their liberty, and for the citizens by their purses to the amount of more than sixty-five thousand pounds.* G. LATHOM BROWNE. The settlement of the damages was eventually provided by the Bristol Damages Compensation Act, 2 Will. IV., cap. 88, enabling Commissioners to settle the claims and borrow the necessary amount from government, to be redeemed by the poor rates by yearly payments. The total amount assessed was £64,604, of which the costs on both sides amounted to 7,423, and the cost of the act £1,358. From Belgravia. VOLTAIRE'S LAST VISIT TO PARIS. AMONG the many noteworthy episodes in the life of the author of "La Henriade," the closing one, relating to his return to the capital after an absence of more than a quarter of a century, is not the least in teresting. He was then in his eightyfourth year, and the infirmities of age had begun to tell seriously upon him. His mental faculties, however, were still unimpaired, and the natural desire to revisit the scene of his early triumphs, and recall himself to the memory of the Parisians by the last production of his pen, was too powerful an incentive to be resisted by a literary veteran who, even on the brink of the grave, retained his old insatiable yearning after the incense of popularity. Towards the beginning of February, 1778, he left Ferney, and travelling by easy stages reached his destination on the 10th of the same month, and took up his quarters in the hotel of his intimate friend the Marquis de Villette, situated on what now bears the name of the Quai Voltaire, at the corner of the Rue de Beaune. On the following morning he received a deputation of three members As might have been expected, the advent of so illustrious a personage excited an extraordinary sensation throughout the city; crowds assembled daily round the hotel in the hope of catching a glimpse of him, and a constant stream of visitors, including every celebrity in literature and art, vied with each other in presenting their homage to the patriarch of letters. All were received by M. de Villette and Count d'Argental, by whom their respective names and qualities were announced in turn to Voltaire, who, attired in his habitual costume of dressing-gown and nightcap, said a few words to each new comer, generally responding to their complimentary speeches in a similar strain. When, as frequently happened, the flattery heaped upon him was unusually extravagant, he seldom failed to indulge in some caustic rejoinder, in order to show the speaker that he accepted the adulation exactly for what it was worth and not an iota more. One of the most obsequious in his attentions was Fariau de St. Ange, the translator of Ovid and author of a forgotten comedy and other equally mediocre productions; he was inordinately vain, and previously to being admitted to the philos opher's presence had prepared an harangue, the ingenious novelty of which he imagined would glorify himself as much as, if not more than, the individual to whom it was addressed. "Monsieur," he began, as soon as the ceremony of intro. duction had taken place, "I come to-day to contemplate Homer, my next visit will be to Sophocles and Euripides; after that, I purpose returning in honor of Tacitus, Lucian, and "Monsieur," quietly interrupted Voltaire, "I am very old and feeble, as you see, so with your permission we will consider the remaining visits you | Scarcely, however, had he touched it, mention as included in the one you are good enough to pay me to-day." To another, who maintained that, as he had already surpassed all his contemporaries in genius, he would also excel them by living longer than Fontenelle: "Ah, sir!" he replied, "you forget that Fontenelle was a Norman, and Normans cheat everybody, even nature." when he felt that Voltaire's eagle eye was upon him. Turning shortly round, and transfixing the offender with a penetrating glance, the owner of the peruke effectually put a stop to any further indiscretion by saying in a blandly courteous tone, emphasizing every syllable so as to complete the confusion of his auditor: "Allow me, monsieur, to remind you that He was speaking one day in terms of pages' tricks are not in fashion here. At high commendation of a literary colleague Ferney, it is the custom to respect a wig who had just taken leave of him, when a for the sake of what is underneath it." bystander casually remarked that such "After this," says Fleury, "thinking that sentiments were the more creditable on he had punished me sufficiently, he took his part inasmuch as the person in ques- me by the chin, made me look him full in tion had attacked him violently in a re- the face, and graciously dismissed me cently published work. "Ah, well!" with the flattering prophecy that, scapecoolly answered Voltaire, who had hith-grace as I was, I might hope some day to erto been unaware of the fact, "it is quite be a comedian." possible that neither he nor I meant pre. cisely what we said." Elated beyond measure by the respect universally manifested towards his distinguished guest, M. de Villette conceived so exaggerated an idea of his own importance as to assume an air of patronizing conde. scension naturally resented by the visitors to the hotel. This ridiculous pretension did not escape the notice of the satirical writers of the day, as may be seen by the following widely circulated epigram: Petit Villette, c'est en vain Que vous prétendez à la gloire ; Vous ne serez jamais qu'un nain Qui montre un géant à la foire ! On the second visit of the actors to the Hôtel Villette, we are told by the same anthority, a complimentary address was spoken by Bellecourt and responded to by Voltaire with a great display of emotion. When all except Fleury had retired, La Harpe, who was present, remarked that Bellecourt's delivery had appeared to him more than usually pathetic and effective. "Yes," replied the patriarch with his wonted cynical smile, "we both played our parts uncommonly well.” Madame du Deffand visited him twice, and alludes to their second interview in the following lively style: "Yesterday (the twenty-first), I went again, accompa nied as before by M. de Beauvau ; but this Many curious details relating to this expedition was by no means as agreeable period of Voltaire's life may be gleaned as the preceding one. We were received from the letters of Madame du Deffand, by the niece Denis, the best creature in and from the autobiographical memoirs of the world, but certainly the greatest slatthe actor Fleury: the former, for a long tern; by the Marquis de Villette, an insig. series of years, his constant correspon nificant stage-caricature, and his young dent, having been among the first to wel-wife, who is said to be amiable and is come his reappearance in the Parisian world; and the latter, figuring repeatedly in the deputations from the Comédie Française, having specially attracted the aged poet's, notice as his quondam pupil at Ferney. At the epoch alluded to, Fleury was a mere novice in the art in which he afterwards excelled, and member of a strolling company performing at Geneva whence they were summoned to give a few representations at the château for the amusement of the guests. With all his traditional veneration for his host, the young actor, as full of mischief as lads of seventeen generally are, could not resist the temptation of surreptitiously handling the ill-combed and dishevelled wig bobbing up and down on his patron's head. was called belle et bonne by Voltaire and the affirm that, if Fréron had not died two years before, he would have been one of the warmest admirers of "Irène." Voltaire shook his head in dissent. tor Pigalle, who is at work on a statue or bust of him. After I had waited a good quarter of an hour, in came Voltaire, say. ing that he was completely exhausted and could hardly speak. I rose to take leave," No,” he said, "it was always war to the but he detained me and began to talk of knife between us, and would have been so bis play, begging me repeatedly to come still. But, although we hated each other and hear the final rehearsal, which is to cordially, I never denied that he had taltake place in the hotel. His mind is full ent-of a certain sort. Nay, when a of it, and his sole motive for coming to German prince on his way hither for the Paris is to have it performed. If the first time asked me whom I could recom piece has not a great success it will kill mend as the most capable person to give bim." him a correct idea of the literature of the day, I told him plainly that I knew no one so likely to answer the purpose as that scoundrel, Fréron." Shortly after Walpole writes as follows: "He (Voltaire) thinks of nothing else (but his play), except of being received by the king and queen, which Madame du Deffand, who has paid him two visits, thinks he will not obtain. I should like to have been present at this interview of the only two surviving lilies of the siècle de Louis Quatorze; yet he is more occupied with the dandelions of the present age." On March 15 his tragedy of "Irène," the title of which was originally intended to be "Alexis Comnène," was performed for the first time at the Comédie Française, Madame Vestris, one of the best tragic actresses of her day, personating the heroine. The theatre was crowded to excess, and the excitement prodigious; the court, with one notable exception his Majesty Louis the Sixteenth, who detested Voltaire being present in grand gala, and the flower of Parisian society mingling with the most distinguished representatives of literature and the arts. It was, however, soon apparent that the piece possessed little intrinsic merit, and that neither the plot nor the characters were sufficiently interesting to rank beside the previous productions of the same writer; but not a word of discontent or unfriendly criticism was heard. People listened in respectful silence, and at the conclusion the name of Voltaire was greeted as enthusiastically as if this pale and feeble effort of his expiring genius had been a 66 Mérope" or a "Zaïre." It is needless to say that at the Hôtel Villette congratulations poured in from all sides; more than thirty members of the leading families in France repaired thither after the performance, and inscribed their names in a register kept for the purpose; and it was easy to persuade the old man that his latest work had achieved a success equal to that obtained by any of its predecessors. In the circle of his intimates there was of course but one opinion on the subject, and M. de Villette even went so far as to "What would you have done," inquired La Harpe, "if the terrible critic had rung at the gate of Ferney, and solicited hospitality? "Done!" exclaimed Voltaire, his old resentment blazing forth at the idea of such a possibility, "I should have" here he paused, and after a moment's reflection replied "I should have invited him to sup at my own table, and placed at his disposal the best bedroom in the château." "He would probably not have occupied it so long," suggested Madame Denis, "as the Italian who came for a night, and remained with us three months." "Ah," said Voltaire, chuckling faintly at the recollection; "contrary to Don Quixote, who mistook inns for castles, that gentleman evidently mistook castles for inns." On March 30, after attending a sitting of the Academy in his honor, the author of "Irène," in compliance with the general desire, visited the Théâtre Français in order to witness the sixth performance of his tragedy. Everything had been arranged beforehand to insure him a brilliant reception; and his appearance, surrounded by a bodyguard of satellites, was greeted with loud acclamations from all sides of the house. When the curtain had fallen on the last act of "Irène," the important part of the ceremony began; the poet's bust was placed on the stage, and displayed to the audience, the actors and actresses standing grouped around it. This was the signal for a burst of enthusiasm, which lasted more than a quarter of an hour; the ladies rising spontaneously from their seats and waving their handkerchiefs, while every eye was di rected towards the hero of the evening, who sat trembling with excitement and emotion in his box. Mlle. Lachassaigne then stepped forward, and deposited a laurel crown on the bust,* the other mem- were evidently inclined to join in the upbers of the company imitating her ex-roarious manifestation, but without any ample; while Madame Vestris recited the following lines composed for the occasion by M. de Saint-Marc: Aux yeux de Paris enchanté Non, tu n'as pas besoin d'atteindre au noir Pour jouir des honneurs de l'immortalité ! Que l'on vient de te présenter : very distinct idea how to begin. To them Voltaire's literary celebrity was a matter of indifference; in their eyes he was a philosopher, or, according to their interpretation of the term, an enemy to priestcraft, and as such alone they regarded him. While they stood undecided how to express their sympathy with what was going on, Fleury, who had divined the cause of their embarrassment, adroitly hinted to one of the foremost that the popular idol's real claim to their admiration being his hatred of injustice and oppression, an allusion to his defence of Calas and Sirven would be at once appro Early in April he visited Madame du Deffand for the first and last time. 1. He remained an hour with me," she says, "and was in a most amiable mood. He has just purchased a house in the Richelieu quarter, and intends passing eight months of the year in Paris, and the other four at Fleury. Every possible honor has been shown him here, the court alone declining to receive him. He is eighty-four, and positively I am inclined to regard him as almost immortal, not one of his faculties being in the slightest degree impaired by age." Quand c'est la France qui la donne ! Meanwhile, Mlle. Fanier (Dorat's old love) embraced the bust, as did her col-priate and gratifying to him. The sugleagues one after another; and more than gestion was eagerly adopted, and during one occupant of the pit made an attempt the slow progress of the carriage along to climb on the stage and bestow an acco- the quay, shouts at first isolated, then lade on the marble. As a fitting termina- quickly taken up by a thousand voicestion of the spectacle, "Nanine," also by of "Long live the friend of the people, the Voltaire, was then performed, the bust defender of Sirven and Calas!" rent the and its laurel crowns not being removed air, and impressed Voltaire, as he afteruntil the final descent of the curtain. By wards confessed, more forcibly and far order of the king, the court alone was not more durably than any other episode of officially represented; the Count d'Artois, the eventful day. however, contrived to slip away from the royal party at the opera, and after witnessing incognito the latter part of the proceedings sent his aide-de-camp with a flattering message to the venerable poet, expressing the pleasure he felt in joining his congratulations to those of the nation. Deeply affected by the excitement he had undergone, and overcome by fatigue, the recipient of all these honors had barely strength to acknowledge the plaudits repeated again and again as, borne on the shoulders of a dozen enthusiasts, he left the theatre, and was escorted in triumph to his carriage. The adjoining streets were lined with a mixed multitude of all classes, eager to participate in the delirium of the hour, and augmented every instant by fresh arrivals from various quarters of the city. Amid deafening cries of "Long live the author of Mérope,' Brutus,' and 'Zaïre'!" the state equipage of M. de Villette proceeded at a foot's pace in the direction of the quay, accompanied by an immense concourse of people; until on arriving at the Rue du Bac an unexpected incident occurred, which owed its origin happy thought" of the "scapegrace Fleury. A group of workmen, stationed at the corner of the street commanding a good view of the procession, to a 66 *This scene forms the subject of a charming engraving by Gaucher after a drawing by Moreau the younger, entitled the "Apotheosis of Voltaire." Her next mention of him briefly records his death, which took place on May 30, and is alluded to as follows by Walpole in a letter to Mason: "All my old friend (Madame du Deffand) has told me of Vol. taire's death is, that the excessive fatigue he underwent by his journey to Paris, and by the bustle made with reading his play to the actors and hearing them repeat it, and by going to it, and by the crowds that flocked to him: in one word, the agitation of so much applause at eighty-four threw him into a strangury, for which he took so much laudanum that his frame could not resist all, and he fell a martyr to his vanity. Nay, Garrick, who is above twenty years younger, and fully as vain, would have been choked with such doses of flattery; though he would like to die the death." |