The king was perfectly right in saying that it
was not by any intrigue or plots of his own, but by
the infatuation of the elder branch of the
Bourbons, that he was placed on the throne of
France. Many and many a time did those who
were aware of the unpopularity of Charles the
Tenth tempt the Duke of Orleans to co–operate
in measures for the overthrow of the legitimate
dynasty; but whether from timidity, from doubt
as to the success of conspiracy, or from the
conviction that the Bourbons were paving their
way to their infallible self–destruction, it is
quite certain that Louis Philippe repudiated
every proposal made to him to engage in or
encourage any attempt to overthrow the
established throne. Here is another colloquy:

"Do not suppose that I would ever consent
to be such a nobody as your sovereigns are, to
sit in council, to hear what my councillors say,
and to decide nothing myself. What am I there
for but to preside and to direct matters? Is
a king to be a cypher, is he to do nothing, and
is what he says to count for nothing?" "But,
sire, it appears to me that our system, which
protects the person of the king from animadversions,
and disassociates his name from the
errors of his government, is safer and better
than to allow him to be involved in party
politics, and that he should rather avoid than
seek responsibility." "That may do very well
in England, but it will not do here. I must be
known as the real president of my privy council."

On one occasion, in answer to a remark that
kings were likely to be misled by flatterers, he
said, "Peoples have their flatterers too, worse
than the flatterers of kings." And this was one
of his axioms which, in different forms, he liked
to repeat. It lay, in fact, at the foundation of
his policy, and was the cause of his downfal;
being, indeed, the simple assumption that, in
any controversy between the nation and
himself, the nation was most likely to be wrong
and himself in the right. He did not ask
himself the question, Who, in case of such a
controversy, is likely to be the strongest?

He was once describing to me how difficult
it was to reconcile all the divergences of opinion
among his advisers, who at times would be
pulling different ways, and concluded by saying,

"Nobody but myself can drive that state–
carriage." I answered him, "But supposing
you overturn it, sire?" This was not very long
before his downfal, when it was obvious to all
who knew anything about the matter, that he was
driving the state–carriage to his own perdition.
He took offence at a phrase which had in it
less of courtesy than of warning, and I heard he
said to one of his attendants afterwards, "Ce
B. m'a dit des choses bien vertes!"

There was no want of personal bravery in
Louis Philippe. He was not like the Grand
Monarque celebrated by Boileau, whose sense
of dignity kept him "sur la rive" when the
battle was raging on the other side of the river.
He could expose his person to danger, and did
again and again confront bodily perils with the
utmost calmness and self–possession; yet he was
utterly wanting in presence of mind, and his
intellectual faculties seemed to fail him when
they were most needed. When serious
perplexities gathered round him, he showed the
greatest indecision, and his own purposes
fluctuated and gave way under every suggestion
from others—especially if those suggestions
appealed to the weak side of his nature.
Nothing could be more ignoble than his flight
from France—full of fear when no man pursued
or regarded him.

That which was so attractive and admirable
in the king's personal and private character
—his great affection for his family—was one
of the prominent causes of the mistakes he made
in his public and political career. He had the
keenest perception of everything which was
near to him, or associated with his domestic
interests, but saw very dimly what was in the
distance; or saw it only through the medium of
his own individual affections. Moreover, he
looked to "money" as the great means of social
influence. He was very desirous of proving to
me that the allowance made to British Royalty
on our Civil List was more liberal than his
Finance Minister was willing to propose, or his
own devoted Chamber of Deputies likely to
sanction, in his own case. He certainly managed,
through the agency of the Electoral Law, to
secure a large majority in the "Lower House,"
of which more than half were at the time of his
overthrow either public functionaries or in the
receipt of public money. He always boasted of
his personal ascendancy in the Chamber; but as
the Chamber had little hold on the sympathy or
good will of the people, he trusted to a breaking
reed when he relied on a support essentially
weak and rotten. It is said, and I believe
truly, that every ministerial deputy had at least
five appointments to office at his disposal—
Post–offices, Débits de Tabac, Collectors of the
direct and indirect Taxes. Schoolmasters and
many other functionaries obtained their posts
through parliamentary influences; and these
appointments were the bond which, on the
one hand, bound the deputy to the government,
and on the other to the elector, who
looked to his presentation as the omnipotent
giver of good gifts. These vibrations of
corruption were deemed by the king the best
securities for the permanence of his dynasty, and
the becoming instruments for satisfying all who
were within the narrow pale of privilege. Those
without neither were, nor in his estimate ought
to be, considered as of much account; the
satisfied few had in their hands all the legislative
power—the discontented many had none. In
no country could this state of things be more
intolerable than in France. Liberty, with the
necessary machinery for its establishment and
support, is little understood, and has, in fact,
been little enjoyed in France through any of the
forms of government—Republican, Kingly, or
Imperial—which have followed the great Revolution;
but equality is dear to every Frenchman.
Equality was the great principle established by
the popular triumph after the great struggle,