Part 17

"Frohsdorf is an old feudal estate, which, from the hands of 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.