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.
Everything, in a court, goes by clock-work. Your little great may be out
of time, and affect a want of punctuality, but a rigid attention to
appointments, is indispensable to those who are really in high
situations. A failure in this respect, would produce the same impression
on the affairs of men, that a delay in the rising of the sun, would
produce on the day. The appearance of the different personages named,
all so near each other, was the certain sign that one greater than all
could not be far behind. They were the dawn of the royal presence.
Accordingly, the door which communicated with the apartments of the
king, and the only one within the railed space, opened with the
announcement of “_le service du Roi_,” when a procession of footmen of
the palace appeared, bearing the dishes of the first course. All the
vessels, whether already on the table, or those in their hands, were of
gold, richly wrought, or, at least, silver gilt, I had no means of
knowing which; most probably they were of the former metal. The dishes
were taken from the footmen, by pages of honor, in scarlet dresses, and
by them placed in order on the table. The first course was no sooner
ready, than we heard the welcome announcement of “_le Roi_.” The family
immediately made their appearance, at the same door by which the service
had entered. They were followed by a proper number of lords and ladies
in waiting. Every one arose, as a matter of course, even to the
“_jeunes, jolies, et duchesses_;” and the music, as became it, gave us a
royal crash. The _huissier_, in announcing the king, spoke in a modest
voice, and less loud, I observed, than in announcing the Dauphin and the
ladies. It was, however, a different person, and it is probable one was
a common _huissier_, and the other a gentleman acting in that character.
Charles X. is tall, without being of a too heavy frame, flexible of
movement, and decidedly graceful. By remembering that he is a king, and
the lineal chief of the ancient and powerful family of the Bourbons, by
deferring properly to history and the illusions of the past, and by
feeling _tant soit peu_ more respect for those of the present day than
is strictly philosophical, or perhaps wise, it is certainly possible to
fancy that he has a good deal of that peculiar port and majesty, that
the poetry of feeling is so apt to impute to sovereigns. I know not
whether it is the fault of a cynical temperament, or of republican
prejudices, but I can see no more about him than the easy grace of an
old gentleman, accustomed all his life, to be a principal personage
among the principal personages of the earth. This you may think was
quite sufficient,—but it did not altogether satisfy the _exigence_ of my
unpoetical ideas. His countenance betrayed a species of vacant
_bonhomie_, rather than of thought, or dignity of mind, and while he
possessed, in a singular degree, the mere physical machinery of his
rank, he was wanting in the majesty of character and expression, without
which no man can act, well, the representation of royalty. Even a little
more severity of aspect would have better suited the part, and rendered
_le grand couvert, encore plus grand_.
The King seated himself after receiving the salutations of the courtiers
within the railing, taking no notice, however, of those who, by a
fiction of etiquette, were not supposed to be in his presence. The rest
of the family occupied their respective places in the order I have
named, and the eating and drinking began, from the score. The different
courses were taken off and served by footmen and pages, in the manner
already described, which, after all, by substituting servants out of
livery for pages, is very much the way great dinners are served, in
great houses, all over Europe.
As soon as the King was seated, the north door of the gallery, or that
on the side opposite to the place where I had taken post, was opened,
and the public was admitted, passing slowly through the room without
stopping. A droller _mélange_ could not be imagined, than presented
itself in the panoramic procession; and long before the _grand couvert_
was over, I thought it much the most amusing part of the scene. Very
respectable persons, gentlemen certainly, and I believe in a few
instances ladies, came in this way, to catch a glimpse of the spectacle.
I saw several men that I knew, and the women with them could have been
no other than their friends. To these must be added, _cochers de
fiacres_, in their glazed hats, _bonnes_, in their high Norman caps,
peasants, soldiers, in their shakos, _epiciers_ and _garçons_ without
number. The constant passage, for it lasted without intermission, for an
hour and a half, of so many queer faces, reminded me strongly of one of
those mechanical panoramas, that bring towns, streets and armies, before
the spectator. One of the droll effects of this scene was produced by
the faces, all of which turned, like sunflowers, towards the light of
royalty, as the bodies moved steadily on. Thus, on entering, the eyes
were a little inclined to the right; as they got nearer to the meridian,
they became gradually bent more aside; when opposite the table, every
face was _full_; and, in retiring, all were bent backwards over their
owners’ shoulders, constantly offering a dense crowd of faces, looking
towards a common centre, while the bodies were coming on, or moving
slowly off, the stage. This, you will see, resembled in some measure the
revolutions of the moon around our orb, matter and a king possessing the
same beneficent attraction. I make no doubt, these good people thought
we presented a curious spectacle, but I am persuaded they presented one
that was infinitely more so.
I had seen in America, in divers places, an Englishman, a colonel in the
army. We had never been introduced, but had sat opposite to each other
at _tables d’hôte_, jostled each other in the President’s House, met in
steam-boats, in the streets, and in many other places, until it was
evident our faces were perfectly familiar to both parties; and yet we
never nodded, spoke, or gave any other sign of recognition, than by
certain knowing expressions of the eyes. In Europe, the colonel
reappeared. We met in London, in Paris, in the public walks, in the
sight-seeing places of resort, until we evidently began to think
ourselves a couple of _Monsieur Tonsons_. To-night, as I was standing
near the public platform, whose face should appear in the halo of
countenances, but that of my colonel. The poor fellow had a wooden leg,
and he was obliged to stump on in his orbit, as well as he could, while
I kept my eye on him, determined to catch a look of recognition, if
possible. When he got so far forward as to bring me in his line of
sight, our eyes met, and he smiled involuntarily. Then he took a
deliberate survey of my comfortable position, and he disappeared in the
horizon, with some such expression on his features as must have belonged
to Commodore Trunnion, when he called out to Hatchway, while the hunter
was leaping over the lieutenant, “Oh! d—n you; you are well anchored!”
I do not think the dinner, in a culinary point of view, was anything
extraordinary. The King ate and drank but little, for, unlike his two
brothers and predecessors, he is said to be abstemious. The _Dauphin_
played a better knife and fork, but, on the whole, the execution was by
no means great for Frenchmen. The guests sat so far apart, and the music
made so much noise, that conversation was nearly out of the question,
though the King and the _Dauphin_ exchanged a few words, in the course
of the evening. Each of the gentlemen, also, spoke once or twice to his
female neighbour, and that was pretty much the amount of the discourse.
The whole party appeared greatly relieved by having something to do
during the dessert, in admiring the service, which was of the beautiful
_Sèvres_ china. They all took up the plates, and examined them
attentively, and really I was glad they had so rational an amusement, to
relieve their _ennui_.
Once, early in the entertainment, _M. de Talleyrand_ approached the
king, and showed him the bill of fare! It was an odd spectacle to see
this old _diplomate_ descending to the pantomime of royalty, and acting
the part of a _maitre d’hôtel_. Had the duty fallen on _Cambacérès_, one
would understand it, and fancy that it might be well done. The king
smiled on him graciously, and, I presume, gave him leave to retire; for
soon after this act of loyal servitude, the prince disappeared. As for
_M. Louis_, he treated Charles better than his brother treated Sancho,
for I did not observe the slightest interference on his part during the
whole entertainment, though one of those near me said he had tasted a
dish or two, by way of ceremony, an act of precaution that I did not
myself observe. I asked my neighbour, the _abbé_, what he thought of _M.
de Talleyrand_. After looking up in my face distrustfully, he
whispered—“_Mais, Monsieur, c’est un chat qui tombe toujours sur ses
pièds_,” a remark that was literally true to-night, for the old man was
kept on his feet longer than could have been agreeable to the owner of
two such gouty legs.
The _Duchesse de Berri_, who sat quite near the place were I stood, was
busy a good deal of the time _à lorgner_ the public through her
eye-glass. This she did with very little diffidence of manner, and quite
as coolly as an English duchess would have stared at a late intimate,
whom she was disposed to cut. It certainly was neither a graceful, nor a
feminine, nor a princely occupation. The _Dauphine_ played the Bourbon
better, though when she turned her saddened, not to say _cruel_ eyes, on
the public, it was with an expression that almost amounted to reproach.
I did not see her smile once during the whole time she was at table, and
yet _I_ thought there were many things to smile at.
At length the finger bowls appeared, and I was not sorry to see them.
Contrary to what is commonly practised in very great houses, the pages
placed them on the table, just as _Henri_ puts them before us democrats
every day. I ought to have said that the service was made altogether in
front, or at the unoccupied side of the table, nothing but the bill of
fare, in the hands of _M. de Talleyrand_, appearing in the rear. As soon
as this part of the dinner was over, the King arose, and the whole party
withdrew, by the door on the further side of the gallery. In passing the
_gradins_ of the ladies, he stopped to say a few kind words to an old
woman, who was seated there, muffled in a cloak, and the light of
royalty vanished.