"I dare say you do," said he; "it is what your nation is very apt to
do: but take my advice,--believe what you see, and nothing else."
"But what one can see in the course of a month or two is so little,
and I hear so much."
"That is true; but do you not find that what you hear from one person
is often contradicted by another?"
"Constantly," I replied.
"Then what can you do at last but judge by what you see?"
"Why, it appears to me that the better plan would be to listen to all
parties, and let my balancing belief incline to the testimony that has
most weight."
"Then be careful that this weight be not false. There are some who
will tell you that the national feeling which for so many centuries
has kept France together as a powerful and predominating people is
loosened, melted, and gone;--that though there are Frenchmen left,
there is no longer a French people."
"To any who told me so," I replied, "I would say, that the division
they complained of, arose not so much from any change in the French
character, as from the false position in which many were unhappily
placed at the present moment. Men's hearts are divided because they
are diversely drawn aside from a common centre."
"And you would say truly," said he; "but others will tell you, that
regenerated France will soon dictate laws to the whole earth; that her
flag will become the flag of all people--her government their
government; and that their tottering monarchies will soon crumble into
dust, to become part and parcel of her glorious republic."
"And to these I should say, that they appeared to be in a very heavy
slumber, and that the sooner they could wake out of it and shake off
their feverish dreams, the better it would be for them."
"But what would your inference be as to the state of the country from
such reports as these?"
"I should think that, as usual, truth lay between. I should neither
believe that France was so united as to constitute a single-minded
giant, nor so divided as to have become a mass of unconnected atoms,
or a race of pigmies."
"You know," he continued, "that the fashionable phrase for describing
our condition at present is, that we are in _a state of
transition_,--from butterflies to grubs, or from grubs to butterflies,
I know not which; but to me it seems that the transition is over,--and
it is high time that it should be so. The country has known neither
rest nor peace for nearly half a century; and powerful as she has been
and still is, she must at last fall a prey to whoever may think it
worth their while to despoil her, unless she stops short while it is
yet time, and strengthens herself by a little seasonable repose."
"But how is this repose to be obtained?" said I. "Some of you wish to
have one king, some another, and some to have no king at all. This is
not a condition in which a country is very likely to find repose."
"Not if each faction be of equal power, or sufficiently so to
persevere in struggling for the mastery. Our only hope lies in the
belief that there is no such equality. Let him who has seized the helm
keep it: if he be an able helmsman, he will keep us in smooth
water;--and it is no longer time for us to ask how he got his
commission; let us be thankful that he happens to be of the same
lineage as those to whose charge we have for so many ages committed
the safety of our bark."
I believe my countenance expressed my astonishment; for the old
gentleman smiled and said,
"Do I frighten you with my revolutionary principles?"
"Indeed, you surprise me a little," I replied: "I should have thought
that the rights of a legitimate monarch would have been in your
opinion indefeasible."
"Where is the law, my good lady, that may control necessity?... I
speak not of my own feelings, or of those of the few who were born
like myself in another era. Very terrible convulsions have passed over
France, and perhaps threaten the rest of Europe. I have for many years
stood apart and watched the storm; and I am quite sure, and find much
comfort in the assurance, that the crimes and passions of men cannot
change the nature of things. They may produce much misery, they may
disturb and confuse the peaceful current of events; but man still
remains as he was, and will seek his safety and his good, where he has
ever found them--under the shelter of power."
"There, indeed, I quite agree with you. But surely the more lawful
and right the power is, the more likely it must be to remain tranquil
and undisputed in its influence."
"France has no longer the choice," said he, interrupting me abruptly.
"I speak but as a looker-on; my political race is ended; I have more
than once sworn allegiance to the elder branch of the house of
Bourbon, and certainly nothing would tempt me to hold office or take
oath under any other. But do you think it would be the duty of a
Frenchman who has three grandsons native to the soil of France,--do
you really think it the duty of such a one to invoke civil war upon
the land of his fathers, and remembering only his king, to forget his
country? I will not tell you, that if I could wake to-morrow morning
and find a fifth Henry peacefully seated on the throne of his fathers,
I might not rejoice; particularly if I were sure that he would be as
likely to keep the naughty boys of Paris in order as I think his
cousin Philippe is. Were there profit in wishing, I would wish for
France a government so strong as should effectually prevent her from
destroying herself; and that government should have at its head a king
whose right to reign had come to him, not by force of arms, but by the
will of God in lawful succession. But when we mortals have a wish, we
may be thankful if the half of it be granted;--and, in truth, I think
that I have the first and better half of mine to rejoice in. There is
a stout and sturdy strength in the government of King Philippe, which
gives good hope that France may recover under its protection from her
sins and her sorrows, and again become the glory of her children."
So saying, M. de B---- rose to leave me, and putting out his hand in
the English fashion, added, "I am afraid you do not like me so well as
you did.... I am no longer a true and loyal knight in your estimation
... but something, perhaps, very like a rebel and a traitor?... Is it
not so?"
I hardly knew how to answer him. He certainly had lost a good deal of
that poetical elevation of character with which I had invested him;
yet there was a mixture of honesty and honour in his frankness that I
could not help esteeming. I thanked him very sincerely for the
openness with which he had spoken, but confessed that I had not quite
made up my mind to think that expediency was the right rule for human
actions. It certainly was not the noblest, and therefore I was willing
to believe that it was not the best.
"I must go," said he, looking at his watch, "for it is my hour of
dining, or I think I could dispute with you a little upon your word
_expediency_. Whatever is really expedient for us to do--that is,
whatever is best for us in the situation in which we are actually
placed, is really right. Adieu!--I shall present myself again ere
long; and if you admit me, I shall be thankful."
So saying, he departed,--leaving us all, I believe, a little less in
alt about him than before, but certainly with no inclination to shut
our doors against him.