Under the circumstances of the strange anomaly presented by the actual condition of France, which never better deserved its title of a republic without republicans, it may fairly become a matter of speculation, in how much a return to monarchical institutions possesses a degree of probability in the future, and, more especially, how far the principles of legitimacy stand a chance of assuming, hereafter, a supremacy in France. We say "a matter of speculation," in as much as the uncertain must ever remain the presiding genius of the chances of a revolutionary epoch: and, in such times, it would be more than presumption to attempt to prophesy upon a nation's destinies. But still there are signs of the times in France, which are of sufficient importance to be chronicled; curious facts, that cannot but attract attention; and revelations that possess a deep interest—all bearing upon the possible restoration of the exiled prince of the elder branch of the Bourbons; and, as far as regards this eventuality—and who can any more say it shall not be than they can say it shall?—the chances appear not so unequal in the balance held by the hand of fate—they may be considered worthy of notice and comment.

It would be scarcely correct, however, to speak of such a possible eventuality as the realisation of the prospects of a Legitimate party. As a party, properly so called, in the language of political and revolutionary struggle, the legitimists of France can scarcely be said to exist, even although a stanch but small nucleus, professing decidedly legitimist principles, may be found among a certain body of men, chiefly belonging to the old families of France, in private life. During the reign of the Orleans branch, the legitimists gradually dwindled into comparative obscurity—almost every family which professed to entertain legitimist opinions having attached itself, openly or in an underhand manner, to the existing order of things, by means of some one of its members: and even in the present day they have pursued the same line of policy—a policy which wears now, however, a more respectable garb, inasmuch as it is professedly based upon the seemingly patriotic and disinterested maxim, "FranÇais avant tout," which, in declaring the revolution that caused the fall of Louis Philippe the work of the "finger of God," and in accepting a government founded upon a nation's universal suffrage, as preferable to that of a "usurping king," they have adopted as the device of chivalry, to influence every action of their lives in such a juncture. In fact, with this appearance of more straightforward patriotism, they bide their time in faith and patience, and, with a feeling almost allied to superstition, repudiate every idea of political intrigue, much more of any conspiracy against the existing order of things.

But, if this passive position of the old legitimists does not permit them to assume the attitude of a decided party, or even of bearing properly such a designation, it must not be supposed that the cause of legitimacy is dead, or even dormant, in France. Far from it. The present state of legitimacy in France, however, must be studied less among the avowed legitimists, who have long given themselves the name, than in the dispersed and floating elements pervading the mass of the nation. The preference of the great majority of the country for monarchical institutions, or, at all events, its strong anti-revolutionary feeling, and aversion to the republican rule, after the sad experience of much misery and misfortune—and from its despair of the realisation of that "hope deferred," in the restoration of confidence and prosperity, which "maketh the heart sick"—are facts which cannot be denied by any man of unprejudiced feelings and sincere convictions. By degrees, then, feelings have been latterly assuming a form favourable to the cause of legitimacy: and that such sentiments now notoriously exist in the hearts of a great proportion of the country at large can scarcely be disputed. They are based, it is true, in no ways, among the mass, upon any political opinions or philosophical principles—they spring up from a desire of having a "something" at the head of the state which may be the type of stability, and thus the representative of confidence, peace, and restored prosperity: and this "something" is best embodied, in the minds of men, in the person of a young prince, who represents the apparently most stable form of monarchical government—that founded on legitimacy. They arise from no personal attachment to the elder branch of the Bourbons, or to the Duke of Bordeaux individually, but solely from a desire to return to monarchical government, and from the growing conviction that, among the many pretenders to the supreme power in France, were a monarchy to be established, the sole one who presents a firmer hope of stability—who represents a principle, and who thus best offers to be pilot to the terra firma of a "promised land" to those who are still tossing hither and thither upon the waves of revolution, with storms eternally menacing a still more complete shipwreck on the horizon—is he who bases his pretensions upon the long-scouted theory of legitimacy. To this form of hoped-for stability, then, men now begin to attach themselves more and more, in their aspirations for the future; and thus legitimist expectations, predilections, sympathies—call them what you will—grow, increase, spread like a banian tree, which still ever plants its dropping branches, and takes root farther and farther still; and they thus implant themselves more and more, on all sides, on the soil of the revolution. We speak here of a great proportion of men of all classes in France. At the same time, it is very clear that a conviction is daily gaining more ground, that, in the possible or probable revolutionary chances, spite of the popularity of the President in the capital, the prestige more or less attached to his name, and the party supposed to be connected with his interests, the balance chiefly lies between the republic as it is and Henry V. Even the ultra-republicans and Socialists appear to feel this so strongly, that, in a pamphlet entitled "La RÉpublique ou Henri V.—quelques mots À Bonaparte," a certain Monsieur Pertus, a violent Socialist and adherent of the so-called democratic and social republic, has given, in powerful language, the reasons of the party why the destinies of France may be supposed to lie between these two alternatives only, and why Louis Napoleon, should he put forward his pretensions to an ultimate permanency of power, would probably meet with an utter defeat from the nation at large. The immediate interests of the younger Bourbon branch are entirely set out of sight in the political combinations upon which men speculate in France: adherents they have none: they exist not in men's minds, much less in their hearts: they are never spoken of.

It is evident, then, to every observing eye, that the cause of legitimacy is daily gaining ground in France; although it must be admitted that, with all this, attachment to the person of the exiled prince of the elder branch of the Bourbons, to the family, or even to legitimist principles in theory, has as yet had little to do. But that even this personal attachment has been growing gradually and steadily in men's minds, as a natural consequence, may also be seen. To this latter feeling two men have contributed by their writings—the one a friend, the other an avowed enemy to the ancient dynasty—and perhaps the latter far the most powerfully. The strange circumstances, which have produced results that may have a powerful influence on the future destinies of the country, are worthy of record. A singular fate has been attached to the two small books here alluded to, more especially in the case of that written by a stanch republican, naturally hostile to monarchies and princes; and, on that account, although it is posterior in date of publication, it may be as well first to direct our attention to this latter.

In sight of the struggle, which is continually going on in newspapers, pamphlets, printed notices, and every other form of publication, between the Socialists and Red-Republicans on the one hand, and the "friends of order" on the other—a struggle carried on by the former not only with the utmost violence and virulence, but with every most desperate weapon of calumny, falsehood, distorted fact, and perverted reasoning—in sight of the propagandising efforts, made by these same men, to demoralise and debauch the army from its allegiance to the country by every underhand corrupting poison—it is quite "refreshing" to the spirit, to use a hackneyed phrase, to greet a few words of conviction in favour of those considered the enemies of the republic, penned, in spite of previous prepossessions and firm opinions, by an honest-hearted republican. To men of real and genuine convictions all honour is due, more especially in the confusion of party intrigue and reckless personal ambition of these revolutionary times, even although they be our adversaries: respect may be shown them, even if they appear to us mistaken. Unhappily, such men seem in France to be but few. But if we find them firm and honest in the expression of their convictions, even when in open opposition to their preconceived notions, and to the direct tendency of their political opinions, a tribute of especial admiration may be given them. And such a tribute may be frankly and willingly bestowed upon M. Charles Didier, for his little book entitled Une visite au Duc de Bordeaux,—a book which has lately excited considerable sensation in France, not so much as a curious historical document, giving a simple but charming account of the life, manners, appearance, and attitude in exile of such prominent historical figures as the Duke of Bordeaux, and that patient and pious victim of revolutions, the Duchess d'AngoulÊme; but, in the eyes of the legitimists, as a striking refutation of various calumnies attached to the person, as well as the education and opinions of the young prince, and the highest eulogium of their monarch—in the eyes of all, as a "feeler," (in spite of the intentions of the author,) in the obscure chances of the future.

Had not the character of Monsieur Charles Didier stood so high, and had not his almost rough honesty, and perhaps naivetÉ of nature, been so generally acknowledged by rightly-thinking men, doubts might have been entertained, on the one hand, whether he was really acting in good faith in his character as a republican; had not his talent, discernment, and good sense been sufficiently appreciated in public as well as private life—in his literary and lately political career, as well as among his acquaintances—suspicions might have been excited, on the other, that he had been led into delusions by artful manoeuvre. But neither of these suppositions are admissible. Due credit must be given to his good faith in the one respect, and to his enlightenment of mind and clear-sightedness in the other. Such an explanation becomes necessary for a full appreciation of the contents of this remarkable little book. To a French reader it would be needless, for M. Didier is well known.

As has already been said, the sensation produced by this work has been great: and there can be little doubt that the effect which the publication will produce must necessarily have a very considerable influence upon a great portion of the nation, in the present state of France.

Under such circumstances, and with such probable results, which could not but be partly apparent to the author himself, the production of such a book by a well-known, stanch, and honest republican, such as M. Charles Didier, requires some explanation. It was well known among the party that M. Didier had been sent upon a quasi-diplomatic mission to Germany, in the first days of the French revolution; it was afterwards rumoured that, upon some occasion, he had paid a visit to the members of the exiled family of France in their retreat in Austria—and, upon these data, M. Didier became the object of various calumnies and misrepresentations. His enemies declared that he had been sent expressly as a spy upon the ex-royal family. But it was more especially his soi-disant friends and allies, the republicans de la veille, who attached a host of unfounded misrepresentations to the objects and results of his journey. While some attacked him as a traitor, who had betrayed his trust, and deserted his cause, by caballing with the exiled family, others published accounts in their journals, as if emanating from his mouth, which affixed not only the greatest ridicule and scorn to the person and manners of the Duke of Bordeaux, but the hatred and contempt of all "true patriots" to his supposed opinions. It was to refute these calumnies, then, and to deny these perversions of truth, that M. Didier at last found himself reluctantly compelled to publish a simple account of his "Visite au Duc de Bordeaux." He complains, with much naivetÉ, in a species of preface, that he has been forced to this step, which he himself looks upon as an indiscretion, by his own party, since, although the whole affair appears in his eyes little more than "much ado about nothing," by such means alone, in declaring the whole truth, he can establish simple facts. The very same sentiment, he says—that, probably, of delicacy—which enjoined his silence at first, now, combined with a love of truth, enjoins his giving publicity to an account in which he affirms that all is truth, simple truth, and no more nor less than the truth. It was as a republican that he presented himself, he goes on to say, and as a republican that he was received. In support of his words, although refuting all pretensions to discuss politics, he gives his republican "profession de foi." "I have been thus driven," he continues, "to paint, from nature, an interior of an exiled family, which struck me by its politeness and dignity. Such was the task before me; and I have accomplished it conscientiously, without any regard for persons, and without any sacrifice of opinion. The prestige of rank has exercised no influence on me. I have been simply true." And what has been the result? The supposed friends of M. Didier, the arch-republicans, have forced him, an ardent republican himself—a republican de l'avant-veille, as he calls himself, but genuine and sincere—to forward the cause of legitimacy, to publishing an eulogium, of the most striking description, of the young prince who represents legitimacy in France. Dreamers might almost see the hand of Providence in this result of factious calumny.

It is needless, here, to follow M. Didier into the details of the mission given him by Lamartine, when minister of foreign affairs, of which he explains neither the cause nor the purposes, although he dwells at some length upon the cause of his journey through Austria, Hungary, Croatia, and a part of Germany, and more especially upon the dates of his progress, probably with the intention of refuting the calumny which asserted that he was officially sent as a spy upon the ex-royal family of the elder branch. It may be remarked, however, en passant, that he speaks not over-well of the Austrian revolutionists, with whom he mixed, and that he readily acknowledges the veritable anti-revolutionary spirit of the army and the masses. On the conclusion of his mission, and his return to France by the north of Italy, he heard by chance, on his passage to Trieste, for the first time, he declares, that not far from his road lay the chateau of Frohsdorf, and that this same chateau of Frohsdorf was inhabited by the exiled family of France. It was only many months afterwards, however, when he returned to Germany, for his own pleasure and information, and as "simple voyageur," that having received, by chance, a letter from a friend in Paris for the Duc de LÉvis, one of the faithful adherents attached to the little court of the exiled Bourbons, he determined to profit by it, in order to visit Frohsdorf on his way once more from Vienna to the north of Italy. Before commencing the recital of this passage of his journey, M. Didier again deprecates any purpose but that of interest and curiosity, and enters into very minute details, to prove that he made no mystery or concealment of his intention.

It would lead to too great diffuseness also to enter into M. Didier's description (however prettily written) of his journey through Baden, (near Vienna,) Wiener Neustadt; of the deserted and abandoned railroad from thence to Oldenburg in Hungary, on which "the station-houses were closed, the signals motionless, and the grass grew between the rails"—all communication having been cut off on account of the war. The description, however, of the habitation of the exiled family of French princes offers a more lively interest in an historical point of view. We shall quote M. Didier:—

"Frohsdorf is an old feudal estate, which, from the hands of some Austrian family, the name of which I do not know, passed, under the Restoration, into those of Madame Caroline Murat, the ex-queen of Naples. By her it was sold to the Duchess d'AngoulÊme, under the name of the Duke of Blacas. The domain administered by a steward, is not vast as a princely domain; but the habitation is spacious, although scarcely sufficing for the number of the inhabitants. It is surrounded on all sides by a dry moat, which is, more properly speaking, only a long area for the kitchen and household offices, crossed by a stone bridge in face of the principal entrance. I do not know whether any other exists: I believe not. The chateau has nothing feudal, much less royal, in appearance. It is a great white German house, the pointed roof of which is crowned with chimneys and garret-windows, and ornamented in the middle with a triangular gable. The ground-floor is on a level with the bridge, and is surmounted by two stories. The faÇade presents nine windows, those of the second floor being small and square, the others of reasonable dimensions: one alone, immediately above the doorway, which is large and arched, is ornamented by a balcony, and flanked by flattened pillars. These pillars, and the gable above, are the only portions of the faÇade which have the appearance of any architectural design. A great round tower flanks the western side: it descends into the moat; but, unfortunately, is truncated, and cut off at the level of the roof. In this tower is the chapel: behind is the park, terminated by a jardin Anglais, both of which are of no considerable size. A little further is a broken hill, planted with green trees, upon which is built the Maison de Garde, a pretty little house, which any Parisian family would occupy with pleasure. A little further, and as if to terminate the view, is a ruin, which marks, I believe, the limits of the estate. The site is stern, and impressed with a certain melancholy. To the west lies a vast plain, at the extremity of which rises, in all its magnificence, the chain of mountains which separates Styria from the Archduchy of Austria. The horizon was dentellated by the mountain points; and the snow, with which the highest was covered, sparkled in the sun with the frozen fire of its thousand diamonds. On the east the aspect was different: on this side, and at musket-shot distance, runs a long hill of no prepossessing appearance, although wooded, upon the summit of which runs the limit of the Hungarian frontiers, guarded, when I was there, by armed peasants. The town of Oldenburg may be seen from it.... Frohsdorf is thus very near the Hungarian frontier—so near, that such an abode is not without its dangers in the present war. In case of an attack, the few troops in the village—the last in Austria on this side—would prove a very insufficient defence. But, accustomed to the vicissitudes of exile, hardened by adversity, and with confidence in God, or their destinies, the inhabitants of Frohsdorf appeared to me to pay no heed to a peril, the possibility of which they could not deny.... The entrance of the chateau is cold and sad as that of a convent; and in the court, narrow and deep, is an air of dampness. Such, at least, was my impression. On the right, in the entrance-hall, is the porter's lodge, and near the door is suspended a great bill indicating the hours of departure and arrival of the trains—the only sign of communication between this solitude and the world beyond. I asked, in French, for the Duke of Levis; and it was in French I was answered; for, from the cellars to the garrets, even to the veriest drudge, all is French. I was conducted, with much politeness, to a large bedroom looking on the country, where lay on the table some French newspapers. M. de Levis joined me immediately."

After some conversation, which naturally turned upon the position of France, in which M. Didier was surprised to find the Duc de Levis "si bien au fait des choses et des hommes,"—the Duke quitted him to ask when it would please the Duc de Bordeaux to receive the stranger, and returned shortly to say that it would immediately. The following is curious in the mouth of the republican:—

"I was ignorant what title to give to the prince; and, having come to seek him under his own roof, I was naturally desirous to do what was customary, neither more nor less. I asked M. de Levis. 'There is no etiquette here,' he replied; 'we are exiles. We address the prince, however, as Monseigneur.' I took the hint; and, although little accustomed to the language of courts, I hope I did what was convenable under the circumstances. I ought to confess, at the same time, that I was afterwards less happy with the Duchess of Bordeaux, and the Duchess of AngoulÊme, to whom I sometimes gave the title of 'Highness.' Now, it struck me afterwards, that this title, which was a deference on my part, must have appeared to them both a want of respect, and a direct denial of their supposed rights; to the one, because she considers herself queen since her marriage with the descendant of Henri IV., who, in her eyes, is necessarily Henri V.; to the other, because she considers herself to have been queen also in virtue of the abdication of Charles X.; and the fact is, that, even in her presence, the inhabitants of Frohsdorf call her, among themselves, the Queen."

The most remarkable part of the book, in a political point of view—that, in fact, which has produced in France the sensation already alluded to among all parties—now follows. We must quote M. Didier verbally:—

"Monsieur le Duc de Bordeaux occupies the ground-floor of the chateau. He received me in a study simply furnished, which looks out upon the distant hills of Hungary. I remarked a collection of guns, and an arm-chair entirely made of deer-skin, the horns forming the arms and back. The prince was standing by a writing-table, placed in the middle of the room, with one hand resting upon his arm-chair. He neither sat down, nor bade me be seated, at first; and his reception of me was not exempt from a sort of solemnity. In a word, he received me en roi. Habituated to the visits of his partisans, and of his partisans alone, I was a novelty to him. He knew no more of me than my opinions, and some works, the matter of which could evidently not be to his taste. Perhaps he expected to find in me one of those furious democrats, who, to use a common phrase, mettent les pieds dans les plats, and supposed that I might attack him coarsely. Hence his reserve at first. It was very evident that he stood on the defensive, and waited to see me advance. His inquiring and somewhat strained look expressed, at least so I read it, what I have here said. After a few trivial remarks, the necessary preamble of every visit, and especially of such a one, he begged me to be seated, and the conversation commenced. As far as I can recollect, the following was the first serious remark I addressed to him,—'Monseigneur, I am ignorant, and God alone can know, what destinies are reserved for you in the future; but if you have a chance of reigning one day in France, which, for my own part, I do not desire, the chance is this: If, by any impossibility, France, exhausted by her experiments, at the end of her resources, no longer finds in the elective power the stability she seeks—if discouragement and misreckoning cause her to turn her eyes towards the hereditary principle as the most stable basis of authority—it is you who represent this principle; and in that case France herself will seek you out. Till then you have but one thing to do—to await events.' The Duke of Bordeaux listened to me with attention; as I spoke, his rigidity visibly relaxed; the ice was broken. He answered me without hesitation, that I had interpreted his own thoughts; that he never would undertake anything against the established powers; that he never would put himself forward, and that he had no personal ambition; but that he considered himself, in fact, the principle of order and stability; and that he would leave this principle untouched, were it only for the future peace of France; that this principle constituted his whole power; that he had no other; that he would always find sufficient force in himself to fulfil his duty, whatever it might be, and that God would then stand by him. 'If ever I return to France,' he added, 'it would be to promote conciliation; and I believe that I alone am able to effect that object fully.'"

"There was a sincerity in the words of the young prince," pursues M. Didier, "which brought conviction to the heart."

Although frank and open in speaking of his personal opinions, the Duke of Bordeaux seems to have been very reserved when speaking of men, and he evidently appears to have made M. Didier talk more than he talked himself. Upon this expression of opinions M. Didier makes the following remarks:—

"The Duke of Bordeaux is far from entertaining the principles of Charles X., and, to cite one example, the grandson repudiates all those forms—that etiquette, and that extreme respect paid to the royal person—which played so great a part in the House of Bourbon, and on which the grandfather laid so much stress. He disregards all these pompous inanities, and goes so far in this respect that he is determined, should he ever mount upon the throne of France, to have no court." And further, "The Duke of Bordeaux directs his attention to all the questions of the day; he studies them all thoroughly; he is acquainted with all the theories respecting labour. During his stay in England, he carefully visited its chief manufactories." And again—"Two questions principally occupy his mind—the administrative organisation of France, by the commune, and the social problem of the working classes. On this latter point he appeared to be imbued with social errors, and labouring under illusions. He attributes religious sentiments to the working classes of Paris, which they are far from entertaining, at least in the sense he attached to the words, and is not fully aware of the extent of their repugnance for the drapeau blanc." It must not be forgotten, that M. Didier does not take into account the progress of reactionary ideas in the few last months. M. Didier states, that he told the Prince this bitter truth, and was listened to with calmness and placidity. "He would have made, I am convinced," continues the republican visitor, in a sort of resumÉ, "an excellent constitutional monarch. The very disposition of his mind, with his natural qualities, seem all adapted to such a government; and his education has been directed with such ideas. Party-spirit represents him as an absolutist; and such he appears to the crowd in the distance of his exile. The truth is, that there is not perhaps in Europe a more sincere constitutionalist than he—I should call him also a religious liberal, without his devotion degenerating, as has been said, into bigotry." He then proceeds with a statement of his conviction in the moderate liberal ideas of the young prince, "which his forefathers might have condemned as those of a political heretic." "Many intrigues," continues the honest republican, "have been set on foot in his name, but I would wager boldly that he is mixed up in none, that he is ignorant of all, would disavow all. As much as his mother (the Duchess of Berri) was fond of adventure, is he averse to anything of the kind. He would not have a drop of blood shed for him. I do not blame him, in this appreciation of his character—quite the contrary; I only mean to say that this merit is not great, perhaps, inasmuch as it is in him a matter of temperament." "He possesses," pursues M. Didier, "good sense, candour, an excessive kindliness of heart, and an uncontrollable, I may say, uncontested natural generosity. He is an honest man, in the full force of the expression." What greater eulogium could the republican pass on his political adversary? The only words of blame which he let fall may be comprised in the following remark. "He seems to want a directing spirit; and perhaps wants resolution. His is a cultivated rather than an inventive mind: he probably conceives more than he creates, and receives more than he gives."

In justice to Monsieur Didier, who might appear to arrogate to himself a degree of discernment which went beyond all probable limits, we must not omit to note his own remarks, when, in another passage, he speaks of his own impressions. "It would be a ridiculous presumption, or very idle to imagine, that I could have captivated the confidence of the prince, or penetrated his secret character. I am far from putting forward so ridiculous a pretension. What was I to him? A stranger; at most a curious visitor. He evidently only said to me just what he wished to say, went only as far as he intended to go, and made me speak more than he spoke himself. I should have wished that it had been the contrary; but I was, of course, not the master of the conversation." And again he says, "God alone reads the heart! To him alone belongs the secret of men's consciences. But still I think I can take upon myself to affirm, that all the words of the prince were sincere."

On the person of the young prince M. Didier has the following—and although there may be, in truth, something of the Lord Burleigh shake of the head in the extreme complication of discernment contained in the first phrase, yet the impression evidently made upon the mind of the republican, by the appearance of the exiled heir of the throne of France, bears none the less the stamp of truthfulness:—"His physiognomy reveals an extreme uprightness of heart and mind, and a lively sentiment of duty and justice, united to a love of all that is good. In person he is of middle stature, and inclined to be stout; but he is far from having that obesity with which he is generally supposed, and I myself believed him, to be afflicted. The fall he had from his horse at Kirchberg, some years ago, has left traces of the accident. He walks heavily, and, when once seated, has difficulty in rising; but they say that he looks well on horseback. He has silky fair hair, and although rather full, and marked with the Bourbon type, his face is agreeable, frank, open, sympathetic, with an air of youth and health—the air, in fact, of his 28 years. He wears a collier de barbe and a slight mustache. His eyes are of a limpid blue, lively and soft at the same time; he listens well, and inquires constantly: he looks at you so straight and fixedly in the face, that I should consider it impossible for any one to look him in the face and lie. As to himself, one look suffices to assure you of his veracity."

The following remarks about the habits of the young prince are not without their historical interest, and complete the eulogium forced from the mouth of the republican. "His life is far from being an idle one; before and after breakfast he reads several letters, several newspapers, and reports, often of a very voluminous description, relative to the different questions which are the order of the day in France; then he gives a few hours of the afternoon to exercise. He scrupulously observes his religious duties, attending divine service two or three times a-week in the chapel of the chateau, and every Sunday at the parish church. He writes with considerable grace, and his letters are remarkable for their correctness and elegance."

Perhaps the most striking, and certainly the most touching, part of the book of M. Charles Didier, is that in which he speaks of the Duchess d'AngoulÊme. It belongs not exactly to the subject of legitimacy or its prospects in France; but the interest attached to it is so full of pathos, and, in an historical point of view, so considerable, that we cannot refrain from quoting a few words of the author's account of his interview with this remarkable princess.

M. Didier seems to have hesitated about being introduced to the aged duchess. He was naturally scrupulous as to the effect which might be produced upon the mind of this victim of revolutions, by the presentation of one of those republicans, to the very name of whom, the disastrous calamities of her early life must have inspired her with an unconquerable horror. But he was led on by the Duc de Levis, "not without a degree of uneasiness," and his reception by the austere princess, in her plain dark attire, and in her severely simple room, was as amiable as could be expected from one naturally stern, reserved, and cold almost to harshness in manner. M. Didier appears to have been inexpressibly touched by her appearance, as well as by her kindly reception of him. It is thus that he speaks of the poor "orpheline du Temple:"—"All party hatred must be extinguished in the presence of the reverses of fortune she has undergone. I had before me the woman who has suffered what woman never suffered here below, can never suffer again. What matter that she be princess? She is no less the daughter and the sister, thrice proscribed! She belongs no less to a human family. This is certainly the most striking historical figure in Europe. She produced the most profound impression upon me, and I could not conceal the emotion that thrilled through me. My heart was divided betwixt respect and pity. I seemed to see before me one of those victims of fatality, immortalised by antique art. Only Christian resignation has impressed upon the daughter of Louis XVI. a more touching stamp, and raised her on this Christian elevation far above the types of antiquity." What a homage is this, complete as it is pathetic, from the mouth of the descendant of the enemies of her race! The duchess seems to have questioned M. Didier much about that country which he would have imagined she must have abhorred, but which, he tells us, she cherishes with love resembling that of a spaniel to the master whose hand has beaten him. He speaks more than once of her extreme devotion, and indeed of that of the whole group of exiles, to their fatherland. Another trait, which calls for respect and admiration in the aged princess, lies in the moderation and tolerance which M. Didier records of her. "She spoke of France with tact and reserve, made inquiries as to the religious sentiments of the people of Paris, and mentioned, with feelings of admiration, the death of the Archbishop of Paris on the barricades of June. His was the only name of which she proffered mention." And when the conversation was made to turn upon the Orleans branch, now exiled in its turn, she was silent about Louis Philippe, but spoke in kind and affectionate terms of his family, and of the Duchess of Orleans; and when M. Didier addressed her with the words, "It is impossible, Madame, but that you must have seen, in the fall of Louis Philippe, the finger of God," she replied in words characteristic of that type of Christian resignation, "It is in all!" "The answer," pursues the narrator, "was given with the utmost simplicity, and without my being able to discover in it the least leaven of bitterness." "It may be boldly asserted that there was no gall in this heart, which has offered, as holocaust to God, all its griefs and all its passions. Religion is now the principal occupation, the only consolation, of a life tried by unparalleled adversity." When still further M. Didier—indiscreetly, it appears to us—pressed the point by saying, "But you must own, Madame, that in spite of your Christian magnanimity, the day you heard the news was not one of the most unhappy of your life." "She held her peace, but with an air which seemed to say, 'You ask too much.'"

After giving his testimony as to the extreme politeness of the Duchess d'AngoulÊme, and recording instances of her boundless charity, "immense," he says, "for her present revenue," M. Didier has the following touching description of the apartments of the aged princess. "The Duchess of AngoulÊme, lives in the midst of the souvenirs of her youth—and yet what souvenirs! Far from flying from them, she seems to cherish them; as if she found a strange funereal pleasure in filling each day the cup of bitterness, in order each day to drain it to the dregs. In her bedroom, which is of an austerity almost cloistral, she has around her only objects which must recall to her the tragic scenes of her childhood,—the portraits of her father, her mother, and her mother's friend, the Princess of Lamballe; near her bed, which is without curtains, a prie-dieu filled with relics sacred to her, such as the black waistcoat which her father wore in going to the scaffold, and the lace kerchief which her mother was forced to mend with her own hands before appearing at the Revolutionary Tribunal. She alone has the key of these sad memorials; and once a-year, on the 21st of January, she takes them out from the shrine which encloses them, and lays them before her, as if in order to live more nearly with the beloved dead who wore them. On that day she sheds her tears in the most complete retirement: she sanctifies the bloody anniversary by solitude and prayer."

On this subject there is yet more touching matter, which would lead us, however, too far. For the same reason we cannot follow the details into which M. Didier enters respecting the Duke of LÉvis, the young Duke of Blacas, M. de Montbel, and other adherents of the exiled family: they must be passed over, as not of immediate interest. The following words, however, are sufficiently remarkable in the mouth of the republican:—"I found them all not only polite and well-informed, but most reasonable upon political topics. They are no democrats, assuredly, but they are men of sense, who have advanced with the progress of the age, and are fully aware of the new needs and new interests of Europe in general, and of France in particular. They are no conspirators; that I will answer for."

M. Didier is pressed to stop the night; but, hurried in his journey, only remains to dinner; and it is in the drawing-room, before dinner, that he is presented to the young Duchess of Bordeaux. This figure in the group of royal exiles, although of less importance as regards the prosperity of legitimacy in France, and of the attachment which the family may hereafter command, is worth recording also, as an interesting historical portrait.

"This princess," pursues M. Didier, "is daughter of the late Duke of Modena. She speaks French with a mixed accent, half Italian, half German, which reveals her double origin, as German princess born in Italy. She is, I believe, two years older than her husband. She is slim, and rather thin, but of an elegant figure, with beautiful black wavy hair, dark eyes, full of life and spirit. A natural defect slightly impairs the effect of her mouth when she speaks, which is a pity, for, with this exception, she is a very pretty woman. She wore a white evening dress, with naked arms, and a velvet scarf upon her shoulders. Her toilet was, perhaps, too simple—a reproach rarely to be made—that is to say, with too little of personal coquetterie in it: it was easy to see that no Parisian femme de chambre had superintended the arrangement. Hers is evidently a nature distinguÉe. I was told she was of a kindly, easy disposition, and well educated; she was evidently desirous of pleasing. Although a princess of ancient race, she appeared to me to be timid; but her embarrassment was not without its charm of grace. Proud of her alliance with the descendant of Louis XIV., she has the highest opinion of her husband; and her love for him amounts, I was told, to adoration. She thinks him irresistible; and, more impatient than he, but impatient far more for him than for herself, she is firmly convinced that he has but to show himself, in order to subjugate all the world as he has subjugated her. In this lie all her political opinions; that is to say, her politics are those of the heart."

It is to be regretted, perhaps, that we have not space for the anecdotes of the moderation and good sense of the Duke of Bordeaux, which M. Didier records, as collected from the mouths of his adherents, and which must necessarily complete, upon the minds of the great portion of the French nation, the impression made by the rest of the book. But we must now hurry on.

The dinner of the exiled princely family is described by the republican visitor as simple, although served with a certain state. He sits by the side of the Duchess of AngoulÊme, whose every word is one of "politeness, courtesy, or forbearance." "The Duchess of Bordeaux," he says, "continually fixed her eyes upon me, as with a look of wonder. In truth, the position was a strange one—a French republican sitting at the table of a prescribed French prince, and eating out of plate engraved with the royal arms of France!" The evening passes, in this little court, almost as in a private family in some French chateau. Billiards, tapestry-work, conversation, occupy the various personages. The republican again converses with the prince, who listens to contradiction with the utmost good-humour. When he departs, the whole family express, in their last words, their longing for that country which he is about to revisit so soon, but from which they are exiled.

We have dwelt upon the book of M. Didier at considerable length, not only on account of its historical interest, but on account of the strange circumstances which induced its publication, its startling result, the sensation it has created, and the ultimate effect it may produce in France in paving the way for legitimacy, by attaching interest and admiration to the person of its representative—perhaps, also, because it does honour to the sincerity of the author, and to the more honest republican party to which he belongs. But we have thus excluded ourselves from the possibility of giving more than a brief notice of the other book alluded to above, that of the Vicomte d'Arlincourt, although, in truth, it merits, in all respects, a far more extended observation, as a frank and straightforward expression of the sentiments of the legitimists. We must confine ourselves, then, principally to the circumstances which, independently of its merits, have given the little book so great a notoriety in France, and carried it on to the almost unexampled honours of a forty-eighth edition. They are curious enough in themselves, and bear some analogy to those which have determined the publication and the success of the book of M. Didier, inasmuch as it was the ardency of republicanism which forced upon the public notice a book, likely to forward the cause of legitimacy in France. The little work of M. d'Arlincourt is written, however, avowedly upon legitimist principles, and for the purpose of awakening the attention of the nation to the cause of the man whom the author looks upon as the ultimate saviour of the troubled country. This legitimist book, under the title of "Dieu le veut," written after the bloody days of June, might, in spite of the vigour of its language, and the justice and good sense of most of its reasonings and remarks, never have emerged so prominently from the inundation of political pamphlets which floods republican France, had it not pleased the government, pushed on by the clamours of a more violent party, to seize the work, and bring the author to trial. The affair made a considerable sensation in August last; the court of justice was crowded: the interest excited was great. The passages more particularly incriminated were, that which likened the republic to the plague; that which said the sovereignty of the people, when not a bloody truth, was a ridiculous mystification; and that which contained the words, "the Republic will have proved to be the necessary transition from a revolutionary tempest to a social regeneration. In the general movement of men's minds is written the happy advent of the chosen of Providence. He draws nearer! he will come!" After the defence of his own counsel, M. d'Arlincourt himself rose and supported, in a striking speech, the honesty of his intentions and his designs as a bon citoyen, without bating one iota of his legitimist principles. The result was a unanimous verdict of "not guilty" from the jury. A burst of applause, which no authority could check, resounded through the court. It was from the common classes, also, that came the approbation: workmen shouted in the court, "Dieu le veut! Dieu le veut!" to the rhythm of the famous "des lampions!" and, on the morrow, delegates of the dames de la Halle, and of the artisans of Paris came, with bouquets, to felicitate the author on his acquittal. We will not lay an unnecessary weight upon this movement of a portion of the lower classes, which may arise from the sentiments of a small minority, although perhaps more considerable than seems to be generally supposed. The result, however, of the trial has been to spread the book through the country in its almost interminable editions, and thus to spread more and more abroad those legitimist feelings, which, we confidently assert are daily more and more gaining ground throughout France, and which may one day, in case of another revolution, that may be brought upon the country by the excesses of the ultra party, bear their fruits. At all events the destiny of these two books, in furthering the cause of legitimacy, in the one case contrary to the opinions of the author, in the other by the very means intended to check and even crush it, is singular enough.

Whatever may be written upon the dark pages of a nation's future, it is very evident that "Legitimacy in France" has made considerable ground among the masses. It cannot, certainly, be said to have been from the influence of convictions, or, in the general herd, from any reliance upon theories of legitimacy, properly speaking. It has arisen from disgust and distrust of other governments; from the sad experience of the miseries occasioned to the country by the present revolution; from despair in the stability of a republican rule, with insurrection always growling beneath the surface; from hope in a greater stability and confidence under a legitimate monarchy. Legitimacy, then, can but grow and flourish in France in the chances of revolutions; and if it triumphs, it will be by the excesses of its enemies, and the restless subversive attempts of the ultra-republican party. But again: who can say confidently that it will triumph? Still more: who shall dare, in the present state of France, to say that it shall not?