She called the demonstrations “indecent” because they were obviously aimed at her husband, who, far more than the Emperor, symbolised that _ancien régime_ which the students and artisans were resolved to end. The Emperor, indeed, was merely a weak-minded, good-natured old gentleman to whom no one wished any harm. He was as ready to grant concessions as to give alms; and his subjects knew it, cheered him when he drove through the streets, and decorated their barricades with his portraits. Their objection was not to him, but to his police, who took Princess Mélanie’s old-fashioned view of concessions: notably, therefore, to Metternich, the policeman of genius. It was idle for Metternich to protest, as he sometimes did, in after years, that, though he might sometimes have governed Europe, he certainly had never governed Austria. The people knew—or thought that they knew—better. The chief article in their simple creed was that Metternich must go; and the sole question for Ferdinand and his Court and Ministers was whether Metternich should or should not be thrown overboard as a Jonah who brought ill luck to the Austrian ship of state. The upshot appears from these entries in Princess Mélanie’s Journal:— “At half-past six, Clement was sent for to the Palace.” “Yes, Clement has resigned.” The circumstances of the interview in which he did so were afterwards related by him to Hübner:— “The Archduke Louis came to me and said: ‘These gentlemen tell me that, if you could make up your mind to resign, order could be re-established.’ I asked, ‘What is it that your Highness desires me to do?’ He replied, ‘It is for you to decide what to do.’ Thereupon I instantly resigned the office of Chancellor, and went into the adjoining apartment to inform the Delegates of the States that I had done so. One of these gentlemen spoke of generosity, and said that my resignation put a worthy coping-stone upon a long career. ‘No, no,’ I said. ‘It is merely a concession to the revolution.’”