Then, after further summing up the state of France,—­the finances embarrassed, the entente cordiale with England at an end, and the provinces in confusion,—­the prince adds:  “Those unhappy Spanish marriages!—­we have not yet drained the cup of bitterness they have mixed for us to drink.”

In this state of things the opposition party was divided into liberals who wished for reform, and liberals who aimed at revolution.  For a while the two parties worked together, and their war-cry was Reform!  There was little or no parliamentary opposition, for the Chamber of Peers and the Chamber of Deputies were alike virtually chosen by the Crown.  The population of France in 1848 was thirty-five millions; but those entitled to vote were only two hundred and forty thousand, or one to every one hundred and forty-six of the population, and of these a large part were in Government employ.  It was said that the number of places in the gift of the Ministry was sixty-three thousand, every place, from that of a guard upon a railroad to that of a judge upon the bench, being disposed of by ministerial favor.

The plan adopted to give expression to the public discontent was the inauguration of reform banquets.  To these large crowds were attracted, both from political motives and from a desire in the rural districts to hear the great speakers, Lamartine and others, who had a national renown.  Many of the speeches were inflammatory.  The health of the king was never drunk on these occasions, but the “Marseillaise” was invariably played.

Seventy-four of these banquets had been given in the provinces, when it was decided to give one in Paris; and a large inclosed piece of ground on the Rue Chaillot, not far from the Arch of Triumph, was fixed upon for the purpose.  This banquet was to take place on Tuesday, Feb. 22, 1848.  Until Monday afternoon opinions seemed divided as to whether it would be suffered to go on.  But meantime the city had been crammed with troops, and the sleep of its inhabitants had been broken night after night by the tramp of regiments and the rumble of artillery.  Monday, February 21, was a beautiful day, the air was soft and genial, the streets and the Champs Elysees were very gay.  Scarcely any one was aware at that time that it was the intention of the Government to forbid the banquet; but that night the preparations made for it were carted away by order of the liberal leaders, who had been warned of the decision of the authorities, while at the same time every loose paving-stone that might help to erect a barricade was, by orders from the police, removed out of the way.