Under the dictation of terrible shouts outside Lamartine traced this phrase:
“The Provisional Government declares that the Provisional Government of France is the Republican Government, and that the nation shall be immediately called upon to ratify the resolution of the Provisional Government and of the people of Paris.”
I had this paper, this sheet smeared and blotted with ink, in my hands. It was still stamped, still palpitating, so to speak, with the fever of the moment. The words hurriedly scribbled were scarcely formed. _Appelée_ was written _appellée_.
When these half dozen lines had been written Lamartine handed the sheet to Ledru-Rollin.
Ledru-Rollin read aloud the phrase: “The Provisional Government declares that the Provisional Government of France is the Republican Government--”
“The word ‘provisional’ occurs twice,” he commented.
“One of them at least must be effaced,” added Ledru-Rollin.
Lamartine understood the significance of this grammatical observation, which was simply a political revolution.
“But we must await the sanction of France,” he said. “I can do without the sanction of France,” cried Ledru-Rollin, “when I have the sanction of the people.”
“Of the people of Paris. But who knows at present what is the will of the people of France?” observed Lamartine.
There was an interval of silence. The noise of the multitude without sounded like the murmuring of the ocean. Ledru-Rollin went on:
“What the people want is the Republic at once, the Republic without waiting.”
“The Republic without any delay?” said Lamartine, covering an objection in this interpretation of Ledru-Rollin’s words.
“We are provisional,” returned Ledru-Rollin, “but the Republic is not!”
M. Crémieux took the pen from Lamartine’s hands, scratched out the word “provisional” at the end of the third line and wrote beside it: “actual.”
“The actual government? Very well!” said Ledru-Rollin, with a slight shrug of the shoulder.
The seal of the City of Paris was on the table. Since 1830 the vessel sailing beneath a sky starred with fleurs-de-lys and with the device, _Proelucent clarius astris_, had disappeared from the seal of the City. The seal was merely a circle with the words “Ville de Paris” in the centre. Crémieux took the seal and stamped the paper so hastily with it that the words appeared upside down.