Such, as a general rule, were the courtiers of my time, and amongst them were men full of talent, courage, and energy, sincerely devoted to the true interests of the people, who hated without knowing them; men of noble and loyal souls, filled with devotion to their country, and possessed of that strong, real, and passionate eloquence which astonishes, moves, and persuades those who are resolved to oppose them; men, in short, who, finding it impossible to do the good they desire, and unwilling to participate in the evil which may be done, retire into private life, carrying with them the regrets and the admiration of their fellow-citizens. I do not need to name them. The days devoted to jeux du roi were not the only ones on which persons of various stations were invited to the court. The birthday of the king was the fête of the people; on that day, every cottage was made happy, every family was supplied with bread. But as this fête was not celebrated in the year of grace 1830, I will speak only of New Year's day, on which, according to custom, all the different state corporations come to renew to their sovereign, whoever he may be, their pledges of fidelity and attachment, to pay their homage and proffer their good wishes. To these uniform speeches, prescribed by etiquette, expressive of sentiments more or less real, and couched in phrases more or less high-sounding, according to the taste or ability of the orator, Charles X. had the faculty of returning answers marked by kindness and good sense, rendered with a grace and facility of execution which no one has ever thought of disputing.
The custom which obliged the king to dine in public on New Year's day was not an unpleasant one to Charles X. He had no reason to fear that he might be compared to those Oriental monarchs who, when they have dined well themselves, think that none of their subjects ought to feel hungry. He knew that the wish of Henri IV. had been realized, and that the chicken in the pot was wanting neither to the industrious artisan nor to the hard-working laborers.
If, however, these state dinners were not destitute of charm for him, how much more did he enjoy that family reunion on the jour des rois, which, with its simple pleasures, is an inheritance of past generations! The customs attending this festival, on which royalty is freed from all cares or regrets, are of long standing. The ancients, when they desired to render a feast an especially gay one, always appointed a king, who was elected for the time. Neither is the use of beans, as a distinctive mark of power, a modern idea. The Greeks employed them in the nomination of their magistrates; and when Pythagoras told his disciples to abstain from beans, he gave them a wise counsel, of which every one does not comprehend the enigmatical and mysterious meaning.
Amongst us, however, the bean is attended by none of the dangers dreaded by Pythagoras. How happy is the king of the bean! He has neither courtiers who flatter him nor ministers who betray him; his subjects are his friends; he chooses his queen without regard to political considerations; he eats, he drinks, and, fortunate man, his reign is but for a moment!
The delights of this passing royalty were never more keenly experienced than at the Tuileries on the 6th of January, 1830. All appeared prosperous in the kingdom, and the descendants of Henri IV., assembled at a family dinner, were united in opinion and in affection. It was a fête day for all, and especially for the children, who rejoiced at the unwonted freedom from the restraints of etiquette. Around the royal table were seated, first the august old man, whose goodness of heart ever shone through the dignity of his character. On one side of him was placed the Duchess of Orléans, the happy mother of a numerous and handsome family; on the other the dauphiness, who endeavored to console herself for the want of the same happiness by adopting all the unfortunate—a woman sublime in misfortune, heroic in danger, and who, passing through every stage of affliction, at length reached that height of virtue before which all human glory must bow. Beside her was the Duc d'Orléans,[136] who, when exiled in foreign lands at the same period with Charles X., had given proofs of fidelity, affection, and devotion; he had shared the same trials, and conceived the same hopes. Then came the Duchess de Berri, handsome, happy, proud of her son, imparting gaiety and vivacity to all around her, little dreaming of the future which awaited her, and certainly very far from imagining that, ere long, the poor and afflicted of her asylum at Poissy would be obliged to petition for the charity of the public. We must not forget to mention, in this family group, the dauphin, Mlle. d'Orléans, the Ducs de Chartres, de Nemours, d'Aumale, the Prince de Joinville, the two young and pretty Princesses of Orléans. The Duc de Bourbon is not able to be present; his infirmities confine him to his château of Saint-Leu, where he had, at least, expected to die in peace. But let us reserve our attention for this child who is about to play so important a part among the guests.
By this time, the first two courses have exhausted the patience of these young hearts, but respect restrains any expression of this feeling in them. At length, however, the wished-for moment has arrived, and all eyes are turned towards an officer of the table, who carries on a silver salver, covered with a napkin, fifteen cakes, one of which contains the coveted bean. It falls to the lot of the Duc d'Aumale, as being the youngest, to distribute them among the guests, taking care to keep one for himself. Each one makes haste to ascertain his fate, and exclamations of disappointed ambition are heard on all sides. One child alone blushes and is silent; not that he is embarrassed by the rank about to devolve upon him, but he does not wish to mortify his competitors by giving vent to his innocent delight. His new majesty cannot, however, long remain incognito, and the Duc de Bordeaux is proclaimed king of the bean by universal acclamation. Then, following the example of their new sovereign, the children all give way to an extreme of gaiety, which the king encourages and partakes, and which the dauphiness does not seek to restrain. Soon the choice of the queen is made; it is the Duchess of Orléans, who willingly lends herself to receive an honor which, perhaps, she might not have coveted; and the dinner is concluded amidst shouts of laughter and cries of The king drinks! The queen drinks! frequently re-echoed.
The august personages seated around the royal table are not the only ones who share the cakes of the king. Pieces of these cakes are profusely distributed throughout France. Poets, authors, artists, actors, artisans, old and infirm servants of the Republic and of the Empire, destitute widows and orphans partake of the cake of the king and the bounty of Charles X. on this occasion.
But the time has come to rise from table, and Charles X. requests a moment of silence, which he succeeds with difficulty in obtaining.
"Sire," he says to his grandson, "your reign will be at an end in about five minutes; has your majesty no orders to give me?"
"Yes, grandpapa. I wish...."