some Austrian family, the name of which I do not know,
passed, under the Restoration, into those of Madame Caroline
Murat, the ex-queen of Naples. By her it was sold to the
Duchess d'Angoulême, under the name of the Duke of Blacas.
The domain administered by a steward, is not vast as a
princely domain; but the habitation is spacious, although
scarcely sufficing for the number of the inhabitants. It is
surrounded on all sides by a dry moat, which is, more
properly speaking, only a long area for the kitchen and
household offices, crossed by a stone bridge in face of the
principal entrance. I do not know whether any other exists: I
believe not. The chateau has nothing feudal, much less royal,
in appearance. It is a great white German house, the pointed
roof of which is crowned with chimneys and garret-windows,
and ornamented in the middle with a triangular gable. The
ground-floor is on a level with the bridge, and is surmounted
by two stories. The façade presents nine windows, those of
the second floor being small and square, the others of
reasonable dimensions: one alone, immediately above the
doorway, which is large and arched, is ornamented by a
balcony, and flanked by flattened pillars. These pillars, and
the gable above, are the only portions of the façade which
have the appearance of any architectural design. A great
round tower flanks the western side: it descends into the
moat; but, unfortunately, is truncated, and cut off at the
level of the roof. In this tower is the chapel: behind is the
park, terminated by a _jardin Anglais_, both of which are of
no considerable size. A little further is a broken hill,
planted with green trees, upon which is built the _Maison de
Garde_, a pretty little house, which any Parisian family
would occupy with pleasure. A little further, and as if to
terminate the view, is a ruin, which marks, I believe, the
limits of the estate. The site is stern, and impressed with a
certain melancholy. To the west lies a vast plain, at the
extremity of which rises, in all its magnificence, the chain
of mountains which separates Styria from the Archduchy of
Austria. The horizon was dentellated by the mountain points;
and the snow, with which the highest was covered, sparkled in
the sun with the frozen fire of its thousand diamonds. On the
east the aspect was different: on this side, and at
musket-shot distance, runs a long hill of no prepossessing
appearance, although wooded, upon the summit of which runs
the limit of the Hungarian frontiers, guarded, when I was
there, by armed peasants. The town of Oldenburg may be seen
from it.... Frohsdorf is thus very near the Hungarian
frontier--so near, that such an abode is not without its
dangers in the present war. In case of an attack, the few
troops in the village--the last in Austria on this
side--would prove a very insufficient defence. But,
accustomed to the vicissitudes of exile, hardened by
adversity, and with confidence in God, or their destinies,
the inhabitants of Frohsdorf appeared to me to pay no heed to
a peril, the possibility of which they could not deny.... The
entrance of the chateau is cold and sad as that of a convent;
and in the court, narrow and deep, is an air of dampness.
Such, at least, was my impression. On the right, in the
entrance-hall, is the porter's lodge, and near the door is
suspended a great bill indicating the hours of departure and
arrival of the trains--the only sign of communication between
this solitude and the world beyond. I asked, in French, for
the Duke of Levis; and it was in French I was answered; for,
from the cellars to the garrets, even to the veriest drudge,
all is French. I was conducted, with much politeness, to a
large bedroom looking on the country, where lay on the table
some French newspapers. M. de Levis joined me immediately."
After some conversation, which naturally turned upon the position of
France, in which M. Didier was surprised to find the Duc de Levis "_si
bien au fait des choses et des hommes_,"--the Duke quitted him to ask
when it would please the Duc de Bordeaux to receive the stranger, and
returned shortly to say that it would immediately. The following is
curious in the mouth of the republican:--
"I was ignorant what title to give to the prince; and, having
come to seek him under his own roof, I was naturally desirous
to do what was customary, neither more nor less. I asked M.
de Levis. 'There is no etiquette here,' he replied; 'we are
exiles. We address the prince, however, as _Monseigneur_.' I
took the hint; and, although little accustomed to the
language of courts, I hope I did what was _convenable_ under
the circumstances. I ought to confess, at the same time, that
I was afterwards less happy with the Duchess of Bordeaux, and
the Duchess of Angoulême, to whom I sometimes gave the title
of 'Highness.' Now, it struck me afterwards, that this title,
which was a deference on my part, must have appeared to them
both a want of respect, and a direct denial of their supposed
rights; to the one, because she considers herself queen since
her marriage with the descendant of Henri IV., who, in her
eyes, is necessarily Henri V.; to the other, because she
considers herself to have been queen also in virtue of the
abdication of Charles X.; and the fact is, that, even in her
presence, the inhabitants of Frohsdorf call her, among
themselves, the Queen."
The most remarkable part of the book, in a political point of
view--that, in fact, which has produced in France the sensation
already alluded to among all parties--now follows. We must quote M.
Didier verbally:--
"_Monsieur le Duc de Bordeaux_ occupies the ground-floor of
the chateau. He received me in a study simply furnished,
which looks out upon the distant hills of Hungary. I remarked
a collection of guns, and an arm-chair entirely made of
deer-skin, the horns forming the arms and back. The prince
was standing by a writing-table, placed in the middle of the
room, with one hand resting upon his arm-chair. He neither
sat down, nor bade me be seated, at first; and his reception
of me was not exempt from a sort of solemnity. In a word, he
received me _en roi_. Habituated to the visits of his
partisans, and of his partisans alone, I was a novelty to
him. He knew no more of me than my opinions, and some works,
the matter of which could evidently not be to his taste.
Perhaps he expected to find in me one of those furious
democrats, who, to use a common phrase, _mettent les pieds
dans les plats_, and supposed that I might attack him
coarsely. Hence his reserve at first. It was very evident
that he stood on the defensive, and waited to see me advance.
His inquiring and somewhat strained look expressed, at least
so I read it, what I have here said. After a few trivial
remarks, the necessary preamble of every visit, and
especially of such a one, he begged me to be seated, and the
conversation commenced. As far as I can recollect, the
following was the first serious remark I addressed to
him,--'_Monseigneur_, I am ignorant, and God alone can know,
what destinies are reserved for you in the future; but if you
have a chance of reigning one day in France, which, for my
own part, I do not desire, the chance is this: If, by any
impossibility, France, exhausted by her experiments, at the
end of her resources, no longer finds in the elective power
the stability she seeks--if discouragement and misreckoning
cause her to turn her eyes towards the hereditary principle
as the most stable basis of authority--it is you who
represent this principle; and in that case France herself
will seek you out. Till then you have but one thing to do--to
await events.' The Duke of Bordeaux listened to me with
attention; as I spoke, his rigidity visibly relaxed; the ice
was broken. He answered me without hesitation, that I had
interpreted his own thoughts; that he never would undertake
anything against the established powers; that he never would
put himself forward, and that he had no personal ambition;
but that he considered himself, in fact, the principle of
order and stability; and that he would leave this principle
untouched, were it only for the future peace of France; that
this principle constituted his whole power; that he had no
other; that he would always find sufficient force in himself
to fulfil his duty, whatever it might be, and that God would
then stand by him. 'If ever I return to France,' he added,
'it would be to promote conciliation; and I believe that I
alone am able to effect that object fully.'"
"There was a sincerity in the words of the young prince," pursues M.
Didier, "which brought conviction to the heart."
Although frank and open in speaking of his personal opinions, the Duke
of Bordeaux seems to have been very reserved when speaking of _men_,
and he evidently appears to have made M. Didier talk more than he
talked himself. Upon this expression of opinions M. Didier makes the
following remarks:--
"The Duke of Bordeaux is far from entertaining the principles of
Charles X., and, to cite one example, the grandson repudiates all
those forms--that etiquette, and that extreme respect paid to the
royal person--which played so great a part in the House of Bourbon,
and on which the grandfather laid so much stress. He disregards all
these pompous inanities, and goes so far in this respect that he is
determined, should he ever mount upon the throne of France, to have
no court." And further, "The Duke of Bordeaux directs his attention to
all the questions of the day; he studies them all thoroughly; he is
acquainted with all the theories respecting labour. During his stay in
England, he carefully visited its chief manufactories." And
again--"Two questions principally occupy his mind--the administrative
organisation of France, by the commune, and the social problem of the
working classes. On this latter point he appeared to be imbued with
social errors, and labouring under illusions. He attributes religious
sentiments to the working classes of Paris, which they are far from
entertaining, at least in the sense he attached to the words, and is
not fully aware of the extent of their repugnance for the _drapeau
blanc_." It must not be forgotten, that M. Didier does not take into
account the progress of reactionary ideas in the few last months. M.
Didier states, that he told the Prince this bitter truth, and was
listened to with calmness and placidity. "He would have made, I am
convinced," continues the republican visitor, in a sort of _resumé_,
"an excellent constitutional monarch. The very disposition of his
mind, with his natural qualities, seem all adapted to such a
government; and his education has been directed with such ideas.
Party-spirit represents him as an _absolutist_; and such he appears to
the crowd in the distance of his exile. The truth is, that there is
not perhaps in Europe a more sincere constitutionalist than he--I
should call him also a religious liberal, without his devotion
degenerating, as has been said, into bigotry." He then proceeds with a
statement of his conviction in the moderate liberal ideas of the young
prince, "which his forefathers might have condemned as those of a
political heretic." "Many intrigues," continues the honest republican,
"have been set on foot in his name, but I would wager boldly that he
is mixed up in none, that he is ignorant of all, would disavow all. As
much as his mother (the Duchess of Berri) was fond of adventure, is he
averse to anything of the kind. He would not have a drop of blood shed
for him. I do not blame him, in this appreciation of his
character--quite the contrary; I only mean to say that this merit is
not great, perhaps, inasmuch as it is in him a matter of temperament."
"He possesses," pursues M. Didier, "good sense, candour, an excessive
kindliness of heart, and an uncontrollable, I may say, uncontested
natural generosity. He is an honest man, in the full force of the
expression." What greater eulogium could the republican pass on his
political adversary? The only words of blame which he let fall may be
comprised in the following remark. "He seems to want a directing
spirit; and perhaps wants resolution. His is a cultivated rather than
an inventive mind: he probably conceives more than he creates, and
receives more than he gives."
In justice to Monsieur Didier, who might appear to arrogate to himself
a degree of discernment which went beyond all probable limits, we must
not omit to note his own remarks, when, in another passage, he speaks
of his own _impressions_. "It would be a ridiculous presumption, or
very idle to imagine, that I could have captivated the confidence of
the prince, or penetrated his secret character. I am far from putting
forward so ridiculous a pretension. What was I to him? A stranger; at
most a curious visitor. He evidently only said to me just what he
wished to say, went only as far as he intended to go, and made me
speak more than he spoke himself. I should have wished that it had
been the contrary; but I was, of course, not the master of the
conversation." And again he says, "God alone reads the heart! To him
alone belongs the secret of men's consciences. But still I think I can
take upon myself to affirm, that all the words of the prince were
sincere."
On the person of the young prince M. Didier has the following--and
although there may be, in truth, something of the Lord Burleigh shake
of the head in the extreme complication of discernment contained in
the first phrase, yet the impression evidently made upon the mind of
the republican, by the appearance of the exiled heir of the throne of
France, bears none the less the stamp of truthfulness:--"His
physiognomy reveals an extreme uprightness of heart and mind, and a
lively sentiment of duty and justice, united to a love of all that is
good. In person he is of middle stature, and inclined to be stout; but
he is far from having that obesity with which he is generally
supposed, and I myself believed him, to be afflicted. The fall he had
from his horse at Kirchberg, some years ago, has left traces of the
accident. He walks heavily, and, when once seated, has difficulty in
rising; but they say that he looks well on horseback. He has silky
fair hair, and although rather full, and marked with the Bourbon type,
his face is agreeable, frank, open, sympathetic, with an air of youth
and health--the air, in fact, of his 28 years. He wears a _collier de
barbe_ and a slight mustache. His eyes are of a limpid blue, lively
and soft at the same time; he listens well, and inquires constantly:
he looks at you so straight and fixedly in the face, that I should
consider it impossible for any one to look _him_ in the face and lie.
As to himself, one look suffices to assure you of his veracity."
The following remarks about the habits of the young prince are not
without their historical interest, and complete the eulogium forced
from the mouth of the republican. "His life is far from being an idle
one; before and after breakfast he reads several letters, several
newspapers, and reports, often of a very voluminous description,
relative to the different questions which are the order of the day in
France; then he gives a few hours of the afternoon to exercise. He
scrupulously observes his religious duties, attending divine service
two or three times a-week in the chapel of the chateau, and every
Sunday at the parish church. He writes with considerable grace, and
his letters are remarkable for their correctness and elegance."
Perhaps the most striking, and certainly the most touching, part of
the book of M. Charles Didier, is that in which he speaks of the
Duchess d'Angoulême. It belongs not exactly to the subject of
legitimacy or its prospects in France; but the interest attached to it
is so full of pathos, and, in an historical point of view, so
considerable, that we cannot refrain from quoting a few words of the
author's account of his interview with this remarkable princess.
M. Didier seems to have hesitated about being introduced to the aged
duchess. He was naturally scrupulous as to the effect which might be
produced upon the mind of this victim of revolutions, by the
presentation of one of those republicans, to the very name of whom,
the disastrous calamities of her early life must have inspired her
with an unconquerable horror. But he was led on by the Duc de Levis,
"not without a degree of uneasiness," and his reception by the austere
princess, in her plain dark attire, and in her severely simple room,
was as amiable as could be expected from one naturally stern,
reserved, and cold almost to harshness in manner. M. Didier appears to
have been inexpressibly touched by her appearance, as well as by her
kindly reception of him. It is thus that he speaks of the poor
"_orpheline du Temple_:"--"All party hatred must be extinguished in
the presence of the reverses of fortune she has undergone. I had
before me the woman who has suffered what woman never suffered here
below, can never suffer again. What matter that she be princess? She
is no less the daughter and the sister, thrice proscribed! She belongs
no less to a human family. This is certainly the most striking
historical figure in Europe. She produced the most profound impression
upon me, and I could not conceal the emotion that thrilled through me.
My heart was divided betwixt respect and pity. I seemed to see before
me one of those victims of fatality, immortalised by antique art. Only
Christian resignation has impressed upon the daughter of Louis XVI. a
more touching stamp, and raised her on this Christian elevation far
above the types of antiquity." What a homage is this, complete as it
is pathetic, from the mouth of the descendant of the enemies of her
race! The duchess seems to have questioned M. Didier much about that
country which he would have imagined she must have abhorred, but
which, he tells us, she cherishes with love resembling that of a
spaniel to the master whose hand has beaten him. He speaks more than
once of her extreme devotion, and indeed of that of the whole group
of exiles, to their fatherland. Another trait, which calls for respect
and admiration in the aged princess, lies in the moderation and
tolerance which M. Didier records of her. "She spoke of France with
tact and reserve, made inquiries as to the religious sentiments of the
people of Paris, and mentioned, with feelings of admiration, the death
of the Archbishop of Paris on the barricades of June. His was the only
name of which she proffered mention." And when the conversation was
made to turn upon the Orleans branch, now exiled in its turn, she was
silent about Louis Philippe, but spoke in kind and affectionate terms
of his family, and of the Duchess of Orleans; and when M. Didier
addressed her with the words, "It is impossible, Madame, but that you
must have seen, in the fall of Louis Philippe, the finger of God," she
replied in words characteristic of that type of Christian resignation,
"It is in all!" "The answer," pursues the narrator, "was given with
the utmost simplicity, and without my being able to discover in it the
least leaven of bitterness." "It may be boldly asserted that there was
no gall in this heart, which has offered, as holocaust to God, all its
griefs and all its passions. Religion is now the principal occupation,
the only consolation, of a life tried by unparalleled adversity." When
still further M. Didier--indiscreetly, it appears to us--pressed the
point by saying, "But you must own, Madame, that in spite of your
Christian magnanimity, the day you heard the news was not one of the
most unhappy of your life." "She held her peace, but with an air which
seemed to say, 'You ask too much.'"
After giving his testimony as to the extreme politeness of the Duchess
d'Angoulême, and recording instances of her boundless charity,
"immense," he says, "for her present revenue," M. Didier has the
following touching description of the apartments of the aged princess.
"The Duchess of Angoulême, lives in the midst of the _souvenirs_ of
her youth--and yet what _souvenirs_! Far from flying from them, she
seems to cherish them; as if she found a strange funereal pleasure in
filling each day the cup of bitterness, in order each day to drain it
to the dregs. In her bedroom, which is of an austerity almost
cloistral, she has around her only objects which must recall to her
the tragic scenes of her childhood,--the portraits of her father, her
mother, and her mother's friend, the Princess of Lamballe; near her
bed, which is without curtains, a _prie-dieu_ filled with relics
sacred to her, such as the black waistcoat which her father wore in
going to the scaffold, and the lace kerchief which her mother was
forced to mend with her own hands before appearing at the
Revolutionary Tribunal. She alone has the key of these sad memorials;
and once a-year, on the 21st of January, she takes them out from the
shrine which encloses them, and lays them before her, as if in order
to live more nearly with the beloved dead who wore them. On that day
she sheds her tears in the most complete retirement: she sanctifies
the bloody anniversary by solitude and prayer."
On this subject there is yet more touching matter, which would lead
us, however, too far. For the same reason we cannot follow the details
into which M. Didier enters respecting the Duke of Lévis, the young
Duke of Blacas, M. de Montbel, and other adherents of the exiled
family: they must be passed over, as not of immediate interest. The
following words, however, are sufficiently remarkable in the mouth of
the republican:--"I found them all not only polite and well-informed,
but most reasonable upon political topics. They are no democrats,
assuredly, but they are men of sense, who have advanced with the
progress of the age, and are fully aware of the new needs and new
interests of Europe in general, and of France in particular. They are
no conspirators; that I will answer for."
M. Didier is pressed to stop the night; but, hurried in his journey,
only remains to dinner; and it is in the drawing-room, before dinner,
that he is presented to the young Duchess of Bordeaux. This figure in
the group of royal exiles, although of less importance as regards the
prosperity of legitimacy in France, and of the attachment which the
family may hereafter command, is worth recording also, as an
interesting historical portrait.
"This princess," pursues M. Didier, "is daughter of the late
Duke of Modena. She speaks French with a mixed accent, half
Italian, half German, which reveals her double origin, as
German princess born in Italy. She is, I believe, two years
older than her husband. She is slim, and rather thin, but of
an elegant figure, with beautiful black wavy hair, dark eyes,
full of life and spirit. A natural defect slightly impairs
the effect of her mouth when she speaks, which is a pity,
for, with this exception, she is a very pretty woman. She
wore a white evening dress, with naked arms, and a velvet
scarf upon her shoulders. Her toilet was, perhaps, too
simple--a reproach rarely to be made--that is to say, with
too little of personal _coquetterie_ in it: it was easy to
see that no Parisian _femme de chambre_ had superintended the
arrangement. Hers is evidently a _nature distinguée_. I was
told she was of a kindly, easy disposition, and well
educated; she was evidently desirous of pleasing. Although a
princess of ancient race, she appeared to me to be timid; but
her embarrassment was not without its charm of grace. Proud
of her alliance with the descendant of Louis XIV., she has
the highest opinion of her husband; and her love for him
amounts, I was told, to adoration. She thinks him
irresistible; and, more impatient than he, but impatient far
more for him than for herself, she is firmly convinced that
he has but to show himself, in order to subjugate all the
world as he has subjugated her. In this lie all her political
opinions; that is to say, her politics are those of the
heart."
It is to be regretted, perhaps, that we have not space for the
anecdotes of the moderation and good sense of the Duke of Bordeaux,
which M. Didier records, as collected from the mouths of his
adherents, and which must necessarily complete, upon the minds of the
great portion of the French nation, the impression made by the rest of
the book. But we must now hurry on.
The dinner of the exiled princely family is described by the
republican visitor as simple, although served with a certain state. He
sits by the side of the Duchess of Angoulême, whose every word is one
of "politeness, courtesy, or forbearance." "The Duchess of Bordeaux,"
he says, "continually fixed her eyes upon me, as with a look of
wonder. In truth, the position was a strange one--a French republican
sitting at the table of a prescribed French prince, and eating out of
plate engraved with the royal arms of France!" The evening passes, in
this little court, almost as in a private family in some French
chateau. Billiards, tapestry-work, conversation, occupy the various
personages. The republican again converses with the prince, who
listens to contradiction with the utmost good-humour. When he departs,
the whole family express, in their last words, their longing for that
country which he is about to revisit so soon, but from which they are
exiled.