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not one man, it was not a few men, it was France, France
entire, France victorious and intoxicated with her victory,
who seemed to be coming to herself, and who put into prac-
tice, before the eyes of the whole world, these grave words of
Guillaume du Vair after the day of the Barricades:—
‘It is easy for those who are accustomed to skim the fa-
vors of the great, and to spring, like a bird from bough to
bough, from an afflicted fortune to a flourishing one, to
show themselves harsh towards their Prince in his adver-
sity; but as for me, the fortune of my Kings and especially of
my afflicted Kings, will always be venerable to me.’
The Bourbons carried away with them respect, but not
regret. As we have just stated, their misfortune was greater
than they were. They faded out in the horizon.
The Revolution of July instantly had friends and ene-
mies throughout the entire world. The first rushed toward
her with joy and enthusiasm, the others turned away, each
according to his nature. At the first blush, the princes of Eu-
rope, the owls of this dawn, shut their eyes, wounded and
stupefied, and only opened them to threaten. A fright which
can be comprehended, a wrath which can be pardoned. This
strange revolution had hardly produced a shock; it had not
even paid to vanquished royalty the honor of treating it as
an enemy, and of shedding its blood. In the eyes of despotic
governments, who are always interested in having liber-
ty calumniate itself, the Revolution of July committed the
fault of being formidable and of remaining gentle. Nothing,
however, was attempted or plotted against it. The most dis-
contented, the most irritated, the most trembling, saluted it;