The Comte de Chambord (the Henri V. of the Legitimists) was virtually offered the throne of France in either 1874 or 1875, but all the negotiations failed because he obstinately refused to recognise the Tricolour, and insisted upon retaining the white flag of his ancestors.  Any one with the smallest knowledge of the psychology of the French nation must have known that under no circumstances whatever would they consent to abandon their adored Tricolour.  The Tricolour is part of themselves:  it is a part of their very souls; it is more than a flag, it is almost a religion.  I wonder that in 1875 it never occurred to any one to suggest to the Comte de Chambord the ingenious expedient of the Des Cars boys.  The Tricolour would be retained as the national flag, but the King could have as his personal standard a white flag bordered with almost invisible bands of blue and red.  Technically, it would still be a tricolour, and on the white expanse the golden fleur-de-lys of the Bourbons could be embroidered, or any other device.

Even had the Comte de Chambord ascended the throne, I am convinced that his tenure of it as Henri V. would have been a very brief one, given the temperament of the French nation.

My youngest brother managed to contract typhoid fever at Cannes about this time, and during his convalescence he was moved to an hotel standing on much higher ground than our villa, on account of the fresher air there.  A Madame Goldschmidt was staying at this hotel, and she took a great fancy to the little fellow, then about six years old.  On two occasions I found Madame Goldschmidt in my brother’s room, singing to him in a voice as sweet and spontaneous as a bird’s.  My brother was a very highly favoured little mortal, for Madame Goldschmidt was no other than the world-famous Jenny Lind, the incomparable songstress who had had all Europe at her feet.  She had then retired from the stage for some years, but her voice was as sweet as ever.  The nineteenth century was fortunate in having produced two such peerless singers as Adelina Patti and Jenny Lind, “the Swedish Nightingale.”  The present generation are not likely to hear their equals.  Both these great singers had that same curious bird-like quality in their voices; they sang without any effort in crystal-clear tones, as larks sing.

In 1865 it was announced that there would be a great regatta at Cannes in the spring of 1866, and that the Emperor Napoleon would give a special prize for the open rowing (not sculling) championship of the Mediterranean.  We further learnt that the whole of the French Mediterranean fleet would be at Villefranche at the time, and that picked oarsmen from the fleet would compete for the championship.  My father at once determined to win this prize; the idea became a perfect obsession with him, and he determined to have a special boat built.  When we returned to England, he went to Oxford and entered into long consultations with a famous boat-builder there.  The boat, a four-oar, had to be built on special lines.  She must be light and fast, yet capable of withstanding a heavy sea, for off Cannes the Mediterranean can be very lumpy indeed, and it would be obviously inconvenient to have the boat swamped, and her crew all drowned.  The boat-builder having mastered the conditions, felt certain that he could turn out the craft required, which my father proposed to stroke himself.