Memoirs | Page 2

us except my brother Nemours, whom he
questioned about his Latin lessons. Nemours began to stammer, and
was only saved from disgrace by the opportune entrance of the Prince
de Carignan.
At dinner the Twelfth Night customs were duly observed, and when I
broke my cake I found the bean within it. I must confess the fact had
not been altogether unforeseen, and my mother had consequently
primed me as to my behaviour. This did not prevent me from feeling
heartily shy when I saw every eye fixed on me. I got up from the table,

and carried the bean on a salver to the Duchesse d'Angouleme. I loved
her dearly even then, that good kind Duchess! for she had always been
so good to us, ever since we were babies, and never failed to give us the
most beautiful New Year's gifts. My respectful affection deepened as I
grew old enough to realize her sorrows and the nobility of her nature,
and I was always glad, after we were separated by the events of 1830,
to take every opportunity of letting her know how unalterable my
feelings for her were. She broke the ice by being the first to raise her
glass to her lips, when I had made her my queen, and Louis XVIII. was
the first to exclaim, "The Queen drinks." A few months later the king
was dead, and I watched his funeral procession from the windows of
the Fire Brigade Station in the Rue de la Paix, as it passed on its way to
Saint-Denis.
Then came the echo of the excitement caused by the coronation of
Charles X., that great ceremonial of which the Cathedral of Rheims was
the scene, and which, coming as it did after all the horrors of the
Revolution, gave rise to the sanguine hope that the ancient monarchy
would repair every disaster now, just as it had in the time of Charles
VII. But our childish ideas were not of so far-reaching a nature. It was
the splendour displayed that interested us--the dresses, the carriages,
and so on, of the princes and ambassadors who came from all parts of
the world to greet the opening of the new monarch's reign. Numbers of
artists solicited my father's permission to do his portrait, in the gold and
ermine robes of a prince of the blood which he wore at the coronation,
and our pet amusement at the time was to go and see papa "sitting as
Pharamond." I said Pharamond, like my elders, although my own
historical knowledge was of the most elementary description. To be
frank, I was exceedingly backward, and have always remained so. My
mother had taught me to read, but beyond that I had reached the age of
six knowing nothing or hardly anything. But I was a very good rider
and went out alone on a pony Lord Bristol had given my father, which I
rode boldly, and I might even say recklessly. The pony's name was
Polynice. He and I understood each other perfectly, and I was his friend
to the last. I took care he should end his days in the park at St. Cloud,
where he roamed in freedom, with a stable of his own to retire into if
the fancy took him. Often and often I have been to see him, in that

same stable, which he ended by never leaving except to come and greet
us, and warm himself in the sunshine. He died, there, fortunately for
himself, full of years, just before the pleasant revolutionary occurrences
of 1848, in which he would certainly have had his share. But my father
desired me to be something more than a mere horseman. He got me a
tutor, and from that day out, for several years, my recollections are
divided, to the exclusion of everything else, between my education and
my life with my family. My tutor was called M. Trognon, and his name
brought many
[Illustration: Looks a little like a courtroom unfortunately without a
caption.]
a jest upon him, amongst others a line of Victor Hugo's in Ruy Bias
about that
Affreuse compagnonne, Dont la barbe fleurit et dont le nez trognonne.
"Fleurit" was an allusion to Cuvillier-Fleury, my brother Aumale's tutor,
and Victor Hugo thought he owed both the gentlemen a grudge. M.
Trognon, a distinguished pupil of the Ecole Normale, had begun his
teaching career as professor of rhetoric at the college at Langres, where,
coming in one day to take his class, he found his desk occupied by a
donkey, which his pupils had established in his seat "Gentlemen," he
said as he went out, "I leave you with a professor who is worthy of
you." Soon after, he was recalled to Paris, as assistant to M. Guizot in
his