Part 14

Now and then we see a _vieux moustache_ in the guards, but, on the whole, I have been much surprised at finding how completely the army of this country is composed of young soldiers. The campaigns of Russia, of 1813, 1814, and of 1815, left few besides conscripts beneath the eagles of Napoleon. My old servant _Charles_ tells me that the guard-house is obliged to listen to tales of the campaign of Spain, and of the glories of the Trocadero!

The army of France is understood to be very generally disaffected. The restoration has introduced into it, in the capacity of general officers, many who followed the fortunes of the Bourbons into exile, and some, I believe, who actually fought against this country, in the ranks of her enemies. This may be, in some measure, necessary, but it is singularly unfortunate.

I have been told, on good authority, that, since the restoration of 1815, several occasions have occurred, when the court thought itself menaced with a revolution. On all these occasions, the army, as a matter of course, has been looked to, with hope, or with distrust. Investigation is said to have always discovered so bad a spirit, that little reliance is placed on its support.

The traditions of the service are all against the Bourbons. It is true, that very few of the men who fought at Marengo and Austerlitz still remain, but then the recollection of their deeds forms the great delight of most Frenchmen. There is but one power that can counteract this feeling, and it is the power of money. By throwing itself into the arms of the industrious classes, the court might possibly obtain an ally, sufficiently strong to quell the martial spirit of the nation; but, so far from pursuing such a policy, it has all the commercial and manufacturing interests marshalled against it, because it wishes to return to the _bon vieux temps_ of the old system.

After all, I much question if any government in France, will have the army cordially with it, that does not find it better employment than mock-fights on the plain of Issy, and night attacks on the mimic Trocadero.

LETTER IX. TO MRS. SINGLETON W. BEALL, GREEN BAY.

We have lately witnessed a ceremony that may have some interest for one who, like yourself, dwells in the retirement of a remote frontier post. It is etiquette for the Kings of France to dine in public twice in the year, viz: the first of January, and the day that is set apart for the _fête_ of the king. Having some idle curiosity to be present on one of these occasions, I wrote the usual note to the lord in waiting, or, as he is called here, “_le premier gentil’homme de la chambre du roi, de service_,” and we got the customary answer, enclosing us tickets of admission. There are two sorts of permissions granted on these occasions; by one you are allowed to remain in the room during the dinner, and by the other you are obliged to walk slowly through the _salle_, in at one side, and out at the other, without, however, being suffered to pause even for a moment. Ours were of the former description.

The King of France having the laudable custom of being punctual, and as every one dines in Paris at six, that best of all hours for a town life, we were obliged to order our own dinner an hour earlier than common, for looking at others eating on an empty stomach, is, of all amusements, the least satisfactory. Having taken this wise precaution, we drove to the _château_, at half after five, it not being seemly to enter the room after the king, and, as we discovered, for females impossible.

Magnificence and comfort seldom have much in common. We were struck with this truth on entering the palace of the King of France. The room into which we were first admitted, was filled with tall lounging foot soldiers, richly attired, but who lolled about the place, with their caps on, and with a barrack-like air, that seemed to us singularly in contrast with the prompt and respectful civility with which one is received in the ante-chamber of a private hotel. It is true that we had nothing to do with the soldiers and lackies who thronged the place; but if their presence was intended to impress visiters with the importance of their master, I think a more private entrance would have been most likely to produce that effect, for I confess, that it appeared to me as a mark of poverty, that, troops being necessary to the state and security of the monarch, he was obliged to keep them in the vestibule, by which his guests entered. But this is royal state. Formerly, the executioner was present, and in the semi-barbarous courts of the east, such is the fact even now. The soldiers were a party of the hundred Swiss, men chosen for their great stature, and remarkable for the perfection of their musket. Two of them were posted as sentinels at the foot of the great stair-case, by which we ascended, and we passed several more on the landings.

We were soon in the _salle des gardes_, or the room which the _gardes du corps_, on service, occupied. Two of these quasi soldiers, were also acting as sentinels here, while others lounged about the room. Their apartment communicated with the _salle de Diane_, the hall or gallery prepared for the entertainment. I had no other means but the eye, of judging of the dimensions of this room, but its length considerably exceeds a hundred feet and its breadth is probably forty, or more. It is of the proper height, and the ceiling is painted in imitation of those of the celebrated Farnese palace at Rome.

We found this noble room divided, by a low railing, into three compartments. The centre, an area of some thirty feet by forty, contained the table, and was otherwise prepared for the reception of the court. On one side of it, were raised benches for the ladies, who were allowed to be seated; and, on the other, a vacant space for the gentlemen, who stood. All these, you will understand, were considered merely as spectators, not being supposed to be in the presence of the king. The mere spectators were dressed as usual, or in common evening dress, and not all the women even in that; while those within the railings, being deemed to be in the royal presence, were in high court dresses. Thus, I stood for an hour, within five-and-twenty feet of the king, and part of the time much nearer, while, by a fiction of etiquette, I was not understood to be there at all. I was a good while within ten feet of the _Duchesse de Berri_, while, by convention, I was no where. There was abundance of room in our area, and every facility of moving about, many coming and going, as they saw fit. Behind us, but at a little distance, were other rows of raised seats, filled with the best instrumental musicians of Paris. Along the wall, facing the table, was a narrow, raised platform, wide enough to allow of two or three to walk abreast, separated from the rest of the room by a railing, and extending from a door at one end of the gallery, to a door at the other. This was the place designed for the passage of the public during the dinner, no one, however, being admitted, even here, without a ticket.

A gentleman of the court led your aunt to the seats reserved for the female spectators, which were also without the railing, and I took my post among the men. Although the court of the Tuileries, was, when we entered the palace, filled with a throng of those who were waiting to pass through the gallery of Diana, to my surprise the number of persons who were to remain in the room was very small. I account for the circumstance by supposing that it is not etiquette for any who have been presented to attend, unless they are among the court, and, as some reserve was necessary in issuing these tickets, the number was necessarily limited. I do not think there were fifty men on our side, which might have held several hundred, and the seats of the ladies were not half filled. Boxes were fitted up in the enormous windows, which were closed and curtained, a family of fine children occupying that nearest to me. Some one said they were the princes of the house of Orleans, for none of the members of the royal family have seats at the _Grands Couverts_, as these dinners are called, unless they belong to the reigning branch. There is but one Bourbon prince more remote from the crown[10] than the _Duc d’Orleans_, and this is the _Prince de Condé_, or as he is more familiarly termed here, the _Duc de Bourbon_, the father of the unfortunate _Duc d’Enghein_. So broad are the distinctions made between the sovereign and the other members of his family, in these governments, that it was the duty of the _Prince de Condé_ to appear, to-day, behind the king’s chair, as the highest dignitary of his household; though it was understood that he was excused on account of his age and infirmities. These broad distinctions, you will readily imagine, however, are only maintained on solemn and great state occasions; for, in their ordinary intercourse, kings, now-a-days, dispense with most of the ancient formalities of their rank. It would have been curious, however, to see one descendant of St. Louis standing behind the chair of another, as a servitor, and, more especially, to see the Prince de Condé standing behind the chair of Charles Xth, for when _Comte d’Artois_ and _Duc de Bourbon_, some fifty years since, they actually fought a duel, on account of some slight neglect of the wife of the latter, by the former.

Footnote 10:

1827.

The crown of France, as you know, passes only in the male line. The Duke of Orleans is descended from Louis XIII. and the Prince de Condé from Louis IX. In the male line, the Duke of Orleans is only the fourth cousin, once removed, of the King, and the Prince de Condé the eighth or ninth. The latter would be even much more remotely related to the crown, but for the accession of his own branch of the family in the person of Henry IV., who was a near cousin of his ancestor. Thus you perceive, while royalty is always held in reverence, for any member of the family may possibly become the king, still there are broad distinctions made between the near, and the more distant branches, of the line. The Duke of Orleans fills that equivocal position in the family, which is rather common in the history of this species of government. He is a liberal, and is regarded with distrust by the reigning branch, and with hope by that portion of the people who think seriously of the actual state of the country. A saying of M. de Talleyrand, however, is circulated at his expense, which, if true, would go to show that this wary prince is not disposed to risk his immense fortune in a crusade for liberty. “_Ce n’est pas assez, d’être quelqu’un; il faut être quelque chose_,” are the words attributed to the witty and wily politician; but, usually, men have neither half the wit nor half the cunning that popular accounts ascribe to them, when it becomes the fashion to record their acts and sayings. I believe the Duke of Orleans holds no situation about the court, although the King has given him the title of _Royal_ Highness, his birth entitling him to be styled no more than _Serene_ Highness. This act of grace is much spoken of by the Bourbonists, who consider it a favour that for ever secures the loyalty and gratitude of the Duke. The Duchess, being the daughter of a King, had this rank from her birth.

The orchestra was playing when we entered the Gallery of Diana, and, throughout the whole evening it gave us, from time to time, such music as can only be found in a few of the great capitals of Europe.

The covers were laid, and every preparation was made within the railing, for the reception of the _convives_. The table was in the shape of a young moon, with the horns towards the spectators, or from the wall. It was of some length, and as there were but four covers, the guests were obliged to be seated several feet from each other. In the centre was an arm-chair, covered with crimson velvet, and ornamented with a crown, this was for the king. A chair without arms, on his right, was intended for the _Dauphin_; another on his left, for the _Dauphine_; and the fourth, which was still further on the right of the _Dauphin_, was intended for _Madame_, as she is called, or the Duchess of Berri. These are the old and favourite appellations of the monarchy, and, absurd as some of them are, they excite reverence and respect from their antiquity. Your _Wolverines_, and _Suckers_, and _Buckeyes_, and _Hooziers_ would look amazed to hear an executive styled the _White Fish of Michigan_, or the _Sturgeon of Wisconsin_, and yet there is nothing more absurd in it, in the abstract, than the titles that were formerly given in Europe, some of which have descended to our times. The name of the country, as well as the title of the sovereign, in the case of _Dauphiné_, was derived from the same source. Thus, in homely English, the Dolphin of Dolphinstown, renders _le Dauphin de Dauphiné_, perfectly well. The last independent Dauphin, in bequeathing his states to the King of France of the day, (the unfortunate John, the prisoner of the Black Prince,) made a condition that the heir-apparent of the kingdom, should always be known by his own title, and consequently, ever since, the appellation has been continued. You will understand that none but an _heir-apparent_ is called the _Dauphin_, and not an _heir-presumptive_. Thus, should the present Dauphin and the Duc de Bordeaux die, the Duke of Orleans, according to a treaty of the time of Louis XIV., though not according to the ancient laws of the monarchy, would become _heir-presumptive_, but he could never be the _Dauphin_, since, should the King marry again, and have another son, his rights would be superseded. None but the _heir-apparent_, or the _inevitable_ heir, bears this title. There were formerly _Bears_ in Belgium, who were of the rank of Counts. These appellations were derived from the arms, the _Dauphin_ now bearing Dolphins with the lilies of France. The Boar of Ardennes got his _soubriquet_ from bearing the head of a wild-boar in his arms. There were formerly many titles in France that are now extinct, such as _Captal_, _Vidame_ and _Castellan_, all of which were general, I believe, and referred to official duties. There was, however, formerly, a singular proof of how even simplicity can exalt a man when the fashion runs into the opposite extremes. In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, there existed in France, powerful noblemen, the owners and lords of the castle and lands of _Coucy_ or _Couci_, who were content to bear the appellation of Sire, a word from which our own “Sir” is derived, and which means, like Sir, the simplest term of courtesy that could be used. These _Sires de Coucy_ were so powerful as to make royal alliances; they waged war with their sovereign, and maintained a state nearly royal. Their pride lay in their antiquity, independence and power, and they showed their contempt for titles by their device, which is said to have been derived from the answer of one of the family to the sovereign, who, struck with the splendour of his appearance and the number of his attendants, had demanded “What King has come to my court?” This motto, which is still to be seen on the ancient monuments of the family, reads—

“Je ne suis roi, ne prince, ne duc, ne comte aussi; Je suis le Sire de Coucy.”[11]

Footnote 11:

“I am neither king, nor prince, nor duke, nor even a count: I am M. de Coucy.”

This greatly beats Coke of Holkam, of whom it is said that George IV., who had been a liberal in his youth, and the friend of the great Norfolk commoner, vexed by his bringing up so many liberal addresses, threatened—“If Coke comes to me with any more of his Whig petitions _I’ll Knight him_.”

I have often thought that this simplicity of the _Sires de Couci_, furnishes an excellent example for our own ministers and citizens when abroad. Instead of attempting to imitate the gorgeous attire of their colleagues, whose magnificence, for the want of stars and similar conventional decorations, they can never equal, they should go to court as they go to the President’s House, in the simple attire of American gentlemen. If any prince should inquire—“Who is this that approaches me, clad so simply that I may mistake him for a butler, or a groom of the chambers?” let him answer, “_Je ne suis roi, ne prince, ne duc, ne comte aussi_—I am the minister of the United States of Ameri_key_,” and leave the rest to the millions at home. My life for it, the question would not be asked twice. Indeed no man who is truly fit to represent the republic would ever have any concern about the matter. But all this time the dinner of the King of France is getting cold.

We might have been in the gallery fifteen minutes, when there was a stir at a door on the side where the females were seated, and a _huissier_ cried out—“_Madame la Dauphine!_” and sure enough, the _Dauphine_ appeared, followed by two _dames d’honneur_. She walked quite through the gallery, across the area reserved for the court, and passed out at the little gate in the railing which communicated with our side of the room, leaving the place by the same door at which we had entered. She was in high court dress, with diamonds and lappets, and was proceeding from her own apartments, in the other wing of the palace, to those of the king. As she went within six feet of me, I observed her hard and yet saddened countenance with interest; for she has the reputation of dwelling on her early fortunes, and of constantly anticipating evil. Of course she was saluted by all in passing, but she hardly raised her eyes from the floor; though, favoured by my position, I got a slight, melancholy smile, in return for my own bow.

The _Dauphine_ had scarcely disappeared, when _Her Royal Highness_, _Madame_, was announced, and the Duchess of Berri went through in a similar manner. Her air was altogether less constrained, and she had smiles and inclinations for all she passed. She is a slight, delicate, little woman, with large blue eyes, a fair complexion, and light hair. She struck me as being less a Bourbon than an Austrian, and though wanting in _embonpoint_ she would be quite pretty, but for a cast in one of her eyes.

A minute or two later, we had _Monseigneur le Dauphin_, who passed through the gallery, in the same manner as his wife and sister-in-law. He had been reviewing some troops, and was in the uniform of a colonel of the guards; booted to the knees, and carrying a military hat in his hand. He is not of commanding presence, though I think he has the countenance of an amiable man, and his face is decidedly Bourbon. We were indebted to the same lantern-like construction of the palace, for this preliminary glimpse at so many of the actors in the coming scene.

After the passage of the Dauphin, a few courtiers and superior officers of the household began to appear within the railed space. Among them were five or six duchesses. Women of this rank have the privilege of being seated in the presence of the king, on state occasions, and _tabourets_ were provided for them accordingly. A _tabouret_ is a stuffed stool, nearly of the form of the ancient cerulean chair, without its back, for a back would make it a chair at once, and, by the etiquette of courts, these are reserved for the blood-royal, ambassadors, &c. As none but duchesses could be seated at the _grand couvert_, you may be certain none below that rank appeared. There might have been a dozen present. They were all in high court dresses. One, of great personal charms and quite young, was seated near me, and my neighbour, an old _abbé_, carried away by enthusiasm, suddenly exclaimed to me—“_Quelle belle fortune! Monsieur, d’être jeune, jolie et duchesse!_” I dare say the lady had the same opinion of the matter.

Baron Louis, not the financier, but the king’s physician, arrived. It was his duty to stand behind the king’s chair, like Sancho’s tormentor, and see that he did not over-eat himself. The ancient usages were very tender of the royal person. If he travelled, he had a spare litter, or a spare coach, to receive him, in the event of accident, a practice that is continued to this day; if he ate, there was one to taste his food, lest he might be poisoned; and when he lay down to sleep, armed sentinels watched at the door of his chamber. Most of these usages are still continued, in some form or other, and the ceremonies which are observed at these public dinners, are mere memorials of the olden time.

I was told the following anecdote by Mad. de ——, who was intimate with Louis XVIII. One day, in taking an airing, the king was thirsty, and sent a footman to a cottage for water. The peasants appeared with some grapes, which they offered, as the homage of their condition. The king took them and ate them, notwithstanding the remonstrances of his attendants. This little incident was spoken of at court, where all the monarch does and says becomes matter of interest, and the next time Mad. de —— was admitted, she joined her remonstrances to those of the other courtiers. “We no longer live in an age when kings need dread assassins,” said Louis, smiling. A month passed, and Mad. de —— was again admitted. She was received with a melancholy shake of the head, and with tears. The Duc de Berri had been killed in the interval!

A few gentlemen, who did not strictly belong to the court, appeared among the duchesses, but, at the most, there were but six or eight. One of them, however, was the gayest-looking personage I ever saw, in the station of a gentleman, being nothing but lace and embroidery, even to the seams of his coat; a sort of genteel harlequin. The _abbé_, who seemed to understand himself, said he was a Spanish grandee.

I was near the little gate, when an old man, in a strictly court dress, but plain and matter of fact in air, made an application for admittance. In giving way for him to pass, my attention was drawn to his appearance. The long white hair that hung down his face, the _cordon bleu_, the lame foot, the imperturbable countenance, and the _unearthly aspect_, made me suspect the truth. On inquiring, I was right. It was _M. de Talleyrand_! He came as grand chamberlain, to officiate at the dinner of his master.