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wretched prisoner, with his young son, the Count de Beaujolais, was sent to Marseilles, where the father was doomed to find in captivity, another son, the Duc de Montpensier, whom he believed to be then serving in the army of Italy as Adjutant-General. One morning, during the captivity of the family at Marseilles, the Duc de Montpensier was awoke by his father, who entered his dungeon accompanied by strangers. “I come, my child," said the Duke of Orleans, "to bid you adieu. I am just setting off.” The youth, unable to speak, pressed his father to his bosom and wept. “I meant," continued the afflicted parent, “to have gone without saying farewell, for such moments are always painful. But I could not resist the desire of seeing you once more before my departure. Adieu, my child, console yourself, console your brother, and think how happy we shall be when next we meet.” So father and child separated, but never to meet again.

The trial of Philip Egalité took place in Paris on the 6th of November following. In truth, there was no accusation against him, and no evidence was adduced. He was interrogated, and his replies were all that his judges had before them to guide them to. their verdict. Philip Egalité was pronounced guilty, and guilty Heaven and his own conscience knew him to be, but not against the republic, which he had only too eagerly served; not against the people, whose willing slave he had been, even to his destruction and lasting infamy. The Duke knew from experience what the verdict meant. He said nothing, he asked nothing, but to be led to death that moment.

Philip Egalité quitted the world with a finer spirit

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than he had engaged in its anxious and unthankful pursuits. When brought back to his prison a delegate waited upon him for his confession. The Duke answered, he had none to make; he bore no animosity against his tribunal; he wished to die forgiving all

A fellow-prisoner, the Abbé Lothringer, administered to him the last rites of the Church, and at half-past three o'clock he took his place, with a resigned and calm demeanour, in the cart which was to conduct him to the scaffold. I am bound to say," writes a royalist, himself a prisoner at the time, and an observer of his movements at this moment, “that, from his proud and steady march, and his truly noble air, he might have been taken for a general commanding his troops rather than a victim led to execution.” On his road to the place of punishment le passed the Palais Royal. The words “National Property” were inscribed upon his home. The victim gave way and wept. His confessor whispered consolation, but obtained no answer. Death could not inflict so sharp a pang as had been already felt. Reaching the scaffold, however, the Prince forgot the scene he had passed, and resumed his first serenity. He embraced his confessor and delivered himself to the executioner, bidding him make haste. The stroke was given, and the body was buried without ceremony in the cemetery of the Madeleine.

So perished the father of Louis Philippe, but yesterday King of the French !-sacrificed by Jacobins, himself a Jacobin, the victim of a republic which he had largely helped to constitute and fashion. Had the kings of his race been faithful to their mission France would have known no republic, and the exigencies of the state would not have demanded the shedding of Bourbon blood, though purified by flowing through the veins of an Orleans. Louis XVI. and Philip Egalité were murdered men, but very far from guiltless. How far they were guilty, it became the paramount duty of their immediate descendants to learn, in order that their mistakes might be rectified, and their cruel fate avoided. The lesson has been preached in vain. Where is now the legitimate successor of the sixteenth Louis; where the representative of the house of Orleans ?


Who says that suffering is the monitor of kings ? When bas it ever proved so ? What instruction gained Charles II. from the murder committed at Whitehall ? Of what use to James II. were his father's invited misfortunes and his own compelled banishment? Louis XVI. might have never lived, the history of France never been written, for any advantage derived from either by the feeble and effete Charles X. No man living or dead ever passed through such an apprenticeship for the business of his later life as that forced upon Louis Philippe, King of the French, and yet, how has the painful lesson been thrown away! Never had prince greater opportunity for the acquirement of the knowledge for the want of which kings fail and command the sympathy of meaner men. The

page of history was open before him ; the records of his own house were a history in themselves. He had himself been cast upon the world nameless, houseless the companion of

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the unfortunate, the associate of the poor. With his own eyes he had witnessed the wrongs of society, with his own ears he had heard its loud and just complaints. Unknown and unrecognised, he had moved amongst his fellows, and communed with them upon the same low level. Flattery came not to him to beguile, or hypocrisy to mislead his better judgment. He passed into exile with all the experience furnished him by the fate of his family; he issued from it with all the further experience derived from his own personal intimacy with mankind. In vain ! Suffering teaches heroism, or it confirms obstinacy. Poverty closes the heart entirely, or opens it to Paradise. It is now our task to describe the checkered fortunes of Louis Philippe, Count de Neuilly.

Louis Philippe of Orleans, Duc de Valois at his birth, Duc de Chartres on the death of his grandfather, Duke of Orleans on the death of his father, King of the French in 1830, was born at the Palais Royal, October 6, 1773. He was one of five children. His brothers were the Duc de Montpensier, born in 1775, and the Count de Beaujolais, born in 1779 ; his sisters were Marie Caroline, who died a child, and Eugenie Adelaide, her twin sister, who died at Paris in the winter of 1847. Of this family, Louis Philippe, the first-born, was, a twelvemonth since, the sole survivor. The tutor of all the children was the father's inistress, Madame de Genlis, who appears to have made up for her own misconduct by a scrupulous regard to the manners and morals of her pupils. Madame de Genlis, with a strong and well-cultivated mind, was hardly the most fitting person in the world to conduct the education of royal princes. Just before the lady took her youthful charges in hand, Egalité informed her that his eldest boy had given him much pain by acquainting him that he had been

drumming at his door all the morning," and by using similar language, indicating the shopkeeper rather than the prince. Madame de Genlis set about crushing the shopkeeper with a vigour that threatened at the same time to stifle nature itself in the character of her pupils. Instead of educating the lads for the great theatre of life, she seems to have been bent upon preparing them for the Théâtre Français. To be born a prince was nothing, unless the prince was sensible of his position and could act his part. When Madame de Genlis gave her first lesson to the youthful Louis Philippe, that young gentleman, much to the lady's astonishment, yawned and stretched himself, then threw himself upon a sofa, and perched his legs upon the table. Madame talked sentimentally upon the duties of a prince, and the boy, who, according to the lady,

was as fond of what was reasonable as other children are of what is frivolous,” from that moment was cured “of a great many low phrases and of a number of absurd fancies.

A specimen of Madame de Genlis' peculiar system of instruction is worth recording. The mother of her pupils had been staying at Spa for the benefit of her health, and had derived great benefit from the waters of the Sauvenière. Under the guidance of the instructress a féte was got up in honour of the event. Near the spring the children constructed a beautiful walk, and otherwise ornamented a very rugged spot. At the end of the walk was a precipice, and beyond

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