But whither have my reminiscences carried me? Here we are at Saint-Cloud; the games of a child have made me forget the pomps of a court, and, besides, I was only to speak to you of the Tuileries.
This court was not wanting in brilliancy; its luxury, however, was by no means extreme. These three hundred gentlemen of the chamber, these equerries, these officers of ceremony for the household and hunting service, richly dressed in vestments embroidered in gold, were tributaries to industry, and willingly paid the tax of vanity. We too often forget that the bread of the poor is in the hands of the rich, and that it is better for the former that this bread should be the price of labor than the gift of charity.
In order to reconcile ourselves with this luxury, which many unthinkingly condemned, let us assist at those jeux du roi, to which all the social notabilities were invited.
A week before the invitations had been issued, it would be known in all the workshops of Paris that a reception was to take place at the court, and more orders would be received than could be executed. Tailors, dressmakers, embroiderers, modistes, hair-dressers, jewellers, etc., all rejoiced; and the happiness of the invited guest, who repaired to the fête in a showy equipage, was shared by the workman who saw him pass.
Let us hasten to follow the line of those thousand carriages which advance in order towards the Tuileries some time before the hour indicated by the card of invitation; for here it is quite different from those balls of society where the fashion is to arrive late in order to produce a sensation; on the contrary, every one desires to be among the first to obtain a glance from the king. Already crowds are pressing into these vast drawing-rooms, where innumerable wax candles shed so favorable a light over the beauty of the women and their superb dresses. It is impossible to imagine, without having seen it, the magnificent spectacle presented by the throne-room and the Gallery of Diana; on entering these, the dazzling ensemble could be taken in at a glance, and each one stops for a moment, lost in admiration, to contemplate it.
Here are assembled the late minister, thinking how he may seize again the reins of power; the present minister, absorbed in the fear of losing them; and the future minister, musing over the chances he may possess of obtaining them. All three salute each other, press each other's hands affectionately: one might mistake them for friends. Here are grouped peers of France, proud of their hereditary rights, and confident in the stability of them, calculating how much the son of a lord may be worth, and by what dowry the daughter of a banker may purchase the title of countess and the entrée to the court. Here we behold the former senators of Napoleon, who have not, perhaps, renounced their own ideas and illusions; see beside them old generals, who, from the epoch of the Republic down to Charles X., have served all the different governments. The banner has changed, but what does that matter? Military honor has not suffered; that is to be placed only in courage.
These officers, with their large epaulettes, appear to cast disdainful glances on the crowd of men in blue coats, the collars of which, embroidered in fleur-de-lis, designate civic functions. The supporters of the ministry are surprised that so many members of the opposition should have been invited; the latter complain that there are so few of their own party present compared with the number of their adversaries. There is, however, for the time being, neither Right side, Left side, nor Centre—all appear harmonious; and should a vote now be taken, the urn would be filled with white balls, so great in those days was the influence of an invitation from the king—almost equal to that of a ministerial dinner at the present time.
But to the hum of conversation suddenly succeeds a profound silence; the king appears, followed by all the royal family. He circulates slowly through the apartments, and his kindness of heart suggests to him what to say, so as to please each one in turn. None are forgotten; and in addressing himself to the ladies, he perfectly understands the art of complimenting so as to flatter without embarrassing them. I must not omit, in my description of these brilliant assemblies, to speak of the members of the diplomatic corps, the richness and variety of whose costumes enhanced the magnificence of the scene; nor can I conclude without some mention of the courtiers of Charles X. I know it is a usual thing on the stage, and perhaps elsewhere, to depict a gentleman of the court as a low-minded, grasping, insolent imbecile. Those who view them all in this light resemble the traveller who, passing rapidly through a town, and seeing at a window a woman with red hair, came to the conclusion, and wrote, that all the women of the place were red-haired.
The gentleman of the court, such as I have usually known him, since the Restoration, is proud of his birth and of his name; but he knows that he has no more reason to pride himself upon their possession than a singer has to boast of the voice with which nature has gifted him, or a rich man of the fortune left him by his father. Devoted to the king, he does not consider himself the humble servant of the ministers; and when his conscience prescribes it, he places himself in the ranks of the opposition. He is extremely polite, knowing that this is the surest means of securing the recognition of his social superiority. He does justice to merit, and admires it frankly and without envy; but should this merit exist in a man of equal rank with himself, he would be tempted to dispute it. He is generous, for he knows that generosity is a great and noble virtue; and even should it not be a pleasure, it is a duty, for him to exercise it. Without being learned, he is not ignorant of any of the sciences, and he has a tact which enables him to appear a connoisseur in art even when such is not the case; but he no longer takes upon himself to be the protector of artists; he is their friend. He understands that the empire of the white plume and of the red heel is at an end, and that, in order to be respected, he must deserve to be so.
Finally, his morals are good, and this is, perhaps, the greatest change effected by the revolution.