and universal suffrage—the appeal to the whole
people—was the fascinating and potential
watchword which gathered the multitude around
the Imperial banner. That middle class which,
to a great extent, Louis Philippe managed to
conciliate—the bourgeoisie, who rejoiced in their
bourgeois roi—was too feeble to resist the
hostile influences of the ancient aristocracy
above and the multitudinous masses below,
neither of whom willingly accepted an
hermaphrodite monarchy, which had neither divine
right nor popular enthusiasm for its support.

Louis Philippe was singularly accessible to
those whom he favoured with his confidence.
I have been received early in the morning in
his dressing–room when he was shaving
himself. The process was often interrupted by his
talk, and his talk was on all possible topics.
He had a keen eye to speculation in the
purchase of lands, and especially to the properties
of low value, by the expenditure on which
there was the prospect of a large return.
I once found him seated at a table covered
with accounts and correspondence connected
with the administration, the revenues and
expenditure of the Parisian theatres. "C'est
une affaire à moi," he said; "je ne veux que
personne intervienne." "But it is a troublesome
business. Might not your Majesty leave such
unimportant details to the Minister of the Interior
or the Minister of Public Instruction?"
"Non! non! j'y tiens. Je veux personnellement
examiner et décider les questions des théâtres."
Probably the ministers were not unwilling that
the king should amuse himself with matters of
secondary importance, as he not unfrequently
embarrassed them by his own independent
action in the gravest state affairs. In many of
the European courts he carried on a general
correspondence unknown to the members of his
cabinet, whose own views and intentions were
sometimes thwarted by his individual
interference.

I was seated with him one day at the time
when the Spanish marriages were the subjects
of discussion. He took a quantity of papers
out of the side–pocket of his coat, and holding
them close to my face, said, "Do you think my
ministers have seen them?" I ventured to
point out the danger of their not knowing their
contents. To which his reply was, "I will be
master chez moi." It will be recollected that
at this period the French minister at Madrid
committed suicide. It was generally believed
his position had been made intolerable between
the instructions of the cabinet and the
communications of the king. Nor was the practice
unknown to him of causing letters to be opened
at the Post–office, the Director–General of that
establishment being an "homme à moi."

He paid great attention to the administration
of his private and personal concerns, and
managed his large properties sagaciously and
economically. The rental of the Palais Royal was
one of his main sources of revenue. He
contracted with one of his tenants (Chevet, the
keeper of the famous shop for comestibles)
for the dinners at the palace; and I think
he told me the regulated price paid was
twenty–five francs, or a pound a head. The
royal table was handsomely but not profusely
supplied. Conversation never flagged. The
guests retired together after the dessert, and,
except on State occasions, the soirées had
all the character of family gatherings. The
king's sister, Madame Adelaide, took a part
in political discussions. She was a clever and
observant woman, and had more influence with
her brother than any other member of his
family. The queen principally occupied herself
with domestic and personal affairs. She was
much influenced by the clergy, and showed
great interest in all ecclesiastical questions.
Her benevolence was extensive. She read
herself the multitudinous applications for charitable
relief which were invited by her well–known
sympathy with the distressed. These were sent
to her almoner with notes and instructions of
her own, and they were disposed of with a most
judicious liberality.

The king was not much trusted by his
ministers. I have heard one of them reproach
him bitterly for his untruthfulness. But he had
beyond, or rather within, the circle of his official
advisers a number of private friends, whom he
was much in the habit of consulting, and who
were personally attached to him by the strongest
ties. Amongst these was a handsome and
agreeable man—the Count Montalivet. The
king liked to put a strong emphasis on the first
syllable, and called him Mytalivet, and the
sobriquet was universally accepted as appropriate.
After the king's downfal, a catalogue of names
was found in the Tuileries in his own
handwriting, and headed, "Hommes à moi"—"My
men." The list contained few of the really
influential personages. He was vain of his
independent position, and could not persuade himself
that anything which emanated from himself
could by possibility be wrong; hence, he was
never more secure, in his own estimate, than at
the very time when ruin overtook him.

                         Just published,
              THE FOURTEENTH VOLUME,
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