into the orifice, and tried again. The blood spurted out; the Emperor was choking, and blowing the crimson bubbles into the air. The strength which the Professor employed forced the tube, not into the windpipe, but into the tissues of the neck in front. At length, sinking back into a squatting posture upon his heels, he asked that Bramann should be summoned. The assistant came, and, while the Professor held open the sides of the incision, slipped the cannula into its place. Upon these surgical laurels Von Bergmann practically retired. But his excited violence left a deep impression on the Emperor's mind, and, in Sir M. Mackenzie's opinion, fatally influenced the course of his malady. On the 16th of June the painful tragedy ended. It is some gratification to learn that from first to last, except for the causes alluded to, the Emperor suffered no pain.

With what indefatigable spirit Sir M. Mackenzie fought the progress of disease under exceptional circumstances of external difficulty is, and probably will be, known to very few. If he had only saved his patient in May 1887 from the imminent risk of 'easy death ' into which the Crown Prince was unwittingly betrayed, he would have abundantly justified the unshaken confidence of those who best knew and valued his untiring devotion and unfailing resource, and to whom the life of the Emperor was most inestimably precious. But he achieved more than this. By his skill the Emperor was spared to his wife and family for many months, and enabled to take part in the marriage festivities of his son's wedding. Through his skill Frederick the Third lived to ascend the throne of the new German Empire, for the existence of which he was the first to see and to seize the precise, and perhaps the irrevocable opportunity-to reward his trusted comrades, and, encouraged by the esteem of Europe and cheered by the loving enthusiasm of the German people, to set before the world the high example of his heroic death. By his skill, finally, the Emperor's place is secured for ever in history; the memory of a Prince who dies before his accession may be swept away in the stream of time, but a sovereign who has once reigned can never be dethroned from memory.

R. E. PROTHERO.

THE MEMOIRS

OF THE COMTE DE BRIENNE.

IMPROVED facilities of communication with Paris and a more general knowledge of the French language are leading to an increased demand for French literary works. This is amply indicated by the greater attention given in our press to French publications of merit, and by the establishment of an increasing number of French booksellers in various parts of the metropolis. For the present, however, the taste of English readers for French works is chiefly confined to fiction. Only the other day one of these booksellers replied to my inquiry for some new publications that he could only offer me novels, as there was practically no demand for books of any other description. This may not be a matter for surprise, as fiction is the most popular form which literature takes, but it is none the less a matter for regret. Discrimination is not general, and the advantage which may be derived from one good French novel is more than counteracted by the perusal of scores of bad ones. Such compositions as Octave Feuillet's Sibylle, George Sand's rural stories and tales to her grandchildren, some of the elder Dumas' historical novels, Theuriet's earlier works, to mention only a few, are lost amongst, or discarded for, the productions of the realistic school, which are, or should be, as offensive to our notions of art as to our ideas of decency. One vast and most important branch of French literature is almost ignored in this country, though it has the advantage of combining the charm of style and the fascination of romance with the reality of history. The natural reserve of the English character has, with some few exceptions, deterred our notabilities in the past from recording their private experiences for the benefit of posterity. On the other hand, the greater effusiveness of the French character has had the effect of preserving for us an inexhaustible store of personal and historical reminiscences of the deepest and widest interest. In most instances, the exigencies of modern life preclude the perusal of some of the most valuable of these memoirs. Few can now find time to read such voluminous records as those of the Duc de St. Simon, the Marquis d'Argenson, or the Cardinal de Retz. But

there are many other and shorter memoirs which, if read chronologically, would give a clear insight into the political and social condition of France from the days of Froissart, the contemporary of Edward the Third, down to the Revolution of 1789; and convey in a most attractive manner a correct knowledge of the men, manners, and customs of successive generations. On the ground of propriety, it may be alleged that there is little to choose between the French novel and the French memoir. But, if French books are to be read, it is manifestly desirable that we should read those which have, at any rate, the merit of conveying historical instruction as well as entertainment. It would, of course, be futile to judge France by English ideas, and in reading her history we must not lose sight of her national characteristics. Foremost among these we find that, for good or evil, women have played a conspicuous part in the history of France-a state of things which Frenchmen accepted as a matter of course. The entire life of Henry the Fourth, the ideal of a French monarch, was moulded by his gallantries, which even helped to endear him to his subjects. We cannot forget that, but for the dagger of Ravaillac, he would have plunged his country into war in pursuit of his passion for the Princesse de Condé, who had sought refuge from him in Brussels. A special reason why the present moment seems appropriate to advocate the reading of French memoirs is because our attention is being directed to the celebration of the centenary of the Revolution of '89-not only to the dramatic episodes of the struggle but to the investigation of its remotest causes. On these, the memoirs of the preceding century throw an abundant light. Among perhaps the least known in this country, but not the least attractive, are those of the Comte de Brienne, published in Paris in 1828, and edited by M. Barrière.

The Comte de Brienne was descended from one Martial de Loménie, a clerk of the Council, who being a zealous Huguenot, was killed in the Massacre of St. Bartholomew in 1572. Henry the Fourth adopted his son, sent him as ambassador to London, and made him a Secretary of State. The next Loménie, the first of the family who was styled Comte de Brienne, negotiated in 1624 the marriage of Henrietta Maria with Charles the First, and afterwards became what we should term Secretary for Foreign Affairs. His death in 1666 elicited from Louis the Fourteenth the flattering eulogium, 'I lose to-day the oldest, most useful, and best-informed of my Ministers.' His son, Louis Henri de Loménie, Comte de Brienne, writer of the memoirs, was born in 1635, three years before the birth of Louis the Fourteenth, and seven before the death of Cardinal Richelieu. At seven years of age he and his brother were appointed pages to Louis the Fourteenth, who was then in his fifth year. In the opening pages of his memoirs he gives an amusing account of his first reception by his youthful sovereign :

I remember that Madame de Lasalle (Woman of the Bedchamber to the Queen Regent), who was appointed by her Majesty to the guardianship of the King, received us, a pike in her hand, and beating a drum, at the head of the numerous company of pages whom she had under her command. She wore a large hat covered with black feathers, and carried a sword by her side. She gracefully placed muskets on our shoulders, and made us give a military salute; then kissed us on the forehead, and blessed us in the most cavalier manner. We next went through our exercises, in which the King, though still wearing a pinafore, took much pleasure. His amusements were all martial. His fingers were always beating a drum, and as soon as his small hands could hold the sticks, he had a kettledrum in front of him, on which he was constantly hammering.

Young Brienne, however, was not allowed to waste his best years in these pastimes, and was sent to school. Though he candidly acknowledged that he preferred Court life, and even confesses that he had already begun to be corrupted by it, his subsequent career gave ample proof that he was no idler. He states that he learned geography, Latin, Greek, engineering, and history, and adds that he became proficient in athletic exercises. He tells us and this is typical of the social conditions of the time-that by these latter exterior accomplishments he secured the good graces of those who directed the education of the young King. Brienne passes very rapidly over the next eight years of his life, the period during which the troubles of the Fronde agitated France. Three of these years, fortunately for him, he spent in travel, visiting the chief countries of the Continent, where he learned languages, and contracted a taste for works of art, which proved a great resource to him in his later life. On his return he secured to himself the favourite opinion of the King by giving in the presence of the Court a polished and interesting account of his travels. Of the wars of the Fronde he records an incident which vividly illustrates the class feeling of the period. He says that the small Castle of Vieses was besieged, and that its governor,

though not a nobleman, had the audacity to hold it against the royal army actually in sight of the King. But the King's Marshal would stand no nonsense. The governor was taken, and I had the pleasure of seeing him executed from my windows.

However much such a sentiment may jar on us, it was only the natural outcome of a state of things in which the King was absolute, and was looked upon as the embodiment of the power and order of the nation. Louis the Fourteenth while still a child, long before the Queen Regent surrendered the government into his hands, began to evince a consciousness of his own position. Brienne relates that the Queen Regent, to amuse the young King, made him a present of a chariot drawn by eight horses. But the wars of the Fronde, which were then raging, filled the mind of Louis, and even this regal toy failed to beguile him. On the occasion, says Brienne,

the King looked absent. I went up to him and saw that he cried, but not like

a child. They were tears which anger and indignation could draw from the eyes of grown-up men. I took his hand, kissed it, and said, 'Why do you cry, dear master?' He answered, 'I shall not always be a child!-but be silent; I wish that no one should notice my tears. Those Bordelais rogues shall not always dictate to me! I shall punish them as they deserve! Be silent, I say, and do not betray the confidence I put in you!'

The civil war continued, and the King, who was then in his fourteenth year, was more or less a prisoner in Paris. He amused himself by constructing a fort in the garden, and divided his young friends into its defenders and assailants. It was at this time, two days before the King came of age, when Brienne was in his seventeenth year, that he received the reversion of his father's office. The custom of reversion, which lasted until the Revolution, obtained in most of the great clerical, ministerial, and Court appointments. Originally in the gift of the sovereign, many of them could be bought and sold, and we constantly hear of the reversion of civil and Court places changing hands by sale in this singular fashion. Brienne's father, as we have seen, was Secretary of State. On September 6, 1651, the last day of Anne of Austria's Regency, young Brienne took his oath to the Queen on his appointment as Assistant Secretary of State, and kissed hands, never tiring,' as he ingenuously says, of kissing those beautiful hands.' On the following day, in a dress covered with gold, and wearing a sword, he stood next the King when he declared his majority to the Parlement. Several succeeding chapters he devotes to events prior to his own personal experience, mainly to those relating to Richelieu's administration. While on this subject he gives his version of an historic episode:

The Cardinal was desperately in love, and made no secret of it, with a great Princess [Anne of Austria], whom the respect which I owe to her memory prevents me from naming here. The Princess and her confidant [the Duchesse de Chevreuse] were in those days quite as much inclined to amusement as to intrigue. One day they were talking together and laughing at the amorous Cardinal. 'He's desperately in love, madame,' said the confidant, and I don't know anything he would not do to please your Majesty. Shall I send him one evening into your room dressed as a mountebank, and oblige him to dance the Saraband? If you wish it he will come.' 'Folly!' replied the Princess; but she was a woman, young, high-spirited, and fond of fun. The idea of such a sight struck her as entertaining. She took her friend at her word, who at once went to the Cardinal. The great Minister, although he had all the affairs of Europe in his head, still had his heart full of love. He accepted the strange assignation, already thinking himself assured of his conquest. But it happened otherwise. Boccau [a famous musician], who played the violin, was sent for. He was told to keep the secret—but are such secrets ever kept? and it was through him that the circumstances became known. Richelieu was attired in green velvet pantaloons, with garters ornamented with silver bells; he held castanets in his hands, and danced the Saraband, which was played by Boccau-the lady spectators and Boccau being hidden behind a screen, from which the movements of the dancer were seen. They laughed immoderately. How could they do otherwise? as I, in my fiftieth year, am still laughing over it. Boccau gone, the Cardinal went through all the stages of a declaration. But the Princess