had sagacity to perceive, but he had not the
courage to give effect to his perceptions and
avowals, that no international union is so strong
as the union of material interests. On his
advent to the throne, and very frequently
afterwards, I had the opportunity of urging on him
the importance of increasing the trade between
France and Great Britain by removing the
restrictions and prohibitions that trammelled
intercourse. He always appeared to respond
cordially to my suggestions, and consented to the
nomination of French commissioners to discuss
the matter with commissioners to be appointed
by the English government. The first gentlemen
whose names were proposed were really
incarnations de la fiscalité, universally known
for their attachment to the protective and
monopolising policy. They were objected to,
and two gentlemen were nominated—the Baron
de Freville and Count Duchatel (the future
Minister of the Interior)—who, if not courageous
free traders, were, at least, not obstructives.
Yet all the negotiations failed in producing any
important results, though the newspaper
discussions helped to prepare opinion for Cobden's
future success. Neither the king nor his
ministers, with one exception, that of Baron Louis,
ever lent any cordial co–operation. The king
always declared that he had not influence enough
to overcome the menaced resistance. The truth
is, he had not the will. He himself, and other
members of his family, were deeply interested
in the existing monopolies. I know that on
one occasion he directed an estimate to be
prepared of the personal sacrifice he would be
called upon to make if English iron were
admitted into the French market. The sacrifice
was greater than he could screw up his courage
to contemplate, and that question was speedily
disposed of by a declaration that iron was not
in the category of articles which could be
considered.

Louis Philippe was the most garrulous of
monarchs or of men. He had been talkative
from his early youth, always taking the lion's
share of conversation, and the habit grew with
age. He became more and more impatient of
contradiction, to escape from which he
monopolised discourse, and any interruption to the
constant flow of words seemed to produce a sort of
ripple in his mind, and warned the interlocutor
that the safest and discreetest course was to
allow the stream to run ever, and for ever on.
And there were many motives for this. One is
pleased to get at the secret thoughts and feelings
of influential personages, whose opinions
and actions are likely to have any considerable
influence upon the proceedings and feeling of
the age. Words may indeed be used to conceal
thoughts, but the man of many words can
scarcely fail in some of them to give expression
to what is sincere, however much of insincerity
may be mingled in the whole. The half–concealing
is generally associated with the half–revealing
of the inner nature. But there was a pleasure
in listening to Louis Philippe beyond that of
ascertaining his notions of prominent persons
and passing events. He was a clever talker,
always worth listening to. Independently of
his having been so prominent an actor in the
great public drama of his day, he had travelled
far; he had read much; had great experience
of mankind; and though the standard by
which he measured their aptitudes and
excellences was the amount and extent of their
devotion to his person and family (a standard
too commonly adopted in elevated places), there
was much to amuse and much to instruct in
what fell from his lips, and many of his colloquies
would be well worth recording.

"Eh! vieille connaissance! charmé de vous
voir. Et depuis quand êtes–vous ici? Asseyez–
vous" (and he pointed to a chair, and sometimes
moved it towards you)—"asseyez–vous. Nous
avons beaucoup à causer. Quelle nouvelle de
votre côté? Que m'en dites–vous! On me dit
que le Duc de Wellington——ah je n'aime pas
votre Duc de Wellington—il s'est très mal
comporté envers moi quand je voulais prendre service
dans la Péninsule. Vous vous rappellez ce temps–
là, n'est ce pas? A la guerra, á la guerra,
Españoles" (highly intoned). "J'aurais pu
être utile, s'il m'avait fait valoir. Pourquoi pas?
Il aurait compter sur moi. Je crois je valais
quelque chose. Voyez–vous où nous en sommes?
Regardez—regardez" (looking out of the window,
and pointing to the troops who were defiling
on the Place du Louvre). "Vous dites très bien
en votre Anglais, 'Possession is nine points of
the law.' Mais je ne l'ai pas cherchée. Je ne
l'ai jamais fait. Je n'ai jamais conspiré. Je suis
devenu une nécessité. La force des choses m'a
placé irrésistiblement où je me trouve. Et
votre——, Sachez que ce n'est qu'un puss
in boots, comme vous le dites en votre langue.
Quelles sont vos idées sur la mort? La vie,
c'est la chaleur! Warmth—sensible warm
motion, Shakespeare. Oui; la vie, c'est de se
sentir chaud. Mourir, c'est se refroidir—warm,
comfortable—comme nous disons aussi." In this
manner the flow of words continued. Any
attempt to interfere with it was met with "Mais
laissez–moi parler." "Plus tard vous me
repondrez." "Nous y reviendrons." *

* "Ha! my old acquaintance, delighted to see you.
How long since you arrived? Sit down, sit down.
We have much to talk about. What news do you
bring? And what do you think of it? I hear the
Duke of Wellington——oh, I do not like your Duke
of Wellington. He treated me very ill when I desired
to enter the army in Spain. You remember those
days, do you not? Spaniards! to the war! to the
war! I might have been useful, if I had been
turned to account. Why was it not done? I was
to be trusted, I believe, and I was of some value.
See what is come of it. Look! look! You Englishmen
say very rightly, 'Possession is nine points of
the law.' I did not seek it. I never conspired. I
had become a necessity. I have been irresistibly
carried where I am by the force of circumstances.
And your——. I tell you he is only a puss in boots,
as you say in your tongue. What is your notion of
death? Life is heat. Yes, to live is to feel warm;
dying is to be chilled."