Chapter III (2)

"On Sundays and great festivals M. de Talleyrand was always present at mass when he was at Valençay; on his two patron saints' days, St. Charles and St. Maurice, he was also present, and would have felt hurt if the vicar had not come to say mass at the Château. His behaviour in chapel was entirely proper, and notwithstanding his infirmity he would always kneel down at the right moment. If there was no mass, if people came late or made a noise, he noticed it as being improper. During mass he read attentively either the _Funeral Orations_ of Bossuet or his _Discourse upon Universal History_. One Sunday, however, in November 1837 he had forgotten his book, and took one of the two which Pauline had brought for herself. It was the _Imitation of Jesus Christ_. As he gave it back to her he turned to me and asked me to give him a copy of this admirable book. I offered him mine, which he afterwards took to mass in preference to any other.

"He regarded it as important that the officiating priest should perform the service in full, and often quoted the Archbishop of Paris as the ecclesiastic whose conduct of the service was most to his taste and most dignified. One Sunday I ventured to tell him that during mass my thoughts had wandered in his direction. He wished to know them, and I ventured to tell him that I had been wondering what his thoughts could be when he remembered that he too had held the same distinction as the priest officiating before him. His reply seemed to me to be an obvious proof of the delusion under which he was concerning his true ecclesiastical position. He said: 'Why do you think it strange to see me at mass? I go there as you do, or any one else. You are constantly forgetting that I have resigned my orders, which fact makes my position very simple.' At that time he wished to show me the letters granting his resignation, but they were at Paris. After his death I found them, with all the papers relating to this business, and very curious they are. I examined them carefully; they showed me that his marriage alone had been the great obstacle to his reconciliation with the Church; his other offences had been pardoned and the ecclesiastical censure removed at Paris by Cardinal Caprara in the name of the Pope.

"I referred just now to the attention with which M. de Talleyrand used to read Bossuet's _Discourse on Universal History_; this fact recalls to my mind an incident which seemed to me remarkable. One day at Valençay, I think in the year 1835, he asked me to come into his room. I found him there reading. 'Come,' he said, 'I wish to show you how mysteries should be spoken of; read aloud and read slowly.' I read the following: "In the year 4000 of the world's history, Jesus Christ the son of Abraham in time, the Son of God in eternity, was born of a virgin.' 'Learn the passage by heart,' he said to me, 'and see with what authority and what simplicity all mysteries may be concentrated in these few lines. Thus and thus only it is proper to speak of holy things. They are imposed upon us, but not explained to us. That fact alone secures their acceptance; in other forms they are worthless, for doubt begins when authority ends, and authority, tradition, and dominion are only revealed sufficiently in a Catholic church.' He always had something unpleasant to say about Protestantism; he had seen it at close quarters in America, and had preserved a disagreeable memory of it.

"In the month of December 1837 I felt seriously ill. We were then at my house at Rochecotte, where, unfortunately, spiritual resources are few. However, as I felt in some danger I wished to send for the local clergyman. My uncle heard of it, and as I was getting well he showed some surprise. 'So you have reached that point,' he said to me; 'and how did you get there?' I told him as simply as I could, and he listened with much interest. In conclusion I added that, among many other serious considerations, I had not forgotten that of my social position, which I was the more bound to remember in view of its importance. He then interrupted me quickly and said: 'In truth there is nothing less aristocratic than unbelief.' Two days afterwards he re-opened a similar conversation of his own accord, made me go through the same details, then looked at me steadily and said: 'You believe, then?' 'Yes, sir,' I replied, 'firmly.'

"During our last stay together at Rochecotte he heard of the arrest of the Archbishop of Cologne; he seemed to regard it as an important event. 'This may give us back the line of the Rhine,' he said immediately. 'In any case, it is a grain of Catholicism sown in Europe; you will see it rise and grow vigorously.'

"At that time I came across a passage dealing with the limits of the spiritual and temporal powers, which is to be found in the discourse delivered by Fénelon at the consecration of the Archbishop of Cologne. I showed this fine passage to my uncle, who was delighted with it, and said: 'That should be copied and sent to the King of Prussia.'

"When we returned to Paris in the month of January 1838 M. de Talleyrand was soon deprived of the little exercise which he had been able hitherto to take. He sprained his foot at the English Embassy, where he was dining, on January 27. The winter was very cold, and the douching which was ordered for his sprained foot to restore its strength gave him a cold. The cold became bronchitis, and he could not sleep or eat. Every morning he used to complain of his harassing insomnia. 'When one cannot sleep,' he said, 'one thinks terribly.' Once he added: 'During these long nights I recall many events of my life.' 'Can you give yourself reasons for them all?' I asked him. 'No,' he said; 'in truth there are some I do not understand in the least; others that I can explain and excuse; and others, too, for which I blame myself the more severely as they were performed with extreme carelessness, though they have since been my chief cause of self-reproach. If I had acted according to any system or principle, then I should certainly understand them, but my actions were performed without consideration and with the carelessness of that age, as was almost everything done in our youth.' I told him that it was preferable, in my opinion, to have acted thus than as a result of false doctrine. He admitted that I was right.

"It was at the end of one of these conversations that your letter arrived, M. l'Abbé, the letter that you quote in your interesting narrative. He handed it to me to read, and said somewhat abruptly: 'If I were to fall seriously ill, I should ask for a priest. Do you think the Abbé Dupanloup would come?' 'I have no doubt of it,' I replied; 'but he could only be of any use to you if you re-entered the communion from which you have unfortunately departed.' 'Yes,' he replied, 'I owe something to Rome, I know well, and have thought of it for a long time.' 'For how long?' I asked him, surprised, I admit, at this unexpected beginning. 'Since the last visit of the Archbishop of Bourges to Valençay, and afterwards when the Abbé Taury came there. I then wondered why the Archbishop, who at that time was more directly my spiritual pastor, did not open the subject. Why did the apostle of Saint-Sulpice never speak to me?' 'Unfortunately,' I replied, 'they would not have dared.' 'Yet,' he said, 'I would have welcomed anything of the kind.' Deeply moved by such satisfactory words, I took his hand, and, standing before him with tears in my eyes, I said: 'Why wait for any one to open the question? Why not take for yourself spontaneously, freely, and nobly the step that is at once most honourable to yourself, most consoling to the Church and to all right-minded people? I am sure that you would find Rome well disposed, while the Archbishop of Paris is deeply attached to you; so make the trial.' He did not interrupt me, and I was able to go further into this delicate and even thorny question, though it was a question that I thoroughly understood, as it had been repeatedly explained to me by M. de Quélen, who had been anxious to make me realise all its bearings. We were interrupted before I had been able to say all I wished, but on going to my room I wrote M. de Talleyrand a long letter under stress of my deep devotion. He read it with that trustfulness with which he was accustomed to rely upon my instinct when his reputation and his real interest was at stake. So my letter made an impression upon him, though he did not tell me so until later, when he gave me a paper for M. de Quélen, of which I will speak afterwards.

"In the month of March 1838 he read a eulogy upon M. Reinhard at the Academy of Moral and Political Science. His doctor feared the effect upon him of such an enterprise. Our attempts to dissuade him were in vain. 'This is my last appearance in public,' he said, 'and nothing shall keep me back.' He was anxious to use the opportunity for explaining his political doctrines and for showing that they were those of an honest man. He even hoped that he would be thus of some use to those who proposed to follow a diplomatic career. The evening before the meeting he went over his speech with me, and said: 'The religion of duty; that will please the Abbé Dupanloup.' When we reached the passage concerning theological study I interrupted him to say: 'Admit that that is intended much rather for yourself than for good M. Reinhard.' 'Why, certainly,' he replied, 'there is no harm in letting the public see my point of departure.' 'I am delighted,' I said, 'to see you overshadowing the end of your life with the recollections and traditions of your early youth.' 'I was sure you would be pleased with it,' was his kindly reply.

"M. de Talleyrand bore the strain of this fatiguing meeting, where he was successful in every way, remarkably well. From the point of view of literature and politics he was successful, and also as a nobleman and an honest man. When he returned home he at once sent the first proofs of his speech to M. de Quélen and to you. He expected your approval, and was touched by it.

"Then his health seemed to improve; he recovered his strength, made plans for travel, and talked of Nice for the following winter; he felt his powers reviving, and noticed it with pleasure. On April 28, however, when he heard of his brother's death, who was eight years younger than himself, he put his hands before his eyes and said: 'Another warning, my dear child. Do you know whether my brother recovered his memory before death?' 'Unfortunately not, sir,' I said. He then resumed with extreme sadness: 'How dreadful it is thus to fall from the most worldly life into dotage, and from dotage into death!'

"This painful shock did not check the improvement in his health, and we were able to think that he had been restored to life. I am the more careful to observe that this was the moment, when all idea of an approaching death was far away, when he chose to undertake seriously the project of submission to the Pope. He drew up a form of declaration without saying anything to me of it, a kind of pleasant surprise which he wished to keep for me. One day, when he saw me ready to go to Conflans to M. de Quélen, he drew from the drawer of his desk, the desk at which I am now writing, a sheet of paper covered on both sides, with erasures at several points. 'Here,' he said, 'is something which will secure you a hearty reception where you are going. You shall tell me what the Archbishop thinks of it.' On my return I told him that M. de Quélen deeply appreciated the paper, but wished the statements there expressed to be presented in a more canonical form, and intended to send him the ecclesiastical formula in a few days.

"You know better than any one, sir, that thus the matter was actually carried out. M. de Talleyrand also spoke to me on the same day of his intention to write an explanatory letter to the Pope when sending him the declaration. He went into full details, and insisted upon his willingness to speak of Pauline in this letter. He ended by a saying which seems to me of considerable importance: 'What I am to do should be dated during the week of my speech to the Academy. I do not wish people to be able to say that I was in my dotage.' This idea was carried out upon his deathbed, and was performed as he wished.

"But here I must stop. Attractive as the subject may be, your narrative contains full details. Moreover, during my uncle's illness I was nothing more than his nurse, and my actions were confined to summoning the consolations of your presence and to obeying my uncle by reading to him the two addresses to Rome before he signed them. I forced myself to read them slowly and seriously, because I neither would nor could diminish in any way the merit of his action; it was necessary that he should thoroughly understand what he was about to do. His faculties were too clear, heaven be praised, and his attention too concentrated, for any hurried or confused reading to have satisfied him. It was for me to justify his touching confidence which had induced him to wish this important reading to be performed by myself, and only the firmness and clearness of my pronunciation could satisfy this condition. He was to be left to the last moment in full consciousness of his act and full freedom of his will. From this difficult task I have derived the complete indifference with which I have afterwards faced any doubts, attacks, or calumnies of which I have been the object.

"I can say in the sight of God that there was no ignorance or weakness on the part of M. de Talleyrand; there was no delusion and no abuse of confidence on my part. His generous nature, the recollections of his early youth, his family traditions, the wide experience of a long career, the example of Pauline, some explanations which I was instructed to give him, the confidence with which you were able to inspire him, the revelation that comes to every man at the gate of the tomb, and above all the infinite mercy of a gracious Providence--such are the reasons which allow us to honour him as sincerely in his death as we loved him in his life.

"Carried away by a subject which is near to my heart, I have overstepped the limits which I had at first laid down, but I have no fear that I have wearied you by recalling your attention to details which I know you will value, and which for me have the special advantage that they have established, M. l'Abbé, between us, a bond which nothing can weaken or break.

"DUCHESSE DE TALLEYRAND,"
"PRINCESSE DE COURLANDE."

_Heidelberg, August 27, 1838._--I have been here with my daughter since yesterday evening. My sister, the Duchesse de Sagan, arrived the previous evening. This morning, at six o'clock, faithful to my habits at Baden, I went out while my sister and daughter were still asleep, and while recalling memories of the place I found the bridge and stopped before the statue of the Elector Charles Theodore; I then crossed the river and walked upon the banks of the Neckar for three-quarters of an hour, with the town upon my left, dominated by the old castle. The pretty landscape, with the river valley, the position of the town, and even the style of the agriculture, reminded me of the hillsides of Amboise and my dear Loire, and was pleasantly lighted by the broken rays of a sun struggling through light clouds.

I now know who wrote the article upon M. de Talleyrand which appeared in the _Gazette_ of Augsburg. My sister read it in manuscript. The writer was the Minister Schulenburg, a clever man, who had seen a great deal of M. de Talleyrand in past times. He is a friend of the Vicomtesse de Laval, and saw M. de Talleyrand at her house once more when he came to Paris eighteen months ago. He is anxious not to be known as the author of this article.

_Paris, September 6, 1838._--I arrived here the day before yesterday, and found a letter which told me that as M. Molé had refused to make an alliance with M. Guizot, the latter had formed a coalition with M. Thiers. M. Guizot will become President of the Chamber of Deputies and M. Thiers Prime Minister. All this is to be revealed and settled during the discussion upon the Address. I cannot guarantee this story. The King is at Eu, and I shall not see the Court until I return.

I am just finishing the last work of Villemain.[93] The first chapter of the second volume deals with Montesquieu; the second is a detailed analysis of the _Esprit des Lois_, which is much too deep for me. The following chapters summarise the bad philosophy of the eighteenth century, as it appears in the mouths of its prophets, its votaries, and its adversaries. The last part of the volume is devoted to Rousseau, by whose charms Villemain seems too obviously to have been overcome. I have no kindly feelings for Rousseau, for he was a hypocrite, and Voltaire's cynicism is perhaps less disgusting; at any rate, Voltaire was not guilty of so many positively bad actions as Rousseau, and mere talent in itself is no justification for either man.

[93] _The Eighteenth Century._

My children write from Valençay saying that the crowd at the funeral ceremony was enormous.[94] Starting from Blois, the procession was joined by the people of all the neighbouring settlements on foot, in great sadness, while at night they came with torches. On the carriage which bore the coffin of M. de Talleyrand and that of my granddaughter, Yolande, were Hélie and Péan;[95] in the carriage which followed was my son Alexandre. All the clergy of the district offered their services. My son Valençay also sends me the programme of the ceremony, which seems very well arranged; I especially approve of a large distribution of charity to the poor, who should never be forgotten, neither in joy nor sorrow.

[94] The funerals of the Prince de Talleyrand, of his brother,
the Duc de Talleyrand, and of the little Yolande de Périgord,
daughter of the Duc and Duchesse de Valençay, who died in
childhood, took place on September 6, 1838, at Valençay. The
three coffins were placed in a vault which the Prince de
Talleyrand had constructed during his lifetime.

[95] The Prince de Talleyrand's footmen.

Before starting, the coffin of M. de Talleyrand was covered with black velvet, with silver nails, and bore an escutcheon with his arms, his name and distinctions; the coffin of Yolande was covered with white velvet. The arrival of the funeral procession in the Castle court at Valençay, at ten o'clock at night in the most beautiful moonlight, is said to have been extremely imposing; there was deep silence, broken only by the sound of the hearse as it slowly passed the draw-bridge. The bodies were placed for the night in the church, and watched by the clergy in prayer. The coffin of the Duc de Talleyrand, accompanied by the doctor who had attended him, arrived two hours later.

_Paris, September 7, 1838._--The Princesse de Lieven, whom I saw yesterday, told me that she no longer receives any letters from her husband. She examined me closely as to any information I might have gained in Germany concerning her Emperor, whom I think she really hates as much as the inhabitants of Warsaw can hate him. If, however, she was once more within his grasp, or merely out of France, her patriotism would be equal to that of any old Muscovite. She told me that at Munich the Emperor Nicholas had displayed great exasperation with the Russian Minister at the enormous expense to which he had gone for the reception of the Empress, saying, "Do you wish, then, to increase our unpopularity?" She spoke a great deal of the father's carelessness with respect to his son's well-being. Apart from the rapidity of their journey, and the scanty food which the father gave him in the course of it, he made the Grand Duke continually hold his legs outside the carriage, no matter what the weather might be, in order that they should not be in his father's way.

I am assured that Queen Victoria, who showed herself so anxious to escape from the maternal yoke, is now trying to avoid the influence of her uncle, King Leopold.

The Flahaut family have been saying the most horrible things at London about the Tuileries, and the Tuileries are aware of the fact.

France has abandoned Belgium in the course of the negotiations in progress at London, and forces her to yield upon all questions of territory, but supports her pecuniary claim; between the figures of Leopold and King William there is a difference of 16,000,000. The Powers wish to compromise, but Leopold objects, and refuses to relax his grasp of Limburg until the crowns are paid.

In Spain Queen Christina is trying to make money out of everything, and demands a price for every nomination that she makes. She thinks only of amassing money and spending it quietly out of Spain, for which she may speedily have an opportunity. Her sister, whose practical mind has already gained her a certain influence here, and who might be able to marry her prettiest daughter to the Duc de Nemours, is intriguing vigorously against her.

M. Thiers spent three hours with Count Metternich near Como, and showed anything but sympathy for Spain during the conversation. However, people have not been taken in and prejudice remains unaltered.

_Bonnétable, September 17, 1838._--I reached this strange place an hour before dinner-time. The country is very pretty, but the castle stands at the end of a little town, and the only view is the high-road which runs along the moat. It is an old manor-house, with heavy turrets, thick walls, and the windows few and narrow. There is little in the way of furniture or decoration, but it is solid and clean, and the necessaries of life of every kind are at hand, from an almorne to a warming-pan. The mistress of the house, an active, bustling, good-tempered lady, is largely occupied in most charitable work, in which she shows great insight, and really leads the life of a Christian widow, on the principles laid down by St. Jerome. In short, one is inclined to think oneself in a country far away from France and in a century quite remote from the nineteenth. Evening prayers are said all together at nine o'clock in the chapel, and are read by the Duchesse Mathieu de Montmorency herself. They moved me deeply, especially the prayer for the rest of the departed, repeated by one who has survived all her relatives, whether older, of her own age, or younger than herself. This prayer in the mouth of one who is thus alone, without forefathers or posterity, was strangely sad. The other isolated being, poor Zoé,[96] who repeated the responses, completed the picture and the impression, which went to my heart. All the servants were present. No more edifying spectacle could be seen than that of this great and ancient house. The Duchesse is very highly connected, and came to her title through the Luynes, who had inherited it by marriage from the Duchesse de Nemours, one of whom had married the niece.

[96] Zoé was a negress in the service of the Vicomtesse de Laval,
to whom she showed the greatest devotion. In 1838, after the
death of the Vicomtesse, Zoé was taken into service by the
Duchesse Mathieu de Montmorency, daughter-in-law of Madame de
Laval, who lived upon the estate of Bonnétable, where Zoé ended
her days in peace.

_Bonnétable, September 18, 1838._--If the weather were not so damp I should find much interest in this place, which is quite unique. Mass brings the household together every morning at ten o'clock; we do not lunch until eleven o'clock, and have then half an hour for walking in the moats, which are dry and have been turned into gardens by the care of the Duchesse; she also took us for a walk around her kitchen garden and the whole of her strange household. After lunch we worked round a table at an altar-cloth, while the prior read his newspapers aloud. At one o'clock we went to visit the fine hospital and the schools founded by the Duchesse; everything is perfectly arranged, and much better cared for than the castle. There are six beds for men and six for women, a kind of boarding-school for twelve girls, and classes for day scholars and the poor, together with a large dispensary. This is all in one place, with the necessary outbuildings. Eight sisters do the work of the establishment, which is really very fine. The Duchesse then made us get into an old carriage with worm-eaten lining, but drawn by four handsome horses, driven very cleverly four-in-hand by one of the coachmen of Charles X. With Madame de Montmorency everything is in contrast. She inherited her taste for horses from her mother, and indulges herself in that respect; she has no taste for carriages, and does not care if the one makes the other look shabby. Thus drawn over shocking roads, we reached a magnificent forest of full-grown timber, where the fine trees are only cut every hundred years. It is really beautiful. In the centre of this forest, where six roads meet, is a vast clearing; there the Duchesse has built a china factory, with all the necessary outbuildings, which is almost a village. She has spent a great deal of money on it, and admits herself that it is not a lucrative investment, but it gives occupation to sixty-eight people, is a reason for a pretty walk, and an additional interest for herself. I made a few purchases, and Pauline was interested in seeing the pottery moulded, fired, painted, and enamelled.

After dinner one of the local clergy called while we spent our time in embroidery, as after lunch, and talked of matters of local interest. Then came prayers, good-night, and sleep.

_Bonnétable, September 19, 1838._--Yesterday it rained all day. No one went out except the clergy, who were going to a retreat at Mans, and stopped here to pay their respects to the Duchesse. The sisters also came in for their orders. The Duchesse is in very good spirits. She has the gift of narrative, and kept the conversation going very well throughout a long day, without the smallest appearance of ill-nature. When I went down to my room she lent me a manuscript book of her thoughts. She writes wonderfully, and her writing displays a wealth and variety of astonishing description. The outpourings of her heart since her husband's death are especially touching, and display a tenderness of feeling which would hardly be guessed from her outward appearance. I shall leave her entirely overcome by the warmth of her reception, her fine qualities, and the admirable example which she sets here.

_Rochecotte, September 27, 1838._--Yesterday I had a most unexpected piece of news which grieved me deeply: Madame de Broglie is dead of brain fever, though she was so young, at any rate for death--a year younger than myself--though she was so happy, healthy, beautiful, useful, distinguished, and beloved. In one short week she was carried off, though prepared for death by her constant goodness. It has been no surprise to her.

Almost the same day, but after a longer illness, amid the dissipations of too worldly a life, died Lady Elizabeth Harcourt. She was of the same age, and also handsome, but I think in no way prepared for the dread passage.

With the death of my brother-in-law, the Prince of Hohenzollern-Hechingen, I have heard of three deaths during the last week. Last month Anatole de Talleyrand died; in the month of July Madame de Laval; on May 17 M. de Talleyrand; on April 28 my father-in-law; in March my uncle Medem. In less than seven months eight persons have disappeared who were bound to me by ties of blood, friendship, or intercourse. Death surrounds me on every hand, and I can no longer trust either to the freshness of my daughter or to the cares of others; only the goodness of God can be infallibly trusted, and on His infinite mercy I must rely, and confide my loved ones to His care.

During the last two days of her life Madame de Broglie was delirious, and chanted the Psalms so loudly that one could hear her from one end of her residence to the other. When she was not singing she talked to her brother and her daughter who had died years before.

_Valençay, October 3, 1838._--I am again in this beautiful spot, so rich in memories and so deprived of life and movement. I reached here yesterday in the moonlight, which suits the place so well, and which M. de Talleyrand always pointed out to us with such admiration. It was an unpleasant journey: broken carriages, tired horses, bad postillions, torn harness, and abominable roads, as they are being repaired or constructed afresh; in short, a series of petty obstacles, which troubled and vexed us, and made us late. M. de Talleyrand's old dog, Carlos, was strangely excited at our arrival, and pulled Mlle. Henriette by her dress, as if he would say, "Come and help me to look for the missing one."

_Paris, October 9, 1838._--I am now again in Paris, though I cannot conceal the fact that a stay in this town makes me sadder than ever. How I long for my workmen, my garden, the soft skies of Touraine, the quiet of the country, the restfulness of the fields, time to think and to reflect, of which I am here deprived by constant business and worry!

_Paris, October 12, 1838._--Yesterday I went to the Convent of the Sacré Cœur, where I stayed a long time with the Archbishop of Paris. He gave me an exact translation of the letter of secularisation sent by Pius VII. to M. de Talleyrand. It is a curious document, and shows that even though M. de Talleyrand, with his habitual carelessness, had mistaken the text, the general sense had been known to him, and that he had every reason to say that Rome could not be too exacting without self-contradiction. As, however, the letter had preceded the marriage of M. de Talleyrand, and as that marriage was not authorised by the Church, it was actually necessary for him to retract. This was done _in verba generalia_, as Rome admitted, and so every one should be satisfied.

When I returned home I gave orders that I should not be disturbed during the evening, and busied myself in putting the papers that I had found at M. de Talleyrand's house into some order. I shall complete this work only by degrees, for it causes me keen emotion. For instance, I came upon a note which M. de Talleyrand sent to me from his room to mine on February 6, 1837,[97] in which he told me that at his supreme hour his only anxiety would be my future and my happiness. I cannot say how this scrap of paper has agitated me.

[97] February 6 is St. Dorothea's Day, the patron saint of the
Duchesse de Talleyrand.

_Paris, October 13, 1838._--M. de Montrond came to see me yesterday. He showed himself extremely kind and soothing; but the true nature of things peeps out invariably, and towards the end of his call, which had been spent in expressions of regret for M. de Talleyrand's death, he let fall a phrase to this effect: "Do you propose to become a lady of the Faubourg Saint-Germain?" I was able to reply that I had no need to do anything of the kind, that my position was plain: a lady of rank and independent means, unwilling to sacrifice my opinions here or my position there; too deeply attached to the memory of M. de Talleyrand not to be on good terms with the Tuileries, and too good company not to live happily with my family and my own friends. He replied that I had not forgotten to speak like M. de Talleyrand himself. Then he rose, took my hand, and asked me if I would not be kind to him, saying that he was alone in the world, that he was very anxious for opportunities to talk of M. de Talleyrand with me sometimes, and then he began to weep like a child. I told him that he would always find me ready to listen to him, and to reply, if he spoke of M. de Talleyrand, a subject of inexhaustible interest to myself. Human nature is remarkable in its great diversity and its astonishing contrasts.

_Paris, October 17, 1838._--I have only had two satisfactory incidents since my return: the arrival of my son Valençay, who is so good to me, and a long conversation with the Abbé Dupanloup, which went on yesterday for two hours at my house. Our minds are in sympathy, and, what is better, we are marvellously alert to divine one another's feelings, and both noticed it, owing to the strange and rapid coincidence of our expressions. He has a rapidly working mind, and for that reason pleased M. de Talleyrand, while with him one is never embarrassed or hampered, and transitional ideas are never clogged; his clearness of mind is never marked by dryness, because he has a sweet and most affectionate soul. My long intercourse with M. de Talleyrand has made it difficult for ordinary people to get on with me; I meet minds which seem slow, diffuse, and ill-developed; they are always putting on the brake, like people going downhill; I have spent my life with my shoulder to the wheel in uphill work. In M. de Talleyrand's lifetime I took more pleasure in the society of others, because I fully enjoyed my own society with him; perhaps also because I sometimes felt the need of rest at some lower elevation. But to-day I feel that I am being overcome, in a moral sense, by what the English call creeping paralysis; in short, yesterday I was able to spread my wings for a moment, and it did me good. I complained to him of the want of system in my life, of the weariness and oppression which were the result of overstrain. He spoke of my reading, and told me that he thought I should be deeply attracted by patristic literature; he promised to sketch out a little course of reading for me within my range. He is no inquisitive or indiscreet converter of souls; he is a good and intelligent man, a pure and lofty soul, discreet and moderate, whose influence can never be anything but wise, gentle, and restrained.

_Paris, October 18, 1838._--The Princess Christian of Denmark, who is at this moment at Carlsruhe, is no longer young; but fifteen years ago, when she came to Paris, she was very pretty; her complexion, hair, and shoulders were especially beautiful. Her features were less striking, and those are the most permanent elements in beauty. I know that she and her husband have retained a very kindly feeling for the present royal family of France. Princess Christian is the granddaughter of the unfortunate Queen Mathilda of Denmark. Prince Christian's first wife was a mad woman with dreadful manners.[98] She went to Rome for refuge and to join the Catholic Church, and there she plunged into the most ridiculous mummeries. Her husband adored her, and if the King of Denmark had not insisted upon a separation Prince Christian would have remained under her yoke. He still corresponds with her, and has never ceased to regret her loss. The present Princess Christian, though prettier, is quite sensible, but has never had much influence with her husband, owing, it is said, to the fact that she has no children. The first wife was the mother of Prince Frederick, who is an exile in Jutland.

[98] The first wife of Prince Christian of Denmark was Princess
Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Schwerin. Unfaithful to her husband, she
was separated from him in 1809, and divorced by order of the king
in 1810. She died in 1840 at Rome, where she had lived after her
conversion to Catholicism. She was born in 1784, and married in
1806.

_Paris, October 20, 1838._--Yesterday I went with Pauline to the Comédie-Française to hear Mlle. Rachel, who is now causing so great a sensation. I was not at all pleased. They all acted very badly, though Mlle. Rachel is not so bad as the rest. They played _Andromaque_, in which she took the part of Hermione, the part of irony, scorn, and disdain. She went through it accurately and intelligently, but there is no sympathy or attraction in her acting. She has a thin voice, is neither pretty nor beautiful, but very young, and might become an excellent actress if she had good training. The rest of the company is wretched. I was very bored, and returned home benumbed.

_Paris, October 21, 1838._--The Duchesse de Palmella, whom I saw yesterday, told me a strange thing. She said that the Duke of Leuchtenberg, the first husband of Queen Doña Maria, had never been her husband; that on his arrival in Portugal he was attacked with scurvy, which made him contagious and greatly disgusted his wife, who adores the little Coburg. She is now expecting her confinement.

With Pauline I called upon the Duchesse d'Orléans, who seemed to have recovered very well from her confinement. Her child, which she was kind enough to show us, is really charming. She has every reason to be as proud of him as she is.

We came home for an audience granted me by the Infanta Carlotta, the wife of Don Francisco. Like myself, they are both staying in the Galliffet residence.[99] It was a curious interview. The Infanta is a much bolder figure than Madame de Zea, and much taller. She is very fair, with a face which, though washed out, is none the less stern, with a rough manner of speaking. I felt very ill at ease with her, although she was very courteous. Her husband is red-haired and ugly, and the whole tribe of little Infantas, boys and girls, are all utterly detestable. The eldest of the princesses is well brought up, inclined to talk, and graciously took notice of Pauline. In my opinion, this Infanta would be a most unpleasant Sovereign.

[99] After the death of the Prince de Talleyrand the Duchesse de
Talleyrand sold the residence in the Rue Saint-Florentin to the
Rothschilds. This house she had inherited from the Prince. She
then settled in a large suite of rooms in the residence of the
Marquis de Galliffet, Rue de Grenelle.

_Paris, October 31, 1838._--During the last two days I have seen a great deal of the Comtesse de Castellane. She speaks of only one thing which she wants, and for which she is working with incredible energy. I cannot complain, as her efforts show how much she thinks of my daughter, to whom she wishes to marry the young Henri de Castellane. Yesterday I went to consult the Archbishop on the point. He, as well as the Abbé Dupanloup, seems to think that of all the possible openings that have hitherto appeared Henri de Castellane would offer the best chance of domestic happiness, by reason of his personal merits. Both of them say that Pauline ought to choose for herself, after due examination. Examination requires acquaintanceship; to become acquainted they must see one another; and to see one another they must meet. And so I have reached a new phase in my life, when I am obliged to give a young man the run of my house in order to see what he is worth. I have known M. de Castellane personally for many years, but I have lost sight of him for a long time; besides, he is going to marry Pauline, and not me. He is clever and well-educated, hard-working, and, I think, ambitious. He is very correct and polite, lives a retired life, and goes only into the best society; he is a good son and a good brother, has an excellent name, but no title at present, and no prospect; has few family ties, and wishes to live in the same house as myself at Paris, though with a separate establishment. He is respectful to his mother, but not on confidential terms with her; wishes to have a religious wife, though he does not practise the forms of religion himself. He is to have twenty thousand francs income when he marries, and thirty thousand more from his grandmother. He has a childless uncle who is worth forty-two millions. For the moment the uncle will not give or promise or guarantee anything, but he is very anxious for the marriage, and as he is eccentricity personified he may come down handsomely some day. The Abbé Dupanloup advises me to speak to Pauline on the subject without any constraint, and also to tell her of other proposals made for her hand. She does not like Jules de Clermont-Tonnerre, and thinks he looks vulgar; the Duc de Saulx-Tavannes horrifies her--as a matter of fact he has the figure of an elephant, while there is madness in the family on both sides. The Duc de Guiche is not yet nineteen years of age, has no property whatever, a number of brothers and sisters, a rather foolish mother, while his family are always in extremities. The Marquis de Biron is very rich and a good fellow; he is a childless widower, but extremely stupid, and a red-hot Carlist. Pauline has recently seen M. de Castellane on two occasions, and likes him greatly; but she says she would like to know more of him, to make certain of his principles and belief. I tell her that there is no hurry, that she can very well wait, and that in any case I shall not consent to any marriage taking place until our business affairs have been wound up, the will declared, and the anniversary of the 17th of May over. This is understood, though the parties would like a promise to be given before that date, without celebrating the marriage. I can also understand that they would like to make certain of Pauline, but I do not propose to have our throats cut in that way. Madame Adélaïde, who is much afraid that Pauline's marriage might prevent her from going to the Tuileries, is a warm supporter of M. de Castellane. She let me know that M. de Talleyrand, to her knowledge, had thought of him. This is true, but he was more inclined to M. de Mérode, though family arrangements made the proposal impossible; besides, Pauline likes M. de Castellane much better than M. de Mérode. Another who has been mentioned to me is Elie de Gontaut, the younger brother of the Marquis of Saint-Blancard, but he is a young fop, and, though rich, his position as younger brother is very pronounced, and that would not please Pauline. In short, there is a perfect crowd of suitors, and I do not know to whom I should listen. One point is certain, and I shall make it perfectly clear: that Pauline herself will have to make the choice.[100]

[100] Mlle. Pauline de Périgord did in fact marry M. de
Castellane, on April 11, 1839. He then assumed the title of
Marquis from his grandfather, who had just died. His father,
General de Castellane, afterwards Marshal of France, yielded the
title to him on the occasion of his marriage and never bore it
himself. From his grandmother, who brought him up, the old
Marchioness de Castellane, _née_ Rohan-Chabot, whose first
husband, the Duc de la Rochefoucauld, had left her a large
fortune, M. de Castellane received as a wedding-gift the property
of Aubijou, in Auvergne, in the department of Cantal, which will
often be mentioned in these memoirs.