Memoirs | Page 5

to whom she doubtless brought back memories of
his own youth. He came to her and kissed her, and gazed at her for a
long time, holding her hand. Then, turning to my father, he said,
"Monsieur, if I were forty years younger, your daughter should be
Queen of France," whereupon he kissed her over again.
Our dancing lessons, which were looked upon as recreation, alternated
with walks about Paris. The girls went in one direction, and the boys in
another. When we went out thus, one tutor alone took the extra duty of
looking after us. When it was Trognon who came out, we always
expected to be taken to Sautelet's, a bookseller in the Rue de Richelieu,
whose establishment became, I recollect, in later days, the head office
of the NATIONAL. There Trognon would hold forth amongst the
journalists, while the clerks talked to us. I remember their showing me
the splendid manuscript of the Memoirs of Saint-Simon, which Sautelet
was then publishing. When, on the other hand, it was Cuvillier-Fleury
who marshalled us, the objects of our walks became more varied, and

we soon began to discover that there was not unfrequently a petticoat
somewhere about. Yet I owe to him the precious memory of a visit to
the studio of Eugene Delacroix; and also of one to M. de Lavalette,
Postmaster-General under the first Napoleon, a most interesting man,
well known for his celebrated escape on the eve of the day appointed
for his execution, after the Hundred Days, when his wife came and took
his place, and brought him garments to escape in. But oftenest of all we
used to go to a bookseller's in the Rue Saint-Andre-des-Arts, who was a
great friend of Fleury's, and we were always sure to find either him or
his charming wife at home.
Fleury's friendship for this bookseller was indeed the cause of a
comical adventure. In the confusion of the first few days of the
Revolution of 1830, the gentleman in question appeared before us with
white belt and a sword over his civilian's dress. "Look here, Fleury,"
said he, "what use can I be to you today?" Fleury considered for a
minute, and then he said he really didn't quite see, but that after all he
thought nobody had troubled their heads about the Prefecture of Police.
"I'll be off there," said my bookseller, and off he went, appointed
himself Prefect of Police, and performed all his functions for several
days. I have never heard of him since.
Turn about with these walks, too, we had lessons in gymnastics, of
which science a certain Colonel Amoros was the apostle. This worthy
colonel gave prizes to everybody, so as to make his classes popular.
These prizes took the form of collars, inscribed in large painted letters
with the particular merit of the pupil rewarded, such as agility, courage,
strength, &c. One pupil was given a prize for "hidden virtue." After the
gymnastic lessons came riding lessons, for which we were taken to the
Cirque Olympique, I and my two elder brothers being always put in the
charge of a single tutor. But as he invariably found the riding school
too cold, he used to go and shut himself up in the manager's room, and
leave us to the tender care of Laurent Franconi and the rough riders,
which amounted to leaving us to ourselves. This icy cold arena, in the
Place du Chateau-d'Eau consisted of one immense hall, where the place
of the pit was taken up by the circus or riding school for all sorts of
horsemanship, which circus was connected with the stage by inclined

planes, whenever a military piece with battles in it was performed. In
this circus Laurent Franconi made us practise "la haute ecole," and his
assistants. Bassin and Lagoutte, taught us to vault on horseback, astride
and sitting, and standing upright--after every fashion, in fact. And to
our great amusement, too, these lessons, falling as they did on Sunday
afternoons, generally coincided with the rehearsals on the stage, in
which we joyfully took our share during the intervals we were allowed
for rest, scaling the practicable scenery, or taking part with the artists in
certain interludes not mentioned on the programme. This was not
indeed our only initiation into theatrical art, a career bearing so much
analogy to that of every prince. Taking advantage of the close
proximity of the Palais-Royal to the Comedie-Francaise, my father had
added a regular course of dramatic literature to the educational plan he
had laid out for us. So very often when the old stock plays were being
given at the Francais, he would take us by a door leading from his
drawing-room into the passage which separates the side scenes from
the artists' green-room, and leave