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If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: Reminiscences of Prince Talleyrand, Volume I (of 2) - - -Author: Édouard Colmache - -Editor: Madame Colmache - -Release Date: August 11, 2017 [eBook #55347] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REMINISCENCES OF PRINCE -TALLEYRAND, VOLUME I (OF 2)*** - - -E-text prepared by Clarity, Charlie Howard, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made -available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this - file which includes the original illustration. - See 55347-h.htm or 55347-h.zip: - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/55347/55347-h/55347-h.htm) - or - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/55347/55347-h.zip) - - - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/reminiscencesofp01colm - - - Project Gutenberg has the other volume of this work. - Volume II: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55995 - - - - - -[Illustration: ch. maurice de talleyrand] - - -REMINISCENCES OF PRINCE TALLEYRAND. - -Edited from the Papers of the Late - -M. COLMACHE, - -Private Secretary to the Prince, - -by - -Madame Colmache. - -In Two Volumes. - -VOL. I. - - - - - - -London: -Henry Colburn, Publisher, -Great Marlborough Street. -1848. - - - - -PREFACE. - - -Prince Talleyrand has left a name in Europe perhaps the greatest ever -achieved by any man in France who has devoted himself exclusively to -the civil offices of the state. In the present century, he has become -as great a diplomatic authority as was Machiavelli in the sixteenth; -and hence the Hôtel Talleyrand, in the Rue St. Florentin, has been -regarded by every disciple of state-craft who has visited the French -capital, with perhaps as much veneration as the literary devotee -accords to the more humble abode at Stratford of the great master of -English poetry. - -The brilliant career of so public a character as Prince Talleyrand -has necessarily become much canvassed, but up to the present time, no -account has been published of his private history, more particularly -of his early life. This, however, could only be written by some one -peculiarly in the Prince’s confidence, who possessed favourable -opportunities for studying his personal characteristics, and of -becoming acquainted with his first struggles, experiences, and -adventures. - -The writer of this work enjoyed such opportunities in an eminent -degree, and was in the habit of noting down Talleyrand’s revelations -and recollections, which were from time to time imparted to him; and -the result, as now laid before the public, it will readily be allowed, -affords a more interesting portrait of this illustrious statesman -than has hitherto been given to the world. Very curious particulars -and scenes in Prince Talleyrand’s own career are combined with -extraordinary anecdotes of his contemporaries, and details are given -of private adventure and domestic habits, which, in a truly remarkable -and novel manner, illustrate the events of that great drama in which he -acted so conspicuous a part. - - - - -CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. - - - CHAPTER I. - PAGE - Talleyrand at Valençay 1 - - - CHAPTER II. - - Conduct of Talleyrand at the Revolution of 1830 46 - - - CHAPTER III. - - Seizure and Confinement of the Spanish Princes at Valençay 74 - - - CHAPTER IV. - - Cagliostro—Voltaire—The Marquis de J—— 122 - - - CHAPTER V. - - Childhood and Juvenile Years of Talleyrand 168 - - - CHAPTER VI. - - Mirabeau—The Princess T——.—The Mayor of Valençay 214 - - - CHAPTER VII. - - Recollections of Early Life by Prince Talleyrand 260 - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - The Countess de la Motte, of Necklace Notoriety 307 - - - - - REMINISCENCES - OF THE LATE - PRINCE TALLEYRAND. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -TALLEYRAND AT VALENÇAY. - - -It was during the autumn of 18—, that, passing through Paris on my way -to the south of Europe, I ventured to pay my _visite de rigueur_ to -that hallowed shrine—that Mecca of all young diplomatists—the Hôtel -Talleyrand, in the Rue St. Florentin, to obtain, as it were, a blessing -and an imposition of hands from the high-priest of the diplomatic -craft, ere I ventured, novice and without guile as I then was, to put -forth on the unknown sea of politics. Perhaps there lingered in my mind -a latent hope of acquiring some new information concerning the hidden -rocks and shoals, the under-currents, which were not yet marked down -in the very imperfect chart at that time existing in my brain, and by -the aid of which I might, by steering aright, gain more quickly than my -colleagues the glorious port of ambassadorship. - -I had once had the good fortune to form part of a company, assembled by -the owner of P—— House, to meet the Prince de Talleyrand, during the -very last Easter vacation which he had spent in England; so that it -was not as a complete stranger that I now ventured, all trembling and -awe-struck, to seek the presence of his excellency. - -The hour was somewhat late for a morning visit, when I called at the -hotel; but I had been told by one who knew him well, that his hour -of _confidence_ and kindness, his hour of _benevolence_, in short, -was decidedly the one hour before dinner; and so already, even in the -smallest matter, beginning to move professionally, I had acted entirely -upon the strength of this friendly warning. - -I was not disappointed; for I found the veteran diplomatist enjoying -the _otium cum dignitate_, after the fatigues of the day. He was -seated in his easy chair, reclining with that peculiarly easy grace -which, in spite of his lameness, characterized his every attitude and -movement. A bundle of newspapers lay upon the table before him; some -were scattered on the floor around; but he had evidently forgotten, -for the moment, the world and all its fretful politics, and was gazing -with fond affection at the gambols of his fair young niece, who was on -her knees upon the floor by his side, her arm resting upon the elbow of -his chair, teasing and provoking the large English spaniel, Carlo, the -delight of the prince, and his constant companion. - -It would be difficult for a painter to imagine a scene more -interesting, or even more poetical, than the one which thus suddenly -presented itself to me. The long golden hair of the child fell forward -in a glittering shower, blending with the silvery masses which, to the -latest hour of his life, shaded in such luxuriant abundance the calm -brow of the prince; and, as he bent down over her, the contrast between -the fair and blooming face, animated as it was by the glow of youth and -the excitement of the game, with that cold, impenetrable countenance, -those fixed and marble features, was rendered yet more striking. It -was the dim immovable Past, seeking to interrogate the busy, smiling -Future; Old Time striving to detain one single rosy hour, and pausing -to gaze while yet the charm endured. There was, indeed, over the whole -scene a shadow of bygone times, which the graceful figure of that fair -girl alone seemed to attach to the Present. - -The drawing-room into which I was ushered was noble and lofty, although -an _entresol_, and through the high casements the setting sun of autumn -poured in its rich and glowing beams, seeming to pause in fondness -over that scene, and, forgetting all besides, to linger there. Through -the arched vista of the Tuileries, late so green, but already bared of -foliage, the darkening sky gave token of the near approach of twilight, -and I could not help being struck with the fitness of the emblem. - -I had leisure to contemplate the scene, for the low suppressed laughter -of the child, and the playful growling of old Carlo, had prevented -the announcement of my name from immediately reaching the ear of his -excellency, and it was not till I stood within a step or two of his -chair that he became aware of my presence. He then rose slightly, -leaning on his cane, and gave me that gracious and courtly welcome—a -reminiscence of the old _régime_—which neither his passage through the -revolutionary mire, nor even across the broad Atlantic, had been able -to mar. That bland and polished urbanity was the attribute of a race of -men of which he was the last representative, and of which we shall see -the like no more. - -My conference with him was but short, and passed chiefly in inquiry -after the friends I had left; some few questions concerning my future -destination; an observation or two respecting the _chargé d’affaires_ -at that time resident at the court to which I was bound; but nothing -further; and I, who had indulged in vague dreams of the treasures of -advice concerning my new career, to be gathered during this interview, -was just on the point of taking my leave, without having dared to -breathe a hint upon the subject which lay uppermost in my thoughts, -when, to my delight, amid the numberless kind things he uttered upon -the subject of my journey, he added, with a bland and courteous smile, -which from the old to the young so greatly enhances the value of the -kind speech, “Vous viendrez nous voir à Valençay?” - -And then, as though he had reserved all his urbanity till the last, -acting upon his own principle of “always waiting to the end,” he told -me that he himself was on the point of hastening thither,—that I -should see him no more in Paris,—that the place would not be far out -of my road on my journey southwards; and the kindness of the tone, the -friendly glance with which the words were accompanied, left me no doubt -of their sincerity: so I accepted the invitation with the most joyful -alacrity, and, before we parted, he himself had fixed the day for our -meeting again—at Valençay! - -At Valençay! Here, then, was I about to accomplish by a mighty stride, -to overleap by a single bound, many a weary league on the highway of -politics; and moreover, to gain ease for the remainder of the dusty -journey. So, with these pleasant illusions in my mind, it cannot be -wondered at if I rather hastened than retarded my movements. With a -heart beating high with expectation did I set forth on this pilgrimage. -It had been one of my day-dreams, which I was about to convert into -reality. I had so often longed to behold the great statesman in his -retirement, and now I was about to see him in his hours of leisure -and of _laisser-aller_, and to share with his chosen inmates all the -treasures of his rich and varied store of reminiscences! - -I had heard that it was his great delight, when at Valençay, to call -up the spirits of the shadowy past, and that here he seemed to live -and breathe amongst them; that here he took no heed of to-day, or of -what might befal on the morrow; that his soul was with the past—his -thoughts were all of days gone by, and lingered not with the present. -By turns abiding amid the courtly saloons of the days previous to the -Revolution, he would tell of Madame de Boufflers and Marie Antoinette, -and of the _folle vie_ led by the young, when he, too, was in his -youth. Then the rude Conventional—the stern Republican—the warlike -figures of the Empire—the pale, dim Silhouettes of the Restoration, -would all arise, and pass in crowded array before his enchanted -audience; with such grace and truth, too, were they all endowed, that -sometimes the listener could believe that he had seen and heard the -like, and that he too had been of them and among them. - -Valençay had ever been the favourite residence of the prince. It was -here that he had ever preferred seeking relief from the political -turmoil of the moment,—perhaps to repose after the fatigues of the last -struggle,—perhaps to gain fresh courage and vigour for that which, with -his unerring foresight, he knew to be inevitable. It was here that he -sought the rest which he sometimes needed—it is here that, by his own -desire, he now reposes for ever. - -These are the reminiscences which must henceforth render Valençay one -of those few favoured spots, scattered here and there over the surface -of our dull earth, towards which fancy hurries on before, and where -Memory lingers long behind; places that shine out, amid the dulness of -this dreary world, with the bright lustre which the memory of the great -and good has shed around them, and which, to the traveller through the -land where they are found, become hallowed shrines, that it is scorn -and reproach to have visited the country without beholding. - -In my case, and young as I then was, it is no wonder if I approached, -with feelings of almost undue reverence, the spot where dwelt the -last great statesman of the age—the last, at least, of that class -of men who, singlehanded and alone, could lead, by the very force -of their spirit, whole nations to think as they thought, and to act -as they directed. Imagination had indeed gone on long before, and -paused to await me at the gates of the Château of Valençay. Nor was -I disappointed on my first approach. It is a noble and stately pile, -well suited to the regal tastes and habits of him who at that time shed -additional lustre over its sumptuous retirement. - -The dark forest, through which the road lies for many miles, gives a -grandeur to the scenery, of which this part of France is elsewhere -almost entirely devoid. The broad Moorish towers of the château are -seen for some time, alternately appearing, and then lost to sight, -until finally they form the termination of the splendid avenue de -Gâtines, through which they are beheld at a great distance, gradually -rising in the perspective, and seeming to increase in size as the -traveller draws near, with an effect almost magical. Nothing can be -finer or more original than the appearance of these far-famed towers, -which give to the building an air of oriental grandeur, perfectly -unique. They were built at different periods, the first one having -been added to the edifice, which at the time was already a mixture -of Gothic and _moyen age_ architecture, by M. de Luçay, on his return -from his travels in the East, and their broad shining domes, surmounted -by light gilt weathercocks, bring strangely to mind the mosques and -palaces of the Asiatic cities. - -The approach to the château is particularly grand and magnificent, -being through an avenue of glorious old chestnut-trees, through -which, at the moment of my arrival, the long rays of the evening sun -were pouring, all aslant, over the green turf, making wide patches -of the soft grass appear all on flame, while the shadows thrown -between appeared black and mysterious from the contrast. The carriage -drove up the noble avenue de Gâtines. The gay postillions, with long -tricoloured ribbons fluttering in the wind, with plaited pigtail and -heavy jack-boots, cracking their whips, with loud halloo, to cheer -forward the wild, scampering, rope-harnessed horses, gave such an _air -de regence_ to the scene, that I could almost fancy myself, as I leaned -eagerly forward in the carriage, to be the hero of one of Marivaux’s -delightful novels, and to be some one of his dear ingenious Counts de -P., about to pay his first visit to some fascinating, rebellious, -unfaithful Marquise de F. or de N. Had such indeed been the case, I do -not think the said hero could have felt more alarmed and embarrassed -than I did during the few moments when the carriage, having turned into -the great gates, drove with stunning _fracas_ round the wide _cour -d’honneur_, and stopped at the princely _perron_ of the vestibule. - -It was quite a relief to learn from the domestic, who conducted me, -through an endless labyrinth of staircases and corridors, to my room, -that the large party then assembled at the château had all dispersed -after the usual early dinner, and that the building was at the moment a -complete desert. Nothing could suit me better, for it gave me time to -collect all my scattered ideas, and to establish myself in the great -drawing-room, _receiving_ not _received_; and all timid juveniles know -well the full value of this difference. The view from the windows of -this room was magnificent. An ancient and heavy cloister, forming a -cool, shady piazza during the summer, and a dry and cheerful retreat -in winter, lay immediately without, and through each arch the varied -and rich landscape was enframed. The broad expanse of park, with its -dark belt of forest beyond, and the little town of Valençay, with the -Gothic spire of its church, and the white roofs glittering in the sun, -by turns appeared, as I moved on, like the images in a child’s magic -lantern. - -In a short time, the various stragglers began to return from their -walks, and I was delighted when, among the very first persons who -greeted me, I recognised an old acquaintance, whom I had often seen in -society during the prince’s embassy in London. Those who have ever felt -the delight of finding an acquaintance in a strange land, and where we -had anticipated meeting none but strangers, will readily believe my joy -at being greeted in well-remembered accents by C., who became from that -moment a valued and precious friend, more so than many whom I had known -and loved from childhood, but who were now absent, and could afford -me no aid in encountering the mighty leviathan within reach of whose -tremendous jaws I seemed so thoughtlessly to have wandered. - -With the kind assistance of this friend, however, I began, in a very -short time, to regain my confidence, and, before the creaking of -carriage-wheels upon the gravel without had announced the return of -the Prince from his evening drive, I had been _mis au courant_ of all -the _habitudes de la maison_, and the station and character of each -individual had been so fully laid down to me, that I now felt armed -with too much foreknowledge to dread any longer the ignorance and -inexperience which had so often been my worst enemies. - -The room was wellnigh filled by the time the Prince had descended -from his carriage, and, preceded by old Carlo, barking and yelping, -had slowly traversed the wide vestibule. For such is the courtierlike -propensity of human nature, that, although no warning-bell had summoned -the different stragglers homeward, yet, by marvellous instinct, they -all seemed aware of the very moment of the prince’s return to the -château, and pressed eagerly to the saloon to receive him. There was a -general advance towards the door when the prince entered, leaning on -his gold-headed cane, and then the assembly divided in the midst, to -allow him to pass through, to gain his large fauteuil by the fire. This -movement gave an effect to his _entrée_, of indescribable interest. -Altogether, it was one of the prettiest pieces of small-court ceremony -I ever witnessed. - -The conversation was carried on, for some little time, standing, the -company separating in small groups; but, when lights were brought, and -the prince had fairly taken his seat at the whist-table, the _salon_ -began, though gradually, to clear. Some of the guests retired to rest, -in order to be abroad betimes on the morrow; some withdrew stealthily -by a side door, and presently the noise of feet and the clattering of -billiard-balls told plainly the reason of their absence; anon, another -group would disappear, and then I was sure that a faint odour of cigars -would blow in from the half-closed window. For me, I bravely resisted -every invitation to move from the seat wherein I had so comfortably -ensconced myself, being sufficiently occupied, this first evening, in -making myself familiar with all the actors in the scene going on around -me; and I was well repaid for my self-denial, for at that very moment -were assembled, in that old courtly saloon, some of the brightest -intellectual luminaries of the kingdom. - -“You are fortunate,” exclaimed C., as he kindly came to take his -seat beside me, “in being a guest with some of our most remarkable -illustrations of the ancient _régime_—men who remain, few in number, -to tell the generation of our day what is meant by the ‘wits’ and -_beaux esprits_ of a period which, although not distant, yet seems -driven centuries back by the rapidity with which new eras, new -societies, and new dynasties have succeeded each other. For instance,” -continued he, “there is the Count de M.; I dare not call him the _old_ -count, although, were age measured by years alone, he would certainly -be considered to have well earned the title. He is already past the -threescore years and ten fixed by the great Psalmist as the term of -man’s life, and yet here he is, more alive, more pungent, more racy -than ever. I know of no greater contrast than that which exists between -this man and our princely host. - -“Look at them as they sit opposite to each other, both intent upon the -chances of the game; the one so calm and dignified, reflecting almost -tediously upon the card he ought to play; then placing it, slowly and -deliberately, upon the table. Watch him for ever so long a time, you -will detect no symptom of impatience, no gesture of disappointment, as -the tricks are carried from the board by his rival. But seldom, even -during a run of decided ill luck, have I seen him bite his pale lip -slightly and in silence. Now, look at the count: see with what bitter -merriment he shoves the cards towards his adversary—how the stinging -gibe, the acid _bon mots_ fall from his lips, each sufficient to ensure -success to a whole act of a modern vaudeville—how he grasps the cards -with impatient glee when they have fallen to his share—his keen eye -lighting up, and his tall, thin figure rising in his chair, while he -pours a burning torrent of witty pun and quolibet into the ear of his -neighbour. There is more life in that man, in spite of his years, and -the hard life he has led, than in a dozen of the poor, stunted _jeunes -Frances_ who surround him. - -“The prince and M. are like two schoolboys, hating, dreading each -other, yet each one feeling that the presence of the other is needed -to bring out his own value; they are steel and flint, by turns giving -and receiving blows, and sending up sparks which dazzle the listener -and hold him entranced. The one, cold and reflective, could crush his -tormentor, were he but allowed time and opportunity; while the other, -by his great presence of mind, never at fault, and his brilliant and -pungent satire, will sometimes cause his _friend_ to writhe, even -while he bears the same placid countenance and the same calm smile. - -“An instance of the count’s readiness at repartee,” continued -my friend, “occurred this very day at dinner. The prosy old -dowager-duchess down yonder, with the lavender satin and the marabout -head-gear, had been descanting most lengthily upon her genealogy, -during the greater part of the repast. Everybody was yawning most -mournfully, and there were certain symptoms in the brilliant hawk’s-eye -of M., which told to all who knew him that he was waiting with -impatience for a pounce. The opportunity was not long in presenting -itself. The poor old duchess, by dint of twaddling on undisturbed, -had arrived at the period preceding the revolutionary war—‘At which -time,’ said she, ‘some of our family emigrated to Canada, where a -branch remains to this very day. I have a cousin there who writes to me -sometimes. Her name is _Mousseline_—a curious name, is it not, count?” -appealing to M., whose eyes were fixed upon her with foul intent. - -“‘Not at all,’ returned he, quickly, ‘_I_ have a cousin called -_Batiste_, _you_ have one called _Mousseline_;—rien de plus simple!’ - -“Of course, the whole table was convulsed with laughter. The one object -was gained; the prosy old duchess was silenced for the rest of the -dinner, and M., elated by his triumph, was more brilliant and witty -than ever. He has made a bitter enemy; but what cares he so long as the -old proser does not inflict her _ennuyeux bavardage_ upon him while she -remains. Of this there is no fear, for I overheard her servant mention -that her carriage must be ready to depart to-morrow. Life is too short, -according to M.’s declaration, to waste it in listening to other -people’s _mauvaise prose_.’ - -“The career of the Count M—— has been, like that of most of the men of -note of his own time, checkered with startling gleams of light, with -fearful intervals of darkness; but his ready wit and great tact have -made him float to this very hour upon the surface of politics, while -many of his contemporaries, with infinitely more talent, and certainly -more principle, have sunk to rise no more. The man’s very life has -been, for years past, even to his most intimate friends, a complete -mystery. _They_ only know that he is ruined. He has been beggared more -than once even during the time that I have known him, but has always -risen again, more brilliant and more sparkling than ever. His fire -seems, verily, unquenchable, for it bursts forth from amid the ashes -with which poverty and humiliation would fain seek to smother it, and -burns with a brighter glow after each fruitless endeavour that his -enemies have made to extinguish it altogether. - -“‘_Mon pauvre ami!_’ said one of his _roué_ friends to him, after one -of the many tornadoes to which, during his life he had been exposed—an -execution in his house, and his horses all sold—‘_mon pauvre ami—que te -reste-t-il?_’ - -“‘_Moi!_’ exclaimed the count, as he turned away, with light, buoyant -step and smiling countenance. In less than a year he was again -_remonté_, in full credit and full success; his house, as before, the -resort of all that was gay and brilliant in the metropolis—himself -again the oracle of a wide and fashionable circle. The answer and -the result, display the character of the man better than whole pages -of written biography could do. His faith lies in his own capacity -for turning to account the weakness of others, and never has it been -deceived.” - -“Who is the tall, thin adversary of the count?” said I, struck -with the appearance of the person, as he turned and spoke in a low -confidential tone to the prince. - -“Oh, that is the Count de F.,” said my friend, “the antiquated beau of -Parisian high life. He is the same gay philanderer, the same favoured -swain, the object of as many fluttering sighs and tender regrets, as -he was thirty years ago, when he was in his prime, or forty years ago, -when he was young. Some people have affixed a nearer relationship -between him and the prince than the latter has ever chosen to avow. Be -this as it may, the count, whether from this cause, or from the number -of years which he has spent in the friendship and society of the Prince -de Talleyrand, has imbibed much of his ready wit and cold, sarcastic -philosophy, and displays them sometimes at the expense of others, with -the same reckless disregard of feelings or _amour propre_. His victims -are numerous, but they too are sometimes fully revenged by the prince, -with whom he cannot vie, in spite of the florid wit and forked satire -in which he will indulge. - -“The poor count had well nigh been overwhelmed, sunk for ever, on one -occasion, by a witticism of Talleyrand’s, which spread over Paris in -an incredibly short space, and filled the heart of the poor old dandy -with gall and bitterness. The prince had always rallied the count most -unmercifully upon his absurd pretensions to youth and gallantry, and -yet, in spite of this, so great is the infatuating effect of love, that -the latter was foolish and unguarded enough to mention, with great -mystery, a new conquest which he had made, and upon which he piqued -himself not a little. This time it was a lady of talent, rank, and -fashion, and he wished most particularly to _keep_ his conquest, now -that he had so fairly won it. It was just at the period of the new -year, and _étrennes_ were flying in every direction. - -“‘I should like to give the lady of my heart something that would -please her,’ said the count; ‘do assist me, prince; what can I procure -that would be most rare—something unique of its kind—something that is -but seldom seen, and of which the like could not be brought to her from -anybody else.’ - -“The prince appeared to reflect for a moment, and the count waited -impatiently for the answer. - -“‘I have it—I have it,’ at length exclaimed the prince, joyfully. - -“‘What? tell me quickly, I will go this moment and procure it.’ - -“‘No need to stir,’ returned the prince, drily; ‘give her one of the -hairs of your head—if you can;—it must indeed be a thing unique of its -kind, and of which none could bring her the fellow.’ - -“This allusion to the baldness of the antiquated Adonis was -irresistible; the _bon mot_ was sure to be remembered wherever he -appeared, and for a long time it drove him from the society of those -who had heard it. It was only when he had _proved_ the reality of his -pretensions, by the splendid marriage which he made soon afterwards, -that he regained confidence, and once more appeared as you now behold -him, more soft and Cupid-like, more captivating, and more _papillonant_ -than ever. - -“The guest, who sits opposite to him, his partner in the game, is the -celebrated Royer Collard, perhaps, saving our host, the best specimen -of the _ancien régime_ now existing in the country. As Talleyrand may -be taken as type of the old French nobleman, so may Royer Collard be -admitted as specimen of the ancient French gentleman. It is a pleasure -to look upon that man, and behold in his calm, open eye, and his -broad expanse of forehead, denoting at once the union of genius and -benevolence, a perfect corroboration of all the good which one has -heard from all parties concerning him. Throughout every change and form -of government under which he has been called into action, he has been -remarkable for his inflexible integrity. No swerving—no deviation—no -compromise—but straight-forward has he marched, without flinching, -in the path which he had chosen. It was he who applied to Guizot the -epithet which it is said so diverted the king. ‘_Austère intrigant!_’ -exclaimed he, when he heard that Guizot had again accepted office, -after his expressed determination not to act with the then existing -government. The _mot_ flew from mouth to mouth, and, whether correct or -not, was at least _successful_, which is everything in Paris. - -“I firmly believe Royer Collard to be a true and disinterested friend -of the prince. In Paris, they live much together; scarcely a single -day being suffered to pass without his paying his visit at the Hôtel -Talleyrand. Perhaps he is the only person amid the crowd by whom the -prince is surrounded, in whom the latter places perfect reliance, -because, with his keen judgment and great knowledge of human nature, -he knows well enough that he is the only one with whom interest will -yield to friendship. - -“Of course,” proceeded my friend C., “the château is sometimes visited, -like every other château in the kingdom, by all the ‘_fâcheux_’ and the -‘_importuns_’ of the country round, and the prince, being in a more -elevated position than his neighbours, has also more than their share -of hospitality to bestow. Just observe yonder old gentleman with the -powdered head, looking over M.’s cards, with a knowing air. That is -a near neighbour of the prince, to whom he is compelled by policy to -do the honours of the house. It is impossible to behold a better type -of the ‘Berrichon,’ whom their own George Sand has so aptly described -as ‘_moitié ours, moitié mouton_.’ His estate joins that of Valençay; -part of it can be seen from the windows of the gallery of the château, -and, on looking thence the other day, he exclaimed to the Count de M., -who was admiring it, ‘_Mon Dieu, comte!_ just think: if I had only had -the misfortune to lose my father last year, I might have bought all -the land right away to the left, and made the place worth having!’ -A whole written volume could not paint the Berrichon character more -clearly than this single speech. It is verily believed, that were the -thing permitted by law, the Berrichon would throw his own children into -the balance, if it were necessary to complete a good bargain in the -disposal of his sheep. - -“You would be much diverted were you to witness all the intriguing -and manœuvring that is going forward among the _propriétaires_ and -_gentilâtres_ of this part of the country, to gain admission here. This -château is looked upon with wonder and awe, and its broad bastions and -Moorish towers are fabled through the province to contain more dark -secrets and more hidden mysteries than ever were confided to the grim -keeping of the Bastile or the Seven Towers. A short time ago, the Mayor -of C., a large town of this province, at some little distance from -this, was invited by the prince to dine at the château, and, as the -roads were bad, and the nights without moon, he was courteously asked -to delay his return home until the following morning. You may imagine -the sudden increase of importance, the sudden puffing of pride, with -which the worthy mayor accepted the invitation, and also the parting -injunctions of _madame son épouse_, to bring back to her and her -daughters the long history of all the wondrous deeds which were going -forward inside those aristocratic walls—a sealed mystery which, from -their own experience, they knew that they could never hope to solve. - -“It so happened that, on the very morning of the day so rife with -expectation to the poor mayor, Comte Molé had arrived at Valençay. -Nothing could be more propitious, and the worthy official rubbed his -hands with glee, at the thought of the immense information he should -gain, by listening to the conversation of two such distinguished -politicians—of the awful importance of his position with regard to his -colleagues at the _conseil_ at home—of the delight and pride of his -ambitious wife, while she listened to the detail of all her husband had -heard concerning the secret affairs of the nation; in short, the honest -_bourgeois_ felt, from the very moment of his arrival, that tremulous, -uncertain kind of emotion (one hardly knows whether to call it pain or -pleasure), which precedes in most minds the realization of some dream -which has long been nursed and fostered with great care. - -“Dinner passed away; the honest functionary, all eyes and ears to what -was going forward, listened intently on every side to catch the least -significant observation which should fall, either from the lips of his -host or of the illustrious guest. But it was in vain he strained his -hearing, listening so intently that his neighbour was once or twice -compelled to remind him of the dish before him; not a word of politics -was breathed during the whole repast; and when once, during a short -silence which occurred, he ventured, in a timid voice, to ask the -prince if he thought the Belgian monarchy would be of long duration, -he was merely answered by a request to take more champagne, and the -conversation once more resumed its light and frivolous tone. Wit there -was in abundance; sparkling showers, and bold satire, and learning too; -but the ‘_maire de son endroit_’ cared not for all the good things -which were flying past him from one end of the table to the other, and -convulsing every listener with bursts of hearty laughter; he smiled -not, poor man, but rather sat lost in painful wonder, that the great -ones of the earth should thus lose the precious hours in idle bantering -and unseemly mirth! But he hoped that, once in the _salon_, the -conversation might at length fall into a more serious and profitable -vein, and he had already taken his place close to the prince, -determined to catch each syllable that fell from his lips when Count -Molé approached. This he felt sure would happen; of course it could not -chance otherwise. At length, Count Molé approached, and leant over the -back of the prince’s chair. He spoke, in the very ear of the prince, a -confidential whisper, which the mayor heard, however, distinctly, so -close had he drawn to the illustrious friends. - -“‘Prince,’ said the count, ‘have you forgotten old times and all our -fierce encounters? Come, and renew our skill at billiards in the next -room; it will make us both all the younger by twenty years!’ - -“Billiards! the Prince de Talleyrand play at billiards! it could not -be; he should have imagined that his lameness would have saved him -from _that_. Yet so it was; the Prince de Talleyrand _did_ play at -billiards; and, in spite of his lameness, was considered one of the -most expert players of his day; and so the poor mayor sat the long -evening through, discomfited and unhappy, with nothing to tell his -wife, and nothing to report to the town council when next it should -meet. The disappointment was almost too bitter to be borne. - -“Hope, however, did not desert him. He well knew that the prince -and his noble guest could not play at billiards the whole night, so -he sat awhile waiting with patience, until they should grow tired of -the game, and return to the fireside. And they _did_ return as he had -foreseen, and they _did_ seat themselves comfortably, one on each -side of the chimney. ‘Now will they discuss their latest protocols,’ -thought the little mayor, as he rubbed his hands in glee. No; the -prince was in high spirits, for he had won at billiards. The count was -in high spirits too, for he declared he had _let_ him win; and the -whole conversation was engrossed by the discussion—eternal thrust and -parry—attack and _repartee_—which had so worried the mayor at dinner, -and of which he could not at all see the wit—not he. - -“‘At last he was growing quite beside himself, when the prince arose; -which action was the signal that the _soirée_ was concluded, and that -the different guests were free to retire. Yet he had not heard one -single word of politics! What would he have to say at the _conseil_? -What could he tell his wife? _She_ would greet him with reproaches on -his return home, and would say that such introductions to the great -were of little use, unless he knew better how to profit by them; for -he felt that, were he to talk till doomsday, he never should be able -to persuade her that he had heard not one word of politics. She would -accuse him of having napped, as he always did, and always would do, -despite her admonition. - -“Well; the guests all withdrew, our excellent mayor among the number; -but, as he passed the screen down yonder at the door, upon turning back -to take a wistful glance at the blazing hearth, he perceived the count -reseat himself in the great arm-chair which he had quitted but for an -instant, and the prince ensconced once more in the one he had occupied -all the evening; he saw the latter draw forward a little _gueridon_ -which stood near, place upon it a roll of papers which he took from his -pocket, and pointing to them, he heard him say to the count—‘You see we -have _besogne_ enough before us. I hope you are not sleepy?’ - -“The curiosity, the ambition, the _amour propre_ of the poor mayor were -all roused, and, forgetting the risk he was about to incur—in short, -forgetting all but the opportunity of retrieving lost time—he slid -himself into a chair which stood most invitingly near the door, in the -shadow of the screen, and prepared to listen with due attention. There -was a pause, however, during which the prince rose slightly in his -chair, to reach down one of the flambeaux from the mantel-piece. The -mayor stretched forward eagerly, when his horror may be guessed; for -instead of unrolling the mysterious budget, the prince turned to the -count, and said, ‘Before we begin upon this business, let us conclude -the affair we were speaking of before dinner. I am sorry that you have -reason to suspect the disaffection of the municipal council of our -town; if so, I think your are quite right to have it remodelled. Whom -did you say you would like to replace the mayor?’ - -“The functionary started, and uttered a deep groan, which no doubt -prevented him from hearing the count’s answer; but the prince again -spoke, and asked his friend what he thought of the present one. Of -course, the answer was most humiliating for the poor victim, telling -of apparent inaptitude for the office, of his impertinent familiarity, -and of his eager, inconvenient curiosity—until the unfortunate actually -writhed with the pain each word inflicted. - -“When the unwelcome harangue was concluded, the prince arose to take -a caraffe of water from the console. The poor mayor was in an awful -fright, for the action brought the prince immediately opposite to where -he sat, trembling and perspiring from head to foot. The prince poured -the water into a tumbler and drank it off, and was about retiring to -his seat, when his eye fell upon the figure of the poor little mayor, -who would gladly at that moment have been a hundred feet below the -earth. - -“‘Ah! Monsieur L.!’ exclaimed he, ‘why, in the name of Heaven, have -you been thus neglected? Ring, M. de Molé, here is our worthy friend -L. actually freezing behind the screen, while waiting for some one to -conduct him to his chamber. _Mille pardons_, Monsieur L., for this -extraordinary neglect on the part of the servants.’ - -“The valet-de-chambre appeared. - -“‘Conduct Monsieur L., immediately to his chamber,’ said the prince, -significantly, ‘and see that the like forgetfulness never happens again -with any of the visitors to this house. _Bon soir_, M. le Maire, _bonne -nuit, et dormez bien_!’ - -“The trembling culprit hurried off without uttering a word, so great -was his confusion, and departed the next morning at daybreak for his -own home. - -“It is needless to say that the story of his removal from office was -a hoax. The prince, in rising to reach the light from the chimney, -had descried, in the looking glass, the shadow of a figure on the -opposite wall. His quick perceptions enabled him at once to guess to -whom it belonged, from remembrance of the mayor’s uneasy curiosity, -and indiscreet listening to all that passed during dinner, and he felt -determined to punish the mean and cowardly listener. A wink at the -count was sufficient; _he_ was not one to refuse a hint, and together -they thus fooled the victim to their heart’s content. The story got -abroad, and created great laughter throughout the whole country, and, -as might be expected, the little Mayor of C. was ere long caricatured, -pamphleted, and paragraphed into resigning, and it was only then that -he was allowed to live in peace, and to forget his fatal visit to -Valençay.” - -As my friend concluded his story, the whist-table broke up, and the -prince rising, moved towards the fire, where we were seated, and took -the arm-chair which was always reserved for him. I must confess that -at that identical moment I could enter into the feelings of the worthy -Mayor of C., for I, too, longed for the moment when he would expand, -and share with us some of the varied riches of anecdote with which his -mind was stored. - -It needed but a single spark to fire the train: the prince was _en -verve_ that evening, and I verily believe a whole volume might be -filled with the bare leaves and cuttings of the “Flowers of Rhetoric,” -with which he charmed us. If he did not possess, like the antique poet -of Dante’s vision, the power of carrying us into the nether regions, -his charm was greater still; for with a beck he conjured up the shadows -he wished us to behold, and made them pass in long array before us. -One or two of the anecdotes I will relate, for the benefit of my -readers, but they must not expect to find one jot of the _manner_ of -the narrator—the piquancy, the _verve_, the irresistible charm which -made the Prince de Talleyrand avowedly the first story-teller of his -day. If I can give but a faint idea of the style of conversation which -enlivened the long evenings of autumn beneath the princely domes of -Valençay, it will be as much as I can hope to accomplish, for the -very warmth and vivacity of the prince’s manner of relating renders -it impossible to repeat his words, and memory fails to retrace the -fairy chain by which imagination was so sportively held captive and -enthralled. - -The conversation had turned upon bonnie Scotland, and the prince, amid -many regrets at his inability to visit the land where dwelt so many of -his best friends, expressed much curiosity respecting divers usages and -customs of the Scotch, some of which are so unlike those of any other -nation on the face of the globe. Among other things, he said he had -ever felt an eager desire to witness an example of second sight, and -asked me many questions concerning this extraordinary gift; to which -I was happily enabled to answer in a satisfactory manner, from having -heard in my own family of many illustrations of this peculiarity, -all witnessed and backed by the evidence of sundry old nurses and -attendants, who had been for ages in the family, and of course believed -without inquiry. My poor anecdotes, rough and uncouth as they were, -seemed to interest the company—this kind of superstition being a thing -unknown among the French, who, if they are gifted with the most florid -wit, have certainly the driest imaginations of any people in Europe. - -“Somnambulism, and the waking sleep, might account for the origin of -such a wild belief,” said one of the company. - -“Or the faculty of fixing the mind with straining energy on one point,” -said another. - -“Or, perhaps the sudden light—the quick, vivid flash, which reveals to -some strong and powerful minds the POSSIBLE, the TRUE,” said the prince. - -“I remember,” continued he, “upon one occasion having been gifted for -one single instant, with this unknown and nameless power. I know not to -this moment whence it came; it has never once returned; and yet, upon -that one occasion it saved my life; without that sudden and mysterious -inspiration, I should not now be here to tell the tale. I had freighted -a ship in concert with my friend Beaumetz. He was a good fellow, -Beaumetz, with whom I had ever lived on the most intimate terms; and, -in those stormy times, when it needed not only friendship to bind men -together, but almost godlike courage to dare to show that friendship, I -could not but prize most highly all his bold and loyal demonstrations -of kindness and attachment to me. I had not a single reason to doubt -his friendship; on the contrary, he had given me on several occasions -most positive proofs of his sincere devotion to my interests and -well-being. We had fled from France together, we had arrived at New -York together, and together we had lived in perfect harmony during -our stay there. So, after having resolved upon improving the little -money that was left us by speculation, it was still in partnership and -together that we freighted a small vessel for India, trusting all to -the goodly chance which had befriended us in our escape from danger and -from death, to venture once more _together_ to brave the storms and -perils of a yet longer and more adventurous voyage. - -“Everything was embarked for our departure; bills were all paid and -farewells all taken, and we were waiting for a fair wind with most -eager expectation—being prepared to embark at any hour of the day -or night, in obedience to the warning of the captain. This state of -uncertainty seemed to irritate the temper of poor Beaumetz to an -extraordinary degree, and, unable to remain quietly at home, he hurried -to and from the city, with an eager, restless activity which at times -excited my astonishment, for he had ever been remarkable for great -calmness and placidity of temper. - -“One day, he entered our lodging, evidently labouring under great -excitement, although commanding himself to appear calm. I was engaged -at the moment, writing letters to Europe, and, looking over my -shoulder, he said with forced gaiety, ‘What need to waste time in -penning those letters? they will never reach their destination. Come -with me, and let us take a turn on the Battery; perhaps the wind may be -chopping round; we may be nearer our departure than we imagine.’ - -“The day was very fine, although the wind was blowing hard, and I -suffered myself to be persuaded. Beaumetz, I remembered afterwards, -displayed an unusual officiousness in aiding me to close my desk and -put away my papers, handing me, with hurried eagerness, my hat and -cane, and doing other little services to quicken my departure, which at -the time I attributed to the restless desire for change, the love of -activity, with which he seemed to have been devoured during the whole -period of our delay. - -“We walked through the crowded streets, to the Battery. He had seized -my arm, and hurried me along, seemingly in eager haste to advance. -When we had arrived on the broad esplanade, the glory then, as now, of -the city of New York, Beaumetz quickened his step yet more, until we -arrived close to the water’s edge. He talked loud and quickly, admiring -in energetic terms the beauty of the scenery, the Brooklyn Heights, -the shady groves of the island, the ships riding at anchor, and the -busy scene on the peopled wharf; when suddenly he paused in his mad, -incoherent discourse, for I had freed my arm from his grasp, and stood -immovable before him. Staying his wild and rapid steps, I fixed my -eyes upon his face. _He turned aside, cowed and dismayed._ ‘Beaumetz,’ -I shouted, ‘_you mean to murder me_—you intend to throw me from the -height into the sea below. Deny it, monster, if you can!’ - -“The maniac stared at me for a moment, but I took especial care not -to avert my gaze from his countenance, and he quailed beneath it. He -stammered a few incoherent words, and strove to pass me, but I barred -his passage with extended arms. He looked vacantly right and left, and -then flung himself upon my neck and burst into tears. ‘’Tis true—’tis -true, my friend. The thought has haunted me day and night, like a flash -from the lurid fire of hell. It was for this I brought you here. Look, -you stand within a foot of the edge of the parapet—in another instant, -the work would have been done!’ - -“The demon had left him; his eye was still unsettled, and the white -foam stood in bubbles on his parched lips; but he was no longer tossed -by the same mad excitement under which he had been labouring so long, -for he suffered me to lead him home without a single word. A few days’ -repose and silence, bleeding and abstinence, completely restored him to -his former self, and, what is most extraordinary, the circumstance was -never mentioned between us. My FATE was at work. It was during those -few days of watching by the bedside of poor Beaumetz, that I received -the letters from France which announced to me the revocation of the -decree which had sent me a wanderer to America. The _Directoire_ had -relented, and I was invited to return with all speed. I sought not to -resist the appeal, and at once decided on leaving Beaumetz to prosecute -our speculation alone, and on returning to Paris immediately. - -“The blow was cruel to poor Beaumetz, who was fully persuaded, I have -no doubt, that it was in dread of another attack on his part that -I had now the wish to leave him. No argument I could make use of, -no assurances of unchanged friendship, could shake his opinion, and -our parting was a most stormy and painful one. I made over to him my -interest in the ship which we had freighted together, and he departed -for India, while I bent my course once more towards my _belle France_. - -“Once more in a position to assist my friends, my first thought was -of Beaumetz, and one of my first acts was the cancelling of his -death-warrant. I wrote to him to announce the joyful news, addressing -my letter to the merchant at Calcutta to whom he had been recommended. -In due time, receiving no answer, I wrote again; but my letters were -returned, with the information that the ship, which had sailed from -New York some months before, and of which M. Beaumetz was supercargo, -had not arrived, that no tidings had been received of its fate, and -that great fears were entertained of its total loss. The apprehension -was justified, _for from that day to this no tidings have ever been -received of the ship, nor, alas! of my poor friend Beaumetz!_” - -The prince paused a moment, seeming to collect his sad remembrances of -Beaumetz, and I could not but admire the singular good fortune which -had caused him to abandon his voyage to India. How different might -have been the fate of France, nay, of Europe, had he sailed in that -ship! Well may he have gained among his friends the title of “Fortune’s -master!” - -“But what was really the motive of your first suspicion of the -murderous intent of Beaumetz?” said one of the company. - -“I know not to this very hour,” replied the Prince de Talleyrand; -“it was not his eye, for I was not looking at him at the moment, I -was gazing at the sublime view which he himself was pointing out to -my notice;—it was not in the tone of his voice either, in which lay -the warning of my danger; it was a sudden and mysterious impulse for -which I have never been able to account—one of those startling and -fearful mysteries which even the strongest minds are contented to -accept without inquiry, being satisfied that such things are, and never -daring to ask wherefore. Many persons, the _Illuminés_ for example, who -ruled the _monde philosophique_ for so long a period, have ascribed -this sudden revelation of the hidden TRUTH entirely to the effects -of magnetism, and there are instances well known, wherein the great -masters of the art have been able to produce the same effect at -pleasure. Cagliostro, to whom I once mentioned the circumstance, had -often obtained the same results by his wonderful powers of magnetism.” - -“What, _mon prince_, have you ever seen Cagliostro?” exclaimed the fair -Duchess de V., raising her head from her tapestry frame, and gazing -into the prince’s face, with an amusing expression of wonder and of awe. - -“Ay, that have I,” returned the prince, gravely; “often have I seen -him, fair lady, and am not of those who condemn him at once, without -examination, unthinkingly, as an impostor; for the man _believed_ -himself: no wonder, then, that he could so easily persuade others.” - -“Oh, now, do tell us something about this Cagliostro!” exclaimed the -young duchess, shaking back her fair ringlets, as she leant eagerly -forward, and laid her white and jewelled hand upon the elbow of the -prince’s chair; “do tell us all about your interview with the famous -magician; but mind, tell us the truth. Where did he live?—how did he -look?—what did he wear?” - -“Nay,” returned the prince, smiling, “were I to tell all I know -concerning him, my story would not be done till to-morrow night, at -this same hour.” - -We all involuntarily followed the direction of his gaze towards the -clock upon the mantelpiece. Alas! the hand was wearing round, and stood -within a very few minutes of the hour of one. - -“We must defer the story of Cagliostro’s wonders till another time,” -said he, “but you shall not lose by waiting. _Vous n’y perdrez rien, -madame._ But you shall sleep _this_ night at least in peace; which you -might never do again should you happen to _believe_! So, messieurs, -_bonne nuit—à demain_.” - -He arose. Of course the whole assembly followed the movement, and in a -few moments each one had retired. - -My chamber was in one of the turrets which form the corner towers of -the château, and, by a most singular piece of good fortune, I found -that it was close to that of my friend. We lingered some few minutes, -taper in hand, upon the threshold, and, with his usual kindness, C. -proposed to me, as he took his leave for the night, to conduct me -through the château and grounds on the morrow. - -“We are all independent here,” said he; “you must not feel surprised -if you are left to cater for your own amusement until dinner, for -each one does what is right in his own eyes, and the morrow’s plans -are determined on before night; so that interlopers must necessarily -be excluded, for the first day at least. But you shall not be quite -abandoned; I will be with you betimes in the morning, and we shall have -ample occupation for a long day, in wandering over the beauties of this -place, which must some day become one of the most celebrated spots in -our country.” - -He left me, and I soon sank to sleep, dreaming of all I had seen and -heard, and with anticipations, too, of what more I was to see and hear -before I took my departure from Valençay. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -CONDUCT OF TALLEYRAND AT THE REVOLUTION OF 1830. - - -It will be readily believed that I needed no arousing on the morrow. -In spite of my weary journey, and the late hour of retiring to rest, -I was up and _sur pied_ long before my friend had left his chamber. -The morning was beautiful, and from my window it was pleasant to watch -the departure of the hounds and sportsmen from the court-yard to the -green forest. For my part, however, I felt no envy, but rather stood -wondering that people endowed with the sense of hearing could endure -with patience the eternal twang of the _cor de chasse_, of all sounds, -I verily believe, the most fatiguing and abominable. - -I went down to await C. upon the green _pelouse_ which lay so -invitingly before my window, and I paused to look up with interest -at the broad frontage of the château, which lay in the light of the -morning sun, whose beams, reflected on the shining domes of the huge -Moorish towers, made the whole building bring to mind some rich and -sumptuous palace of the Levant. It was the delight of the prince to -say that “many were the seigneurs of the country who could put forth -the old feudal boast of _pignon sur rue_, and _donjon sur roche_, but -that it was reserved for him to display the broad flanking towers of -the Turkish seraï or Moorish generalife. It was not long before I was -aroused from my gaze of admiration by my friend, who came bounding -over the grass to meet me. He smiled as he beheld the reverential look -I fixed upon the window which he had pointed out as belonging to the -chamber of the prince, where the drawn curtains and closed _jalousies_ -announced the profound repose in which its inmate was still buried. - -“You are like the rest of the world,” said he, taking my arm. “I know -that at this moment you are nursing all kinds of fancies, the one more -absurd and ‘_banal_’ than the other, concerning the old diplomate’s -sleeping visions, which already I have seen compared in one of your -newspapers to the ‘slumbers of the rattlesnake, or the solitary -dreamings of the hyæna waiting for his prey, and sure that it cannot -escape his cruel jaws.’ Nothing,” continued he, “can be more unjust -than the opinions, formed in England of the extreme cunning of the -character of Prince Talleyrand, of the far sight of his self-interest, -of his habitual deception. They add another example to the many on -record of most extraordinary popular delusions. No man was ever perhaps -more influenced by the circumstances of the moment, and less resolved -upon the course he would pursue until the time arrived for action, -than the prince. The conduct which he pursued during the events of the -revolution of July has fully proved this, and, when you and I have time -and privacy, I think I could win you over to my opinion.” - -“And why not at this moment?” said I. “The occasion is among the best. -We are alone, and scarcely likely to be interrupted; and, while we -wander across the park, I can listen with as much attention as though -we were closeted together in the most silent chamber of the château.” - -C. took my arm and moved forward. - -“I can but give you my own impressions concerning the opinions of -Prince Talleyrand during the eventful struggle of the three days,” said -he; “but you may rely upon the truth of my statement of the _facts_ -which took place upon that occasion. I was present with him during the -whole time, an eye-witness to the various emotions by which he was -governed, and could judge, as far as my own powers of observation went, -of the divers motives by which he was actuated.” - -As such, I give my friend’s opinions to the reader, begging him to -remember that they are those of one who knew Prince Talleyrand well, -who had been admitted to his intimacy for many years before his death, -and that they may be of value, as furnishing the interpretation of many -things hitherto problematical. - -“Many people,” continued my friend, “have been led by the political -writers of the day into error, concerning the real causes of the -revolution of July; they are eager to represent the courage and -patriotism displayed by the liberal party on that occasion of sudden -and spontaneous explosion of popular fury, as the effect of a -deeply-laid plot, conceived for many months before; and they seek to -impress the public with a false idea of the diplomacy of the _chefs de -parti_ in the triumphs of the three days. Another idea which has become -as general is, that the statesman who had played so conspicuous a part -in all our revolutions, from that of 1789 to that of 1830, and had -lent with such good grace to each successive government the aid of his -splendid talents—whose word, indeed, seemed to decide upon their very -existence—was no stranger to the struggles and intrigues which ended in -the downfal of Charles X., and the banishment of his dynasty from the -soil of France. Without pretending here either to condemn or justify -the conduct pursued by Prince Talleyrand under other governments, and -which history, freed by time from party spirit and from political -passion, will alone be able to judge with equity, let us examine coolly -the part he took in the revolution of July. _Facts_ may serve better -than _opinions_, to enable the observer to judge with more correctness -the character of this great man, so little known in reality, even at -the present time. - -“It cannot be denied that, at the period to which I now refer -(1830), the opinions of M. de Talleyrand were most unfavourable to -the government of Charles X. Like every other man of sense and -foresight throughout the kingdom, he beheld with dread the dissolution -of the Martignac ministry, and the substitution of the Polignac -administration; but such political inconsistencies could not astonish, -coming from a man of the stamp of Charles X., whose whole life had -been a tissue of inconsistencies, from the famous protest of the Count -d’Artois, upon the occasion of the States-General in 1789, to the fatal -appointment of the ministry which was to send him forth a second time -to emigration, from which he had returned once before, according to -Prince Talleyrand’s own expression long previous to the catastrophe, -‘_having learnt little and forgotten nothing_.’ M. de Talleyrand, -nevertheless, did ample justice to the many good qualities which -distinguished the king in private life, and the more he overwhelmed -him with contempt as a _chef de parti_, the more he was pleased to -acknowledge in him a feeling and generous nature, and a faithful and -grateful friend. In point of real and sterling worth he placed him -far above his brother Louis XVIII., whom he accused of ‘having no -friends—only favourites,’ and who in his whole life never had the heart -to grant a pardon to a single criminal. The one was a better king, the -other a far better man. - -“Charles X., however, returned tenfold in hatred and suspicion all -the pity and contempt which the wily diplomate sought to cast upon -his government; and moreover, the devout monarch never could forget -that the Bishop of Autun had renounced the Church, and had married, -in spite of the threatened excommunication and eternal damnation -voted by Rome as the punishment of such a step; for, although Pope -Pius VII. had absolved the bishop from his vows of priesthood, it was -never without a thrill of horror that the king beheld on court days -his grand chamberlain, who seldom failed on occasions of ceremony and -etiquette to present himself before his royal master, in spite of the -cold reception he met with in the court circles, where his tottering -gait and sarcastic speech had earned for him the sobriquet of ‘_Le -Diable Boiteux_.’ The king, blinded by prejudice, even forgot, in this -instance, the papal authority; for the marriage of the prince had been -sanctioned by the Pope, and was therefore legal in the eyes of the most -pious Catholics. - -“Nevertheless, at the epoch of the Martignac administration, it seemed -as if a kind of _rapprochement_ had taken place, if not between M. de -Talleyrand and the king, at least between the former and the ministry. -The men who composed this ministry[A] all of them possessed a degree -of moderation in their political opinions, which M. de Talleyrand -could not but admire, and, wishing to prove that until then he had -been opposed, not to the king’s government, but to the principles of -the ministry who had conducted it, he sought by every means to show -publicly his sympathy for the new ministers. He was seen once more to -frequent the ministerial salons, and received the ministers at his own -hotel with that _haute politesse_ and courtly urbanity for which he -was so distinguished, expressing upon every occasion the satisfaction -which he felt at seeing the helm of public affairs at last in the -grasp of men whose experience rendered them able to comprehend the -exigencies of the country, and possessed of resources enabling them to -provide the most efficient means of meeting them. This satisfaction -was but of short duration. In the month of August following, Charles -X., yielding to the instigations of his secret counsellors, who worked -upon his unenlightened conscience—taking, himself, undue alarm at the -first check sustained by the _ministère_ Martignac in the Chamber -of Deputies—replaced the members of his cabinet by the Polignac -administration. Throughout the kingdom there arose a cry of indignation -at this step. - - [A] M. de Martignac Interior. - De la Ferronaye Affaires Etrangères. - Feutrier Cultes. - Portalis Justice. - -“M. de Talleyrand, grieved to see the false line of conduct into -which the king was falling, but incapacitated from affording help, -and moreover, assailed each day by some new vexation, took advantage -of a short illness to withdraw for a while from court, in order to -restore his health at the château of his niece, the Duchess de Dino, at -Rochecotte, in Touraine, where he resolved to pass the ensuing winter. - -“Various have been the motives attributed to this retirement at -Rochecotte. I am aware that many of the public papers have asserted, -and other writers of graver stamp have repeated, that it was during -this winter that the plan of attack against Charles X. was conceived -and matured, between the _chefs_ of the liberal party and M. de -Talleyrand, who, according to general belief, had engaged himself to -lend them the aid of his counsel and high influence. - -“What gave some little colouring to these reports was the fact, that M. -de Talleyrand reckoned among his most intimate friends some of the most -violent members of the opposition, who, at the moment of the revolution -of 1830, by the force of circumstances, found themselves at the head -of the new code of things which they had so long and so ardently -desired, and which, after all, was established without their direct -influence, as will be proved by a bare recital of facts. Thus, M. de -Talleyrand received into his daily intimacy General Sébastiani, the Duc -de Broglie, M. Villemain, M. Bertin de Vaux, and M. Molé; all of whom, -however, remained passive spectators of the struggle, until the moment -when the chance turned in favour of the popular party. There was one -man, however, who took an active part in the revolutionary movement, -who had prepared and ordered its march by his attacks in the journal -of which he was principal editor, and whom M. de Talleyrand encouraged -and distinguished by most particular favour. It was, indeed, at -Rochecotte, during the month of May, which Thiers spent there with M. -de Talleyrand, that he conceived the plan of those terrific articles in -the _National_, which every morning, like the battering ram of ancient -warfare, laid in ruins the wretched bulwarks behind which the tottering -monarchy thought itself secure. - -“Thiers, in fact, did conspire against the government of Charles X.; -but it was conspiracy not with this leader or with that; not with such -and such a party; but with the immense majority of the nation, to -whom he spoke the language they had seldom heard, and which they all -could understand; the language of their old affections and of their -craving need. But thence to argue that M. Thiers came to Rochecotte -to concert with M. de Talleyrand the plan of the _National_, and the -overthrow of the government, would be to make M. de Talleyrand play -a part much beneath him. It must also be remembered that Thiers was -at that time a sub-editor of the _Constitutionnel_, and that nothing -foretold in him the future President of Louis Philippe’s council. His -History of the Revolution, full as it was of false ideas and monstrous -principles, thanks to some few narratives of interest, and to the great -name of Napoleon, which is retraced in grand and noble characters, had -established for its author a certain reputation in the literary world. -But of a surety, M. de Talleyrand, notwithstanding the high opinion he -entertained of the talents of Thiers as a man of business, would have -been much astonished if, at that period, in his salon at Rochecotte, -some modern Cassandra had predicted that the author of the “Revolution -Française” would one day become Prime Minister and Chief of the French -Cabinet! M. de Talleyrand, with all his boasted perspicacity, his -foresight, and his _justesse d’esprit_, would have considered it as a -_mauvaise plaisanterie_ that a man _sans position sociale_, an _homme -de rien_, should ever be considered eligible as a leader of public -affairs in a country like France. - -“M. Thiers was, in the eyes of M. de Talleyrand, nothing more than a -young writer, full of vigour and talent, whom the old seigneur loved to -protect, and to initiate into the manners and customs of good society, -without a knowledge of which (he would often say) there can be no good -taste in literature. But he was the last person in the world who, at -that time, could have looked upon Thiers as a conspirator, of whom he -was making himself, by such protection, the vile associate. - -“The men of July, whether to curry favour with the new dynasty, or to -assume the part of profound politicians, have pretended that they had -prepared the fall of Charles X., and they boast that their machinations -had aroused the tempest which, in three short days, swallowed up a -whole generation of kings. These men have either sought to deceive -public opinion, or else have been themselves grossly deceived. Nothing -was ever more unlike a conspiracy than the Revolution of 1830; or if -conspiracy _did_ exist, it was public, general, and unanimous; one in -which the whole country bore a part, saving only that small portion -of the community bound by ties of honour and gratitude to the elder -branch of the House of Bourbon. In fact, there was not a single human -being endowed with sense, from one end of France to the other, who, -even long before the issuing of the fatal ‘Ordonnances’ of July, could -not have foretold whither the multifarious blunders of Charles X.’s -government were hurling the monarchy; but not a soul had the slightest -presentiment that the day of reckoning was so nigh; and, as proof of -this, it may be remembered that those men of talent most opposed to -the Restoration, such as MM. Pasquier, Molé, Royer Collard, Sébastiani, -De Barante, Guizot, De Broglie, and many others, were struck as by a -thunderbolt at the first news of those accursed ‘Ordonnances.’ - -“Among these men stood first and foremost M. de Talleyrand, who could -scarcely credit the _Moniteur Officiel_ which contained them. To assert -then that M. de Talleyrand _conspired_ against the Bourbons—that by -his _liaisons_ with the opposition, and above all, with the Duke of -Orleans, he brought on the fall of the elder branch, and the rise of -the younger (which it may be allowed he had long foretold)—proves a -total ignorance of the circumstances in which M. de Talleyrand was -placed, and adds one more to the numerous calumnies which it has -been the pleasure of so many writers to heap upon the head of this -celebrated statesman. But, if the prince did not absolutely rush to -meet the events of July, it cannot be denied that, with his accustomed -tact, he knew how to profit by the _faits accomplis_, and that, being -once certain of the flight of Charles X., he pointed out, with the rare -sagacity with which he was gifted, and which age had rather increased -than diminished, to his old friend the Duke of Orleans, the line of -conduct to be pursued in order to avoid, amid the stormy tides by which -he was beset, seeking to steer his course against the will of the -people. - -“It has been to this day a matter of speculation whether the Duke of -Orleans had anticipated being called to the throne, or whether it was -the force of circumstances which had brought him to it. These are the -facts:—although the Duke of Orleans had for a long time looked upon the -event of a change in the dynasty as _possible_, and was most certainly -_prepared_ to place the crown upon his own head in case of such an -event, yet even so late as the 30th of July, he hesitated to grasp it, -and resisted the arguments and persuasions of Thiers. It is a known -fact that the duke was concealed in the environs of Neuilly, in fear of -a popular outbreak, when a secret message from M. de Talleyrand, which -he received on the evening of that day, caused him to decide at length -upon re-entering Paris, and proclaiming himself Lieutenant-General -of the Kingdom—the Head of the new Power. The new king soon forgot, -however, this proof of attachment on the part of his old friend; and -M. de Talleyrand, who knew that kings, even when chosen by the will -of the people, are, for the most part, compelled to be _illustres -ingrats_, never, during the years which followed these events, alluded -to the circumstances which brought about the _avénement_ of Louis -Philippe.” - -Nevertheless, as it is entirely to this secret influence of Prince -Talleyrand, which swayed the decision of the Duke of Orleans, that -France is indebted for the new dynasty, it may be interesting to the -reader to give, from the authority of one who was with the prince -during the memorable days, and the truth of whose statements may be -relied on, some account of what took place on that occasion. - -“M. de Talleyrand,” continued C., “was, at the time, in his hotel in -the Rue St. Florentin, and, on the first day, before any one could -foretel the issue of the terrible drama which had just begun, far -from displaying any degree of sympathy for the resistance which was -beginning to be organized in every quarter of Paris, he looked on with -a feeling of terror at the unchaining of the populace; for he had often -said, that “neither experience nor prophecy could ever calculate the -chances of a dawning revolution. Would the people, when once let loose -in the revolutionary arena, renew the bloody scenes of ’93, or would -they pause before the memory of that dread, terrific epoch? Could any -one, at that hour, have dared to hope that Paris would have given to -the world the sole example in history of a roused and angry multitude, -staying its tide of fury even in the midst of intoxicating triumph? - -“M. de Talleyrand _did not_ foresee this possibility. The souvenirs of -youth came back upon his age, and showed him the people conquering, -using and abusing the right that conquest gives; pillaging the hotels -of the _noblesse_, and, in bloody triumph, sparing no superiority, -either of station, rank, or fortune; and, it might be also, if the -truth were known, trembling himself to be the first victim of popular -rage; for he knew that the people loved him not: he had been the -instrument of the restoration of the Bourbons. Such were the thoughts -which occupied the mind of M. de Talleyrand during the first of these -days, and, with those who can bear witness to the uneasiness which -he betrayed during those hours of doubt and terror, he is perfectly -exonerated from the suspicion of having _prepared_ the change which -was taking place before his eyes. - -“On the second day, the 28th, when the people were combating against -the king’s troops for the possession of the Hôtel de Ville, while the -air was filled with the old and dreaded sounds, the cannon’s roar, -the tocsin’s boom, his confidence in the success of the king’s power -of defence forsook him at once, and he then pronounced the memorable -sentence which has since become familiar to the readers of French -literature: ‘The cannon which is fired against the people cannot but -shake the sovereign’s throne.’ At the moment when the tocsin announced -the triumph of the people at the Hôtel de Ville, he looked at the clock -upon the mantelpiece. It was then just upon the stroke of five. ‘A -few minutes more,’ exclaimed he, ‘and Charles X. is no longer King of -France.’ - -“One good instance of his presence of mind occurred at this very -moment, for he turned to his valet-de-chambre, and made him immediately -collect together the men-servants of the hotel, and take down the words -‘HOTEL TALLEYRAND,’ which flaunted in large golden characters over the -gateway, the feudal pride of other times. - -“I still maintain the perfect conviction that, even up to the very hour -of which I speak, he was undecided as to the course he would adopt; he -was evidently waiting for the issue of the struggle. Public rumour has -lent him a _bon mot_, which is certainly in his style, although I was -with him the whole day, and did not hear him pronounce it. - -“‘Hark! the tocsin ceases—we triumph!’ - -“‘_We!_ who, mon prince?’ - -“‘Chut, not a word! I will tell you that to-morrow.’ - -“If his secret wishes were really in favour of a new order of things, -with his habitual prudence, he made it a duty to conceal them; and -he spent the whole of the second day fixed at the windows of the -drawing-room of the hotel, which looks into the Place Louis Quinze, -sending every now and then his emissaries into the divers quarters of -Paris, to bring back accounts of the progress of the revolution. MM. -de Broglie, Bertin de Vaux, and Sébastiani were with him, and all, -excepting the prince, were of opinion that the king would attempt, -before the morning, to re-enter Paris at the head of his troops. _He_ -knew the character of the man too well either to hope or to fear this -decision. - -“On the 29th, however, when M. de Talleyrand began to be convinced -that the cause of the revolution was triumphant, that the liberal -deputies, Casimir Périer, Laffitte, Lafayette, all, not only pronounced -themselves in its favour, but sought to direct the insurrection, and -to place themselves at its head, he felt at once the immense advantage -that such a demonstration would give to the Chamber of Deputies over -the Chamber of Peers; and his only thought during the whole day was to -collect together at his own house the few men of intelligence among the -peers of the opposition, in order to balance, in the public opinion, -by some patriotic declaration, the influence already gained by the -deputies, from the position in which they had placed themselves—that -of ‘Defenders of the Charter.’ But all the efforts of the prince were -unavailing. The great number of his friends, such as Pasquier and -Molé, hesitating to declare their opinions thus openly, in dread of -the return of Charles X., declined taking a part in the protest of -the deputies. M. de Talleyrand was pained to the quick by this want -of decision, and foretold, with an accuracy which has since become -manifest, all the bad consequences which would fall upon the Chamber -of Peers, from having remained passive during this eventful crisis. - -“By early dawn on the 30th, the people were, however, masters -of Paris—of all the military posts—of all the barricades of the -Tuileries—of the Louvre, and of the hotels of the ministers. The -royalist troops had withdrawn, and were encamped round St. Cloud, where -still lingered, in faint hope, in inert expectation, Charles X. and his -court. - -“Suddenly a report arose, and spread like wild-fire through Paris! The -old king, alarmed at the consequences of a civil war, had decided on -immediate flight! M. de Talleyrand, at first, would give no credence -to the rumours. He could not believe it possible that the king, being -still surrounded by 12,000 devoted troops, would so soon abandon the -chances of the game, and, before he declared himself, he sent to St. -Cloud to ascertain the truth of the statement. The return of the -messenger staggered us all. He brought word that Charles had fled from -St. Cloud, and was proceeding with all expedition to Rambouillet. At -that moment, M. de Talleyrand’s doubts were at an end; he decided at -once upon the course he would pursue; and, in this circumstance, as in -so many others wherein he has been accused of changing his politics to -suit the hour, he might have answered as he had once done before, ‘It -is not I who desert the king—it is the king who deserts us.’ - -“Now came the time when the high intelligence and marvellous sagacity -of the prince were brought into action, and, I hesitate not to repeat, -saved the country. M. de Talleyrand dispatched to Neuilly, with all -possible speed, a little billet written with his own hand. The bearer -was a person of high courage and great integrity, and was charged, -should he fall into danger, or be arrested at the barrier, to destroy -the billet. He could not in honour read its contents, but saw that -there were but few words traced upon the paper. They were addressed to -the king’s sister, Madame Adelaide. This messenger was commissioned to -place the billet himself in the hands of the princess, and to tell her -that the Prince de Talleyrand conjured her to warn the Duke of Orleans -that not a moment was to be lost—that the Duke might reckon upon his -aid, and that he must appear immediately—that he must come at once -to Paris, to place himself at the head of the movement, or all would -be lost without recall. Above all, he was only to take the title of -Lieutenant-General of the Kingdom, which Charles had conferred upon him -before leaving St. Cloud:—he implored him not to manifest any other -intention. In this advice the old diplomatist was reserving for himself -a back door to creep out at in case Charles should march on Paris. - -“Madame Adelaide received the message with ill-dissembled joy. With -woman’s _astuce_, however, she declined giving an answer in writing, -as there were no writing implements in the room, and she dared not ask -the servants for them; being aware that the whole house was filled with -spies, she knew not whom to trust at such a moment. She even took the -precaution of returning the paper received from the prince, fearing -either to retain or destroy it, lest its traces might be discovered. -The messenger then took back this verbal message: ‘That her brother -would be most grateful for the assistance which Prince Talleyrand thus -offered—that he was for the moment _absent from Neuilly_—but that she -would immediately have the prince’s message conveyed to him, and would -herself use her most earnest endeavour to persuade him to go at once -to Paris.’ The Duke of Orleans was, before night, established in the -Palais Royal, and, in a few hours after his arrival, the walls of the -capital were covered with placards and proclamations, signed LOUIS -PHILIPPE, LIEUTENANT-GENERAL OF THE KINGDOM. - -“Still, there remained an immense distance to overleap before the -crown could be grasped by the lieutenant-general. On the one hand, the -republican party were howling with rage, to find the republic vanishing -still further from their embrace—that dear-beloved republic, for whose -sake they had rushed so blindly on the chances of a revolution. On -the other side, the great mass of the citizens remained calm, and -indifferent to the rise of another Bourbon. As to the party calling -itself Carlist at the present day, it must have been very small -indeed, for, in the hour of danger, it was invisible! The Orleans -party, meanwhile, comprised all the leading members of the Opposition -in both Chambers. At the head of this party was M. de Talleyrand, -who, without exactly declaring himself in favour of the new dynasty, -already directed all its movements, by the advice which he found means -to transmit through a person in his confidence; for the barricades, by -which the streets were still rendered impassable, prevented him from -going in person to the Palais Royal. - -“Nevertheless, M. de Talleyrand beheld with uneasiness the republicans -beginning to profit by the kind of interregnum which followed the -flight of Charles X. This party, with the perseverance which still -characterises it, were every hour gaining ground. Already the populace, -which, during the three days had shown itself so magnanimous, so -disinterested and generous, was beginning almost to murmur at its -victory, and to lend a greedy ear to the furious declamations of the -jacobins of 1830. A little longer hesitation, and the re-establishment -of royalty would have become a thing impossible without another direful -struggle, in which it is not quite clear that the Orleans party would -have been victorious. Already were the piazzas and the gardens of -the Palais Royal echoing with inflammatory appeals to the sovereign -people, to stand forth while yet it was time, and to take into its -own hands the government of what were virtually and morally its own -interests. The approaches to the Chamber of Deputies, where the famous -declaration of the 7th of August was concocting, were crowded with -fierce and savage-looking men, calling with bloodthirsty cries for -the establishment of the Republic, and vociferating horrible menaces -against those deputies who would dare to set up another throne; -above all, to seat upon it another Bourbon. A crisis was imminent. -The government which was sitting at the Palais Royal had the utmost -difficulty in restraining the people, by dint of intoxicating its -self-love and vanity with the praises bestowed with liberal hand -each morning in the journals. The people were beginning to discover, -meanwhile, that the victory which they had gained, and for which they -were so lauded, gave them neither bread for their starving families, -nor work whereby to earn it; and they who, after having broken the -sceptre of royalty, thought to be freed from all control, could -not support, without shuddering, the restraint which a government, -unsanctioned by the popular voice, sought to impose upon them. - -“Dreadful rumours of revolt and massacre were circulated on all sides, -and the family of the Duke of Orleans were not without alarm for the -very life of its chief. The moment, then, was come at last—the moment -to decide. Charles X. was taking, without resistance, the road to a new -exile. From that quarter, then, all danger ceased. The deputies, now -gathered together in sufficient number to deliberate, had come to offer -the crown to the lieutenant-general of the kingdom. M. de Talleyrand -was consulted at this crisis, and he it was who caused the faint -resistance of Louis Philippe to cease, and induced him to place upon -his brow the crown offered by the people, and he it was whose opinion -decided the king to go at once to the Hôtel de Ville, there to receive -publicly the sceptre of France, and to swear allegiance to the Charter. -This truth may be relied on; and, moreover, M. de Talleyrand, in order -to give to the new power the sanction of his old experience, appeared -at the public reception of the Palais Royal for the first time since -the revolution. - -“Such was the part played by M. de Talleyrand in the revolution of -1830. Immense it was, if judged by its results, but neither studied -beforehand nor rehearsed, as it has been so often unjustly asserted -since that day. This part, indeed, was so entirely _impromptu_, that -many persons of the intimate circle of the prince know that, more -than once, M. de Talleyrand has let fall a regret that Charles, -in his blind folly, should have destroyed in three days the whole -fabric of the Restoration, which had been looked upon by all Europe -as the masterpiece of Talleyrand’s diplomatic works. The weakness of -seigneurial pride, too, the only one which I think he ever possessed, -will sometimes cause him to sigh over the wreck of that principle of -legitimacy which he had been at so much pains to re-establish in favour -of the Bourbons, a principle which he still considers necessary to the -repose of the country, perhaps compromised for many generations by the -events of the three glorious days. The lesson which such regrets imply, -conveys, to the thinking mind, its own moral.” - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -SEIZURE AND CONFINEMENT OF THE SPANISH PRINCES AT VALENÇAY. - - -While my friend had been thus discoursing of kings and revolutions, -we had, after crossing a part of the park, turned in the court-yard, -where stood the stables. I knew that the prince cared but little for -his stud; I was surprised, therefore, when C. pulled the cord of the -huge bell which hung at the entrance. At the sound, the groom, who -was standing in the court, evidently knowing for what purpose he was -summoned, flung back the wide doors of an outhouse near the gate. - -“It is fit,” said C., laughing, “that, as our discourse is all of -chance and change, of fallen kings and falling governments, we should -now behold the very type of these: although, fallen and faded as it -is, it may be regarded as the great lion of Valençay.” - -Saying this, he stepped into the building, and I followed, and beheld, -not, as I had imagined, some fine high-mettled racer, the gift of this -or that sovereign, presented in gratitude for the services of the -diplomate, but a sight far more interesting—a sight which carried me -back to the days of Philip V. and Cardinal Olivarez. - -It was the carriage which had conveyed the Spanish princes across -the frontier to Valençay, in 1808, and which they had left behind -them under peculiar circumstances. The vehicle is of most antique and -extraordinary construction. It must, indeed, be coeval with the Spanish -monarchy; a huge, uncouth piece of Spanish workmanship, like nothing -on earth but our Lord Mayor’s state barge, or the car of Juggernaut. -The panels are emblazoned in gold and silver, with the arms of all the -royalties of Spain, and all the quarterings thereof besides. When new, -and on a sunny day, these panels must have blinded the beholder. The -roof is adorned in the quaint old style, with massive cornices and rich -carvings. The hangings within and without were of crimson silk damask, -and even the very wheels, although rude and ponderous, were curiously -wrought and richly gilt. - -The circumstances of the huge machine having remained at Valençay -are curious and amusing. When the morning arrived which was to send -Ferdinand and his brother forth from their place of exile, to resume -the crown and royalty in their own land, the huge carriage which had -brought them to Valençay was drawn from its _remise_, and laden with -the moveables which had been collected during their long captivity. -There are a few persons living now at the château, who well remember -the morning of the departure, and they will tell you all the ludicrous -circumstances connected therewith, some of which would form valuable -acquisitions to collectors of “whims and oddities.” - -“The day was fine: not a cloud obscured the horizon; all nature was gay -and smiling. The old coach, roused from its long repose, and furbished -up with new hangings and velvet cushions, had been dragged round to the -_perron_ to be loaded. This task being accomplished, the princes and -their suite had squeezed themselves into the interior; the little pages -stood upon the steps, and hung by the door, after a fashion which may -still be seen in ancient prints; and, as for the valets and footmen, -they clustered on behind, pell-mell, clinging to each other as best -they could. Some say this ponderous machine contained at that moment -no fewer than seventeen persons. In Spain, it had always been set in -motion by eight stout mules, but upon this occasion six brisk and -capering post-horses were attached to it, with good stout ropes, too, -for it was evident that it would require a strong pull to get it under -weigh. - -“The beautiful princess, the fair hostess, with her whole court, was -standing on the _perron_, in picturesque and wailing grief. There were -clouds on many a youthful brow, and the tears fell like rain from -many a bright eye, for the princes had been beloved during their long -and weary captivity, and in return they had felt a depth of gratitude -towards the soft beguilers of their weary hours. Some there are who -say that time hung not so heavy on their hands, as it might have done -had they remained amid the dull and heavy splendours of the Escurial. -It is certain that, upon this occasion, when they should have been -joyous, they displayed faces of such weeping melancholy at either -window of the vehicle, that you would have thought them going forth -into exile still more dreary, instead of being about to resume their -glorious birthright. They sobbed forth faint farewells, which were -echoed back by the weeping beauties on the _perron_, until the uncle, -old Don Antonio, in this case more impatient than his youthful nephews, -urged the postillions to their greatest speed, with promise of princely -reward. - -“At length the cry of ‘_En route!_’ burst from the guide; whips were -cracked with energy tremendous, and handkerchiefs waved in graceful -agitation. A louder sob burst from the ladies on the _perron_—a cry -of absolute despair echoed from the carriage—the horses pulled—the -postillions shouted—they even let fly sundry choice oaths which are -ever ready at hand—the old coach groaned and creaked—that was all—the -spurs were dug into the flinching sides of the poor animals—the old -coach swayed to and fro, and swung with a rumbling sound—but it moved -not! In vain did both man and beast toil and pull at the cords—they all -broke one after another, and not an inch of ground was gained. - -“I have heard it said that no scene of the broadest farce could surpass -in ludicrous effect that which took place, when it was discovered that -it would be impossible, by any human means, to drag the machine even -so far as the gate of the courtyard. The royal party were compelled to -alight forthwith. All the baggage had to be unpacked, and they left -Valençay in a much more humble conveyance,—a good, modern travelling -carriage, belonging to the prince. I have often wondered if Don Carlos, -when fighting in his Biscayan mountains, ever remembered that moment, -and if so, whether with a smile or with a sigh.” - -I looked at the carriage with great interest, for there it still -remains, just as it was rolled back to its old station under the -_remise_. Through all the changes of the country from which it had -rumbled over the frontier, laden with its royal freight, has it stood -silently falling to decay—the gay emblazoned panels blistering and -fading in the damp, and the splendid hangings all moth-eaten and -falling to tatters—a curious memento, and one which even in our own day -may find its way to some museum. It certainly would not disgrace any -collection of “_pièces curieuses_,” however rare and valuable. - -C. told me that, “not being at Valençay at the period of the arrival -of the Spanish princes, he could not bear witness to the effect which -the sudden seizure of their persons, the breach of faith of Napoleon, -and the strict captivity in which they were held, had produced in the -country. He had, however, seen much of them during the time of their -stay, and gave me some curious anecdotes concerning them. Ferdinand, -and his brother Don Carlos, were both young, almost mere lads, at the -time, and, at first, as it may well be supposed, they were overcome -by grief and rage at being thus torn from their country by fraud and -violence; but, after some little while, they grew reconciled to their -fate, and even, with true youthful volatility, preferred it to the -awful state and grandeur of the Spanish court, which, in these days, -still maintains the same absurd etiquette that had for ages rendered it -the terror of foreign ambassadors, and gained for it the nickname of -the “grave of the gay.” - -“It is an error to suppose that the smiles and fascinations of the -Princess de Benevent herself had any share in this sudden change of -sentiment, for she was already past the age to captivate the fancy of -her youthful guests; but there were some among her fair maids of honour -for whom the young princes would gladly have sworn never to return to -Spain, not even to rule over it in splendour. - -“They were a curious collection assembled at Valençay. First and -foremost came the two princes, Don Ferdinand, Prince of the Asturias, -and Don Carlos, his younger brother. Of these, more anon. Then came -old Don Antonio, brother to the reigning King of Spain, and uncle of -the two boys, guardian likewise of their welfare and their morals. The -latter was a true Spaniard of the _vieille roche_; such a character -as may be found in the old Spanish novels; ignorant and haughty as -the hidalgo of Columbus’s day, yet _bonhomme_ withal, credulous and -unsuspicious as a child. - -“At the same time with the Spanish princes and their suite, arrived -at the château the commandant Henri, delegate and spy of the police, -commissioned to keep close watch over the youthful heroes, and not to -suffer them to leave his sight either night or day. I really think -that the presence of this man was the only source of uneasiness or -annoyance that the royal personages experienced during their stay. -He was a hard and vulgar individual, whose life had been passed amid -scenes of strife and treason, and he fulfilled the duties allotted to -him with a pertinacity and minuteness which embittered the lives of -those entrusted to his charge. Of course, from his position about the -persons of the princes, he became at once the object of their hatred -and contempt, and if in wantonness of power he often inflicted useless -vexation, they in the wantonness of youth managed to revenge themselves -with great ingenuity. Some of the scenes to which this state of things -gave rise were most amusing. One of the greatest delights enjoyed by -Don Ferdinand was, at the hour of prayer, night and morning, to compel -the attendance of the commander, to whom, from his republican and -anti-religious principles, the idea of bending to a Supreme Being was -odious, and who would growl forth his republican oaths in cadence with -the chant of the officiating priest. He had been wounded, too, in his -youth, and in his age was stiff-jointed besides, so that to kneel was -absolute agony. - -“Don Ferdinand would provide amusement for the whole company, by -assisting him with mock condescension to drop upon his knees, and would -convulse them with laughter at the sly shoves and friendly pinches -which this operation would give him the opportunity of bestowing. In -vain the commander would seek to excuse himself from attending at this -precise hour. No excuse would be taken; his royal charges would rather -wait any length of time than dispense with his company. The annoyance -grew so great for the poor commander, that all his days were embittered -by the torture of that single hour, and the poor tormented princes were -amply revenged by this gentle and gentlemanlike chastisement. - -“Don Antonio, the dear good old soul, was at first much admired and -venerated by every one around him, for the assiduity with which he -visited the library of the château. Many and long, indeed, were the -hours he spent there, much to the edification of those who, beholding -the utter ignorance in which the princes had been brought up, began -to hope that so much study and meditation on the part of the tutor -would in good time turn to profit and improvement for his pupils. -But alas! soon were the fond believers undeceived. The good old man -suddenly ceased his visits to the library, and, on being questioned by -the Princess de Benevent as to this sudden alteration in his mode of -passing his time, he replied, with composure, “Thank God, my work is -over, and I can smoke my cigaretto in the shade beneath the piazza, -without the fear that the morals of my pupils may be corrupted by those -naughty books.” - -“‘Nay,’ replied the princess, ‘if your Excellency had but pointed out -which were those you thought objectionable, I would have had them -removed; my servants should have done it long ago, and saved you all -this trouble.’ - -“‘Oh, do not mention trouble,’ replied the Don, with calm politeness; -‘besides, removing the books would have spoilt your library. It was -only the vile Latin authors whom I dreaded; but fortunately, neither -Don Ferdinand nor his brother can read them, and the engravings were -soon removed by my care and trouble. I promise you, madame, not one -remains, in all those books the Prince de Benevent pointed out to me as -being those most studied by the youth of this country.’ - -“Judge of the dismay of the princess on hearing these words. Instant -search was made among the volumes of which he spoke, some of the most -rare and valuable editions in the whole collection. It was too true. -The pious Don, in terror for the morals of his pupils, had taken the -pains to tear out the beautiful engravings, which in many cases formed -the chief value of the books. Every one the least objectionable was -gone. The beautiful Ovid, the magnificent Strasburg Bible, and many -others of equal value, were stripped, and may be seen to this day, as -positive proofs of the _ignorance crasse_ in which the royal family of -Spain were at that time reared. - -“The ignorance of Don Ferdinand would have been remarkable even in -a convent of Spanish friars. He _could_ read, indeed, but made it -his boast that he never did so, having a ‘valet in his service who -understood all the mysteries of science.’ This was _verbatim_ his own -expression. He was of quiet and taciturn habits, however, and loved to -spend his time in cutting out with scissors divers little devices, with -which he enclosed the _bon-bons_ he loved to present to the ladies of -the princess’s court. He was fond, too, of searching in books; but it -was soon discovered that Don Antonio’s alarm was but too well founded; -the royal youth loved books for the sake of the ‘pretty pictures’ they -contained, and nothing more. - -“The younger brother, Don Carlos, was far less gentle in his manner, -and less favoured in person. His great passion was the chase, in which -the commander loved to indulge him, as he himself partook of the same -taste. - -“But if,” said my friend, “you would like to know more of their deeds -and doings, I will give you a sketch of all the circumstances which -took place, from the time of their _enlèvement_ at Bayonne, to their -return to Madrid. It was given me by a gentleman of their suite. It may -amuse you, and you may read it at your leisure.” - -Just at the moment my friend uttered this promise, the breakfast-bell -sounded a joyous peal across the park, and we hastened to obey its -summons. C. being engaged during the morning, gave me the paper he had -promised, to amuse my _ennui_, and, in the hope that its contents may -afford to others the same delight they occasioned me, I shall give them -to the reader. - - * * * * * - -The little manuscript which my friend placed in my hand, had been found -in the château after the departure of the young princes of Spain from -Valençay. It was written in a fair hand, and bore the following title: - - “_The Secret History of the Intrigues, which ended in the Seizure - and Imprisonment of Ferdinand VII. and his Brothers at Valençay._” - -The _cahier_ was found in the library, and as there was but ONE person -of the whole suite who ever went thither, it is well known by whom it -was written, a gentleman of truth and honour, at the very moment I am -now writing this, holding a high situation about the person of the -Queen of Spain, Isabella. The manuscript began as follows: - - “In the month of March, 1807, the Prince of Asturias, who was - in active and secret correspondence with Don Juan d’Escoïquiz, - Archdeacon and Canon of Toledo, his former preceptor, sent to him - at Toledo, where he then resided, a person in his confidence, - named Jose Marrique. The prince forwarded by this person a letter - to be delivered into M. d’Escoïquiz’s own hand, wherein he spoke - of his suspicions concerning the ambitious views of the Prince of - the Peace, who, in consequence of obtaining daily, either from the - king or queen, some new dignity or favour, became, more and more - powerful, particularly in possessing, as he did, the command of - the army, the navy, and the militia. Already the rumour had arisen - that Charles IV., whose health was declining fast, had appointed - him Regent of the Kingdom. Once regent, the death of the king would - open a new career to his ambition. The character of the Prince of - the Peace, and his proximity to the throne, tended to excite alarm - in the friends of the royal family. - - “M. d’Escoïquiz, in dismay at the contents of the prince’s letter, - flattered himself that it would be easy to undeceive the king - and queen with regard to the real character of the Prince of the - Peace. He immediately penned a letter, which was to be delivered - by the Prince of Asturias into the hands of the queen, in which - he displayed, with great eloquence, all the danger in which the - royal family stood, by the blind confidence the king reposed in - the Prince of the Peace. This letter, full of reason and of truth, - so much alarmed the Prince of Asturias, that he could never find - courage to present it to his mother, and he merely copied it in his - own hand. Somewhat ashamed of his own want of resolution, he wrote - to M. d’Escoïquiz, that he judged it impossible ever to enlighten - the queen, and that he thought it would be easier to persuade the - king to reason, if he could get an opportunity of speaking with him - _tête-à-tête_. - - “The worthy Canon of Toledo immediately set about inditing another - letter, which he endeavoured to adapt to the weak understanding - of the king, and sent it to the prince, who waited in vain for an - opportunity of giving it in private to his father. This document - was copied, like the former one, by the prince himself, and - likewise locked up in his desk, where they were both found on the - seizure of his papers some time afterwards. - - “The Prince of the Peace, who suspected that the reserve and - taciturn habits of the Prince of Asturias served to conceal hostile - intentions towards himself, sought every means of undermining the - fidelity of the young prince’s household, and made a proposition - through the queen to many him to Donna Maria Theresa, his - sister-in-law, second daughter of the Infant Don Luiz. This - princess was remarkable for her great beauty and ambition, and had - already exhibited an inclination for gallantry. The prince, who - knew but little of her beyond her personal attractions, had already - given his consent to this union, when suddenly, the ambition of the - Prince of the Peace had become more insatiable than ever, and the - marriage was broken off. - - “M. d’Escoïquiz, on perceiving that every means of gaining access - to the king and queen had failed, and that the marriage with - Donna Maria had failed also, began to imagine that the only hope - of support for the Prince of Asturias would lie in his marriage - with a princess of the family of Bonaparte. M. d’Escoïquiz grew, - in fact, quite enraptured with the scheme, which he himself had - planned, and, wishing to preside over its execution, he left his - quiet retreat at Toledo, and came to reside at Madrid. There he - became acquainted with Count Orquez, a gentleman much attached - to the Prince of Asturias, and communicated to him his alarms - and his future plans. In one of their secret conversations, M. - de Orquez informed him that Don Diego Godoï, the father of the - Prince of the Peace, was distributing money among the garrison of - Madrid, and had thus corrupted a great number of the officers. A - colonel of dragoons, Don Joaquin Jauregui, gave them intelligence - of all that transpired, and informed them that to every officer - of distinction, Godoï had said, ‘You see the miserable state into - which the kingdom has fallen—the Bourbon dynasty is degenerated—the - king cannot live much longer—the prince is a weak, capricious fool. - Some change is necessary—we reckon on your aid.’ Throughout the - whole of Madrid, the secret agents of Godoï were at work night and - day. The Abbé Stata, librarian of St. Isidore, had been imprudent - enough to spread inflammatory writings, the object of which was to - prove to the Spanish nation, that in the existing crisis, the only - hope of salvation lay in an entire confidence in the judgment and - experience of the Prince of the Peace. - - “In this state of affairs, M. d’Escoïquiz was aware that not a - moment was to be lost, and that all true friends of the throne - must at once league together for its defence. His first step was - to obtain from the Prince of Asturias a kind of letter of credit, - which authorized him to speak confidentially with the Duke del’ - Infantado, a young man of exalted birth, of great integrity, and - chivalrous courage, holding a high place in public esteem. Armed - with this letter, written in the prince’s own hand, he appointed - a meeting with the duke, and together they swore fidelity to the - throne, vowing respect even to the absurd blindness of the king, - and merely concerting the measures to be taken in the house, when - the king, whose health was declining daily, should breathe his - last, at which moment it would be the easiest thing in the world - for the Prince of the Peace to conceal the death of the sovereign - as long as it should please him so to do. The hatred and suspicion - which he had so craftily engendered in the bosom of the queen - against her son, had compelled her to fill the palace with troops, - all devoted to herself and to Godoï. It was his design when, by - the rules of etiquette established at the Spanish court, the exact - moment arrived for the heir to the throne to appear at the bedside - of the dying king, to have the young prince arrested, and to make - him sign by force the necessary decree, which would place the whole - power in the hands of the favourite. The Duke del’ Infantado and - M. d’Escoïquiz judged then, that the only means to guard against - this outrage, would be to provide themselves with a decree, signed - and sealed by the new king, by which the whole power, civil and - military, would be placed in the hands of the Duke del’ Infantado, - placing also beneath his command the Prince of the Peace himself. - - “Empowered by this decree, the Duke del’ Infantado, on the first - signification of the approaching death of the king, was to declare - his power, take possession of all the military forces, and to - appear in the city and in the royal palaces, habited in the costume - of Generalissimo of the Kingdom, with full intentions to arrest - immediately the Prince of the Peace, if the conduct of the latter - gave any cause for umbrage. M. d’Escoïquiz drew up this decree, and - had it conveyed to the prince, with the necessary instructions, - begging him to copy it with his own hand, and to fix his own - seal upon the paper. The prince complied with the whole of those - directions, and the letter was placed at once in the hands of the - Duke del’ Infantado, who was to preserve it carefully until the - moment arrived when it would be required. The act was complete, - signed according to Spanish usage, ‘_Yo el Re_,’ and a vacant space - left for the date, which was to be filled up by the Duke del’ - Infantado at the moment of the King’s death. - - “About the middle of the month of June, M. d’Escoïquiz received - another letter from the Prince of Asturias; in it was announced - that, through the medium of Don Juan Emanuel de Villena, his first - equerry, he had received an important billet, signed by Don Pedro - Giraldo, tutor to the Infant Don Francisco, and that this billet - was written by an individual belonging to the French Legation. - It contained the announcement of a most important and secret - communication, which it was the wish of the French ambassador, - M. de Beauharnais, to make to the prince. M. d’Escoïquiz, whom - the latter had consulted with regard to the line of conduct which - he ought to adopt, was of opinion that the prince’s reply should - be peremptory—that ‘he meddled not with public affairs, nor held - interviews with public men.’ Meanwhile, he undertook to discover if - the message really came from the French ambassador, or was merely - a trap laid by Godoï to condemn the young prince. This tried and - valued friend, never at a loss, had soon invented a pretext to - call upon the ambassador, to whom he was unknown. He requested - permission to present to M. l’Ambassadeur the first volume of an - epic poem, to be entitled ‘The Conquest of Mexico.’ - - “The ambassador, without appearing surprised at the sudden literary - reputation usurped by M. d’Escoïquiz, answered with courtesy that - he would receive with pleasure the book and its author. After a - few observations relating to ‘the Conquest of Mexico,’ some few - remarks on the state of affairs bringing each of them nearer to the - object they both had in view, M. d’Escoïquiz frankly questioned the - ambassador on the subject of the billet which had been delivered to - the Prince of Asturias, and begged him, as a point of honour, to - tell him the truth concerning it. - - “The ambassador feigned a certain embarrassment, denied being - the author of the billet, yet wished it to be understood that in - reality he was; said that a message from an ambassador to the - heir-apparent would scarcely have been admissible, but declared - he felt much esteem for his royal highness, and that he would - be greatly pleased by the permission to pay his court, _en - particulier_, to the young prince. By all this specious reasoning - M. d’Escoïquiz judged of the truth, and at once told him, without - further disguise, that the prince firmly believed that the message - came from him. - - “‘Then why have you not brought me a _written_ message in return?’ - said M. de Beauharnais, involuntarily betraying himself; whereupon - M. d’Escoïquiz, laughing, replied, ‘That _written messages could - be denied_, therefore a preconcerted signal would, in his opinion, - be more efficacious;’ and, before the conclusion of the interview, - it was agreed that, as the court was in a few days to return to - Madrid, the ambassador would present himself, as usual, at the - head of the _corps diplomatique_ at the reception of his royal - highness, and that the prince would ask him ‘_if he had ever been - at Naples?_’ and that, on turning as he would leave him, to pass to - another ambassador, he would take his handkerchief from his pocket - and wave it as he passed. - - “On the 1st of July, the ambassadors were received by his royal - highness, who supported M. d’Escoïquiz by giving the preconcerted - signal. Two days after this, M. d’Escoïquiz had another interview - with M. de Beauharnais, who bade him rely on the sentiments of - affection which Napoleon had ever felt towards the Prince of - Asturias, and his readiness to maintain his cause against the - Prince of the Peace. It was then that M. d’Escoïquiz thought it - proper to bring forward the question concerning the marriage, and - even went so far as to leave to Napoleon the choice of the princess - of his own family whom he would prefer to place upon the throne - of Spain. The utmost secrecy was sworn to on both sides, M. de - Beauharnais promising to write immediately to Paris, in order that - proper measures might be taken with regard to the king, so as to - prevent any imputation of intrigue being laid to the charge of his - son. - - “In consequence of the surveillance which was exercised by Godoï - over every movement of the French ambassador, it was agreed that - M. de Beauharnais and M. d’Escoïquiz were to meet for the first - interview in a secluded spot of the gardens of the Retiro. It - was about twenty days afterwards that M. d’Escoïquiz received an - intimation that he would be expected during the hour of siesta, - when they would have little fear of surprise, at the place which - had been appointed. Here M. d’Escoïquiz learnt, with the greatest - astonishment, that the answer which the ambassador had received - from Napoleon was perfectly puerile and insignificant, never even - alluding to the marriage; and M. de Beauharnais, attributing this - silence to the absence of any _written_ communication on the part - of the young prince, advised M. d’Escoïquiz to persuade him to - write directly to Napoleon. (Was this a snare?) It is certain that - M. de Beauharnais _must_ have received some positive instructions, - which he did not choose to reveal until the prince had further - committed himself, and he suffered M. d’Escoïquiz to return to - Toledo in disgust. - - “It was on the 30th September, 1807, that M. d’Escoïquiz received - a letter from the ambassador, in which were quoted, as an extract - from a private communication of Napoleon’s, the following words, - each underlined: ‘_I beg not, neither do I sell—I act not without - security. Have you received any official communication touching - this affair?_’ The forms of political quackery employed in this - letter induced M. d’Escoïquiz once more to return to Madrid; - again did he meet the ambassador at the Retiro; again did M. de - Beauharnais endeavour to persuade M. d’Escoïquiz to prevail upon - the prince to write directly to Napoleon; and the good canon, - having the welfare of the prince at heart, yielded at last, and - promised that such a letter should be written. - - “Now, the Prince of the Peace was all this time perfectly aware of - everything that was passing in the house of the ambassador, through - the medium of the spies with whom the latter was surrounded, and - he caused the king immediately to write, himself, to Napoleon, - which epistle was instantly despatched to the Spanish ambassador - in Paris, the Prince de Masserano, with orders to convey it, the - very moment of its arrival, to the emperor, in whatever place - he might chance to be. It was natural enough that, with the - dilatory character of the Prince of Asturias, his father’s letter - should arrive long before his own. It reached the emperor at - Fontainebleau, and excited much astonishment and indignation. It - was full of bitter reproach against Napoleon for having encouraged - a secret correspondence with the young heir to the Spanish throne, - telling him beforehand of the despatch he was about to receive from - the prince, _and of all that the letter would contain_. - - “That letter was full of protestations of devotion to Napoleon, and - of admiration of his brilliant qualities, of the before-mentioned - proposal of marriage, and of supplications to the emperor to aid in - rescuing the country from the hands of the Prince of the Peace. It - was upon the strength of this letter that the Prince of the Peace, - gained over by Napoleon, persuaded the old king to allow of the - entry of French troops, ostensibly to compel Portugal to separate - her cause from that of England—it being understood that it was - merely as a passage to that country that these troops were allowed - to cross the line. - - “On the 27th of October, at ten o’clock at night, the Prince of - Asturias was arrested in the Palace of the Escurial, under the - accusation of having conspired to rob his father of the throne, and - of having sought to assassinate him. The act of arrest went on to - say, that these particulars had come to the knowledge of the king - _through an unknown channel_, and that he would be tried for the - crime of high treason. M. d’Escoïquiz and the Duke del’ Infantado - were arraigned as accomplices. They were confined in the dungeons - of the Escurial, deprived of all communication with each other, or - with the world without, and two sentinels were stationed at the - door of each cell. - - “During the process of the prince, the number of French troops - had increased to more than double. It was observed that they had - taken up positions entirely contrary to the direction they had - professed to follow, and that they were each day drawing nearer to - Madrid, and the people, in every country more clear-sighted than - its rulers, began to feel alarm at the intrusion. It was necessary - to give some diplomatic explanations concerning these singular - marches, but these were so ill received, that the Prince of the - Peace was compelled to order back the Spanish regiments already on - their road to Portugal. The ambassador feigned total ignorance, - and, after the lapse of a few days, received instructions to say - that, by commanding the retrograde movement, the Prince of the - Peace must be prepared to allow of an increase of French forces. - In the fear of a counter-order, these latter troops, by forced - marches, soon took possession of the whole frontier of Catalonia, - Navarre, and Guipuscoa. The court wishing to appear free from - anxiety, negotiations went on as usual between the two governments. - Meanwhile, the country was invaded, and the Prince of the Peace - began to lose somewhat of his overweening confidence in the - disinterested friendship of Napoleon, but, like all weak-minded - persons, thought that everything would be saved by gaining time. He - accordingly proposed a journey into Andalusia on the 13th of March, - and that very same night he gave orders for departure; but it was - impossible to keep the preparations so secret as to escape the - observation of some of the hangers-on who always throng about royal - palaces. The orders all along the road for relays of horses, the - departure of the luggage, the sudden disappearance of Madame Yudo, - with her children, all these circumstances united, had produced an - uneasiness among the people, and roused the feeling of hatred and - indignation towards the Prince of the Peace, which had slumbered, - but had never been extinguished, and it was declared that he was - counselling the king to desert Madrid. - - “In these popular movements, it needs but a spark to light the - brand, and in less time than could be conceived possible, a crowd - had assembled before Godoï’s residence, with loud and furious cries - demanding justice on the oppressor of the people. Godoï escaped, - thanks to his foresight in preparing for a day of reckoning. He - had planned and accomplished a secret retreat beneath the roof of - his palace, where he remained concealed while the work of pillage - and devastation was going on around him. It was not till the 19th, - that he was discovered by a sentinel, who could not be bribed to - facilitate his flight. He was secured, and conveyed through the - streets in a piteous plight. - - “The king, justly deeming that the Prince of Asturias would have - greater influence with the crowd than himself, was reduced to - implore his son to intercede in favour of the unfortunate minister. - This the prince, with true Christian feeling, in spite of all cause - of grievance which he himself had to complain of, immediately - consented to do; and, suddenly appearing on the balcony of the - palace, he promised the assembled multitude that, if they would - disperse, the Prince of the Peace should be tried and judged - according to the law. This address had the desired effect; the - crowd retired, and Godoï was taken prisoner to the barracks of the - _gardes du corps_, where, by one of those strange coincidences by - which it would appear as if Providence sought to remind ambitious - men of a day of retribution, he was locked up in the very chamber - which he had occupied when a simple private soldier in that - identical corps. - - “It was after this event that the Prince of Asturias was received - into favour, and with him, the friends who had been so devoted to - his cause. M. d’Escoïquiz was appointed to superintend all the - negotiations with the French ambassador, as it was thought in - council that M. de Beauharnais, after what had taken place, would - find himself more at ease with M. d’Escoïquiz than with any other - of its members.” - - It was immediately after these events that Charles IV., by his own - spontaneous act, abdicated the throne in favour of his son, who - took his father’s place as Ferdinand VII. All the circumstances - which followed are fully detailed in the work of M. de Pradt, and - need not be repeated here. The details of the manuscript tally - in every respect with those given by that author, and I shall - therefore content myself with giving to the reader the gossiping - portion of the narrative; the hitherto _unpublished_ history of - one of the most striking and audacious _coups-de-main_ of modern - history. - - “From this hour was that _coup-de-main_ evidently planned and - meditated, and one scarcely knows which to admire most—the fond - and simple security of the Spaniards, or the boldness and contempt - of all social respect which characterized the proceedings of - the French. The ambassador announced at length the arrival of - the Emperor Napoleon at Bordeaux, and was pleased to renew the - protestations of friendship on the part of his master, with which - he had already beguiled the faith and credulity of the poor young - Prince of Asturias. It was not, however, until the 8th of April - that King Ferdinand decided on despatching his young brother, Don - Carlos, to meet the emperor, with instructions to proceed even to - Paris, should he fail to meet him on the road. Don Carlos was the - bearer of a letter from Ferdinand to Napoleon, in which, after - speaking of the strict alliance which it was the interest of - both countries to maintain, and having again urged the subject of - his marriage with one of the emperor’s nieces, he announced his - intention of going forward to meet his imperial majesty, as soon as - he should have approached the frontiers of Spain. - - “Don Carlos took his departure on the 9th of April. The news of - the departure of the emperor from Paris, reached Madrid on the - 11th. Ferdinand, meanwhile, worn out with the persecutions of the - Grand-duke of Berg and General Savary, quitted Madrid, for Burgos, - on the 14th. His council advised him to this measure; perceiving - that he had not the means either of attack or defence, it was - thought to be the wisest plan to throw himself into the arms of - Napoleon. - - “It was now observed that not a single negotiation had taken place - with the new king, and that he had not been formally acknowledged - by Napoleon, who had never taken the trouble to answer any of his - letters, and now, too late, it was beginning to be feared that - the frequent conferences which had taken place between Charles - IV., the queen, and the Grand-duke of Berg, through the medium of - the Queen of Etruria, had for their only aim the replacing of - Charles upon the throne, by causing him to protest against the - act of abdication. This secret intrigue, of which M. de Monthion, - adjutant-general, had been the messenger, and the Queen of Etruria - the instrument, produced the act of the 21st of April, in which - Charles IV. speaks thus: - - “‘I protest and declare that my decree of the 19th of March, by - which I abdicated the throne in favour of my son, was extorted from - me by force, and the desire of preventing great disorder in my - kingdom, and the effusion of the blood of my well-beloved people, - and ought therefore to be regarded as an act null and void. - - “‘YO EL REY.’ - -“The natural consequence of this protest was of course the application -to Napoleon for help against his son, thus pronounced a rebel and -usurper. Ferdinand had authorized a junta, under the presidency of his -uncle Don Antonio, to take charge of the government during his absence. -He had with him a single squadron of the _gardes du corps_; and two -companies of foot had orders to await him at Burgos. He was three -days upon the road, and found every post occupied by French troops, -among which he could not discern a single Spanish soldier. At Burgos, -he found Marshal Bessières, in command of 10,000 men. The marshal -courteously offered the use of the relays which had been provided for -Napoleon, for the conveyance of Ferdinand to Vittoria, which offer -was accepted. Here the unfortunate prince found a corps composed of -two hundred dragoons, and a _compagnie d’élite_ of fifty gendarmes, -commanded by Colonel Fleury. - -“The prince remained three days at Vittoria, and lodged at the Hotel -de Ville. Savary grew impatient at this long delay; his orders were -to bring the prince on to Bayonne, _nolens volens_. Every measure had -been taken to carry him off on the 19th, if he had not listened to -the last endeavour at persuasion on the 18th. But the king removed -every difficulty, by announcing his intention of once more setting -forward on his journey. At nine o’clock on the morning of the 19th, at -the moment of his getting into the carriage, a popular instinct had -drawn together a vast concourse of people at the door of the Hôtel -de Ville; a universal cry of execration arose from the multitude as -the young prince mounted the vehicle; the traces were cut, and the -mules unharnessed. Ferdinand was compelled to harangue the populace, -and succeeded in quieting them by assurances of his perfect safety; -the furious cries which had been heard gave place to tears, and, soon -afterwards, he was allowed to depart; but in consequence of the delay, -did not arrive at Irun until eleven o’clock at night. - -“Here the king and his brother were lodged at the house of M. -d’Alozabal, outside the town, and they were guarded by a Spanish -regiment. General Savary did not arrive at Irun until the 20th, at -seven in the morning, owing to an accident which occurred to his -carriage. Thus the king and his council were left for eight hours -alone, without their French escort, guarded by Spanish troops, in the -house of a Spaniard, situated on the sea-shore, where a number of boats -were lying attached to stakes planted at the bottom of the garden. -General Savary, immediately on his arrival, rushed like a terrified -culprit to the house where the king had alighted. Oh, joy!—he found him -still sleeping quietly in his bed. - -“At eight o’clock, the _cortège_ set out for Bayonne, and in that -place was accomplished one of the most extraordinary events which, -perhaps, has ever taken place in the history of nations. At the moment -when the king passed over the frontier, the carriage was surrounded -by detachments of the imperial guard. Their numbers appeared rather -extraordinary for a mere guard of honour. This reflection, vague enough -on its first adoption, changed to a sinister foreboding, when, on -passing beneath the triumphal arch which had been thrown across the -road, they beheld the following words inscribed amidst the boughs of -laurel with which it was decorated:—‘He who can make and destroy Kings -at pleasure is himself more than a King.’ - -“Now were the princes of Spain beyond the jurisdiction of their own -country, and in the power of Napoleon. Between Vivau and Bayonne, -Ferdinand found the Infant Don Paulo, who, with three Spanish noblemen, -had come to greet his unhappy brother. The king requested them to join -him in his carriage, and then he learned, with the greatest surprise, -that Napoleon himself had declared to them on the day before, at _ten -in the morning_, that they might never expect to return to Madrid, and -that one of his own brothers was about to occupy the throne of Spain. I -have marked the hour at which this declaration had taken place, because -it must have taken eighteen hours to get the news conveyed to Irun, and -at Irun, as we have seen, there had been ample time and opportunity for -the escape of the princes. - -“Nothing was left but resignation to their fate; the carriage was -drawing near to Bayonne; at half-past twelve o’clock, the princes -arrived in the good old city, and, a few moments afterwards, the king -received a visit from Napoleon in person. In this interview, doubtless -by design, the conversation was insignificant, excepting that it was -observed that, in the style of Napoleon’s address to the king, there -existed an affectation of addressing him in the third person, using the -pronoun _elle_, which might be applicable in the French language either -to majesty or royalty. - -“Ferdinand hastened to pay his respects to Napoleon, in grateful homage -for this first visit, and the emperor invited him to dine at the -Château de Maroc. The Dukes de San Carlos, de Medina Cœli, and del’ -Infantado, were also invited. The Prince de Neufchâtel was the only -Frenchman present at this dinner. - -“On the next day, Napoleon granted a private audience to M. -d’Escoïquiz, and bade him comprehend that he was determined to alter -the dynasty which had sat upon the throne of Spain; forgetting that he -had a thousand times declared that his own existence was incompatible -with the fact of any sovereign of the house of Bourbon being allowed -to remain on any of the thrones of Europe. He alleged in excuse of his -proceedings the proclamation of the Spanish government at the period -of the battle of Jena, which proclamation, he said, had been regarded -in France as a measure of war. He then added, in a loud, fierce voice, -that it would be useless to seek to alter his determination, for that -nothing on earth could make him change. He paused after the utterance -of these terrible words, and then spoke, in a softened voice, of the -misfortunes into which the young princes had fallen, and regretted for -their sakes that he was compelled to take such harsh measures, wishing -them to be assured that nothing but the necessity of perfecting his -system could have induced him to behave thus hardly towards them. He -even went so far as to offer to the young king, upon condition that he -would renounce all pretensions to the Crown of Spain, the kingdom of -Etruria, with one year’s revenue, to be spent in forming a household, -one of his nieces in marriage, and, in case he himself died without -heirs, a right to share his property with his younger brothers. - -“M. d’Escoïquiz, who was a brave and clever man, answered to all this -disloyal cant as became a Spaniard and a gentleman, without acrimony -and without passion, stating that it was not in the power of the -emperor to compensate the king for the loss of the crown of which he -was depriving him, and appealing at great length to every feeling of -honour and humanity in the emperor’s bosom. Napoleon listened to all -without betraying the slightest mark of impatience, but merely replied -that he had been for a long time engaged in examining the question on -every side; that his present determination was dictated by the _system_ -which he had in view, and which, although against the feelings of his -heart, he must continue to persevere in. The canon then retired. The -result of his visit was submitted to the other friends of Ferdinand. -M. de Cevallos was _alone_ of opinion that every proposition of -Napoleon should be refused, and that all communication between the -two sovereigns should be suspended; and he exacted, seeing the great -responsibility which the council was incurring with the Spanish nation, -that each member should certify his opinion in writing. - -“Is it not strange that the courage of these men should have been -roused just at the moment when they had need of nought but resignation? -But so it was: their Spanish pride had taken umbrage at last, and -the Duke del’ Infantado was commissioned to announce to Napoleon -the prince’s intention of naming a plenipotentiary to negotiate in -writing every subject which it might be the emperor’s pleasure to have -discussed. The proceeding of Napoleon on this occasion was highly -characteristic of the man. He sent for M. d’Escoïquiz, and told him, in -blunt and coarse language, that, if before eleven o’clock that night -the councillors did not bring the formal renunciation of Ferdinand to -the throne of Spain, and the formal demand of that of Etruria, he would -treat with Charles IV., who was to arrive on the morrow. M. de Cevallos -implored the young king not to accede to any proposition of Napoleon; -but, the day after, M. d’Escoïquiz ventured to speak again concerning -Tuscany, when Napoleon answered abruptly, ‘Par Dieu, mon cher, il n’est -plus temps!’ - -“On the 30th, at four in the afternoon, Charles IV. and the queen, -arrived at Bayonne. Napoleon had despatched one of his chamberlains to -compliment them at Irun. In the same carriage with the king was the -Princess d’Alcudia, daughter of the Prince of the Peace. The entry of -the king and queen was most brilliant. The princes were allowed to go -forward to meet them, and returned to Bayonne in their suite. - -“The arrival of Charles completely altered the face of things. He -consented to all that was required of him. Napoleon sent a message, -through M. d’Escoïquiz, to Ferdinand, to the effect that, as King -Charles IV. had refused to adhere to his abdication, it was the -duty of the Prince of Asturias to give in his renunciation at the -instant. The young prince, through weakness, consented to this mark -of respect to his father, although aware that in this proposition -some sinister design of Napoleon must be concealed. The first act of -authority on the part of Charles was to name the Grand-duke of Berg -lieutenant-general of the kingdom, thus excluding Don Antonio, who had -been called to Bayonne by an order of Charles himself. Don Antonio had -yielded without a murmur; and an aide-de-camp of the Grand-duke of Berg -escorted him to Bayonne, where he arrived on the 25th. He had incurred -some danger on the road, for the people had unharnessed the mules of -his carriage at Tolosa, and thrown down cart-loads of rubbish on the -bridge. Don Antonio had owed his safety entirely to the courage of the -captain of cuirassiers who commanded his escort. - -“Soon after the arrival of Don Antonio, the Queen of Etruria joined the -royal party, bringing with her the Infant Don Francisco. It was at this -moment that the princes were greeted with the astounding information -that they were immediately to depart as prisoners for Valençay, and -here they arrived on the 18th of May. - -“Their entrance into the château will never be forgotten, for it left -upon the mind of every beholder the most singular impression. The -princes (all excepting Don Antonio) were young, and blooming with -health and innocence, while everything about them, the habiliments -which they wore, the carriages which conveyed them, the liveries of -their attendants, brought back the memory of past centuries. The -very coach from which they alighted might have belonged to Philip -V. This air of antiquity reminded the bystanders of their grandeur, -and rendered their position still more interesting. They were the -first Bourbons who had touched the soil of France after so many years -of troubles and disasters, and it was with tears that they were -received. The Princess de Talleyrand and the ladies of her suite -crowded round to greet them on their arrival, and by their attentions -succeeded in diverting the grief which they expressed at this cruel -and unjustifiable exile. It was the object of every inhabitant of the -château to render this exile as easy to be borne as possible. - -“On the very morrow of their arrival, the young princes were assured -by all they saw, that Napoleon reigned not either in the château or -in the park of Valençay. No one was permitted to appear before them -without an order from themselves, and it was agreed that no one should -approach them save in court costume. Such marks of honour and respect -were pleasing to young men who had been brought up amid the ceremony -and etiquette of the Escurial. Every hour of the day was allotted to -some pursuit. In the morning, mass at the chapel—then the _siesta_—then -driving or riding in the park, and then again to prayer. In a few days, -the young princes found themselves more at home than they had ever done -in their father’s palace at Madrid. They had never been accustomed even -to go out to take an airing without a ceremonious permission from the -king; they had never been allowed even to walk together, it not being -etiquette for more than one royal prince to be absent from the palace -at a time. It is a singular fact, that the amusements of the chase, -riding on horseback, and dancing, had been strictly prohibited at the -court of Spain. It was at Valençay that Ferdinand fired his first shot. - -“The young princes were all delighted at the change in their habits, -and at the kindness with which they were surrounded. The _garde de -chasse_ who accompanied them through the park, had served the Prince de -Condé; the riding-master who was employed to teach them to ride, had -been for years in the _grande ecurie_, and had given instructions to -Madame Elizabeth; so that they were constantly reminded of individuals -of their own family. Boucher, the cook, was continually employed in -concocting detestable Spanish ollas. The terrace before the château was -converted for their amusement into a _salle de bal_, where they would -sometimes join in those dances of their country, which require no art -to follow the movements or the step. Guitars were left in every corner -of the garden, and the kind-hearted Dussek himself would devote his -time and talent to the execution of simple Spanish airs, which they -would love to hear, as being the only music they could understand. - -“But all these amusements were only minor points of interest in the -history of their lives. It was at the hour of prayer, when the bell of -the chapel rang at sunset, that all the etiquette of Spanish form was -most strictly adhered to. Every soul in the château, whether visitor, -attendant, gaoler, or guard, was compelled to attend at the chapel; -and it was really a touching sight to behold prisoners and gaolers, -oppressors and oppressed, kneeling together before the same God, laying -aside their bitterness and enmities before Him who was one day to judge -them all.” - -During this period of uncertainty, while his European allies were -still dubious as to the manner in which his brother Joseph would be -received as king of Spain, Napoleon was in a state of constant terror -and alarm with regard to the prisoners of Valençay; he could not hear -of the place, nor of the persons who inhabited it, without giving way -to transports of rage, and to the utterance of injurious epithets -concerning those whom he had already wronged and oppressed. One day, -the young prince received a billet, couched in the following terms: -‘Prince Ferdinand, in writing to me, addresses me as his cousin. Let -him understand that such address is ridiculous, and let him henceforth -simply call me “SIRE.”’ - -“From this time forward, the existence of the princes seemed to have -been forgotten; and all that can be said of them during the five years -that they spent at Valençay is, that they existed. The treaty which -fixed their departure to Spain was negotiated at Valençay, and they -left the place full of unspeakable gratitude for the kindness and -princely generosity of its owner.” - -Just as I had finished the reading of this tale of wonder, C. entered -the room. “What think you of this strange statement?” said he. “The -history of your own country, all wild and furious as it is, cannot -offer an example of such audacity as this.” I was fain humbly to -confess our inferiority in these matters. “But know you,” said I, “the -opinion of Prince Talleyrand with regard to this affair?” - -“He has been calumniated even in this,” was C.’s reply, “and accused -of having advised the measure; whereas his indignation on learning -from Napoleon himself the step which had been taken, dictated the -boldest and most eloquent speech which, perhaps, ever fell from his -lips: ‘Sire,’ said he, warmly, ‘a young man of family (_un enfant -de famille_) may gamble away his last farthing—the heritage of his -ancestors—the dower of his mother—the portion of his sisters—and -yet be courted and admired for his wit—be sought for his talents or -distinction—but let him once be detected in _cheating_ at the game, -and he is lost—society is for ever shut against him.’ With these words -he turned upon his heel, leaving the emperor pale and quivering with -rage, and vowing vengeance against the bold speaker of the unwholesome -truth. Such was the real opinion of the Prince de Talleyrand -concerning this unprincipled transaction—the expression of the man who -has been accused, not only of having been the instigator of the whole -proceeding, but of having aided in its execution. ‘Et voilà comme on -écrit l’histoire!’” - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -CAGLIOSTRO—VOLTAIRE—THE MARQUIS DE J——. - - -It was the hour of noon, and C. had kindly come to fetch me to the -luncheon-room, where I found the guests all assembled, listening -greedily to the conversation of the prince, who was that morning _en -verve_, and relating with great good-nature the anecdotes which he -had promised us on the preceding evening; the first claimant to be -satisfied was, of course, by right, the youthful duchess, to whom he -had held out hopes of the history of his famous visit to the great -Cagliostro, and which I will give to the reader. - -“It was just at the dawning of the new lights which had arisen on -the political horizon,” began the prince, “or rather, I should say, -perhaps, with more justice, at the first extinguishing of the old -beacons which had served to guide our ancestors for ages, that so many -new doctrinaires and charlatans of every kind came swarming in crowds -to Paris. Those were, indeed, most troublous times. Every brain seemed -reeling with political vertigo—every heart seemed to beat thick and -fast, with an ardour hitherto unknown in the annals of any country -on the face of the globe. With the warm and passionate temperaments, -enthusiasm had reached to frenzy, while, with the cold and passionless, -it smouldered, a hidden fire, ready to burst out into lurid flame upon -the first occasion of excitement. - -“Among the many quacks and impostors who abounded at the time, none -was more conspicuous than the famous Cagliostro. He had arrived from -Italy under extraordinary and mysterious circumstances; his coming had -been preceded by rumours more strange, more surprising still, and his -door was besieged at once by all the rich and idle, the marvel-loving -portion of the population of Paris. Among the rest, I am ashamed to -confess that I was one of the most ardent. I was very young at the -time, and had not acquired that distrust of all pretension which years -alone can give. Many months, however, had elapsed before I could -obtain the audience I so much coveted. Thousands of persons had to pass -by right before me, and it was said that, immediately on his arrival, -his books were so filled with the names of the highest and mightiest, -that, had he been _just_, and received them each _in turn_, the -candidates at the _bottom_ of the list would have known their future by -experience long before he could by any possible means have foretold it. - -“I myself knew an officer in the regiment de Flandre, who, being -quartered at Metz, and not being able to obtain from his colonel leave -of absence, threw up his commission, in order to keep his appointment -with Cagliostro on a certain day in Paris, so fearful was he of losing -the valuable information concerning the future, which the magician had -to give him. - -“I cannot even now repress a smile, when I remember the awe and terror -with which I entered the presence of the conjuror. I had not dared to -go alone; M. de Boufflers had kindly consented to accompany me; and -yet my embarrassment was not wholly dissipated even with the prospect -of his company; so fearful was I of missing the object of my visit, -that I had wasted so much time in thinking of all the questions which -I meant to propound to him, as to have even written many of them upon -my _calpin_, with the intention of consulting it in case of need. It -was already dusk when we were admitted into the awful presence of the -conjuror; not quite dark without doors, yet sufficiently so within to -require the aid of tapers. The antechamber was filled with impatient -applicants, who railed at us as we passed through the door of the -chamber where the wizard was holding his incantations. The whole -scene was very like those introduced in the early Spanish dramas, and -inspired one with the most awful forebodings as to what was about to -follow. - -“We found the magician in his study. He was just at the moment -engaged in dismissing two poor patients, to whom he had given advice -gratuitously. The one was a cripple figure, whose distorted and haggard -countenance formed a most fitting accessory to the scene of devilry; -the other was an old mendicant friar, afflicted with the shaking palsy, -whose restless limbs and hesitating speech made him appear as if under -the influence of some wizard spell. - -“As soon as we entered, Cagliostro led his guests to a door at the -farther end of the chamber, which was veiled by a thick tapestry, and, -opening it without the slightest noise, ushered them through it into -the passage beyond, and then, closing it again with the same attention -to silence, returned to the spot where we were standing, and, placing -his finger on his lips, pointed towards a still and motionless figure -seated in one corner of the room, and which, from the obscurity that -reigned around, we had not observed on our entrance. The figure was -that of a female, covered from head to foot with a veil of black crape, -so long and ample that it disguised even the form of the fauteuil in -which she was seated. - -“Cagliostro bade us take seats at a table covered with green velvet, -upon which were placed divers mysterious-looking instruments of -torture, sundry queer-shaped bottles and diabolical volumes, and -then, standing up before us, in solemn and biblical language inquired -wherefore we had sought him, and what it was that we desired to know. -Such was the effect of the sudden questioning, the mystery of the -interview, the silence and the darkness, that Boufflers, who was to -have spoken first, and who had the reputation of being a _raffiné -de premier ordre_, a _roué de la Régence_, was quite overawed by the -whole scene, and could find no words to answer the summons, but sat -stammering and hesitating, while I took the opportunity of examining -slowly and at leisure the wondrous adept. - -“Cagliostro was then a man in the very flower of his age, of -exceedingly prepossessing appearance. His person, although small, was -so well and firmly knit that its proportions seemed those of a much -larger man. His countenance was remarkably keen and penetrating, being -formed of a succession of sharp angular lines, which gave him a look -of cunning that he would willingly have disguised, and with which the -solemn tone and mysterious aspect were altogether at variance. His -sharp piercing eyes I shall never forget; they absolutely seemed to -light up the obscurity of the chamber, and, as they flashed from the -one to the other of his visitors, they seemed to belong to some wild -bird of prey hesitating between two victims which to devour first. -His beard and eyebrows were black and bushy, with here and there a -streak of grey amid their jetty blackness, telling more of the hand -of woe than of the passage of time. When we entered, he had upon his -head a velvet cap, which, with gentlemanlike courtesy, he doffed when -he addressed us, and then I perceived that the summit of his crown -was already bald, although his hair curled downward upon his neck and -shoulders in a thick and silky mass. The hand which rested upon the -table, and upon which he seemed to be leaning his whole weight as he -stood in graceful and theatrical attitude, awaiting our communication, -was small and delicate as that of a lady of the court, and shone out -upon the dark green velvet as white as snow; and yet it needed not any -very profound knowledge of anatomy to enable the beholder to discern at -once that it was the hand of a man possessed of most herculean strength -and power, so vigorous were the firm knit muscles, so well strung the -tightened, cord-like nerves. I think he observed with some displeasure -the curiosity with which I gazed towards it, for he withdrew it -suddenly, and let it fall by his side. - -“Boufflers still remaining mute, the conjuror turned to me, and asked -me, in a voice which had already lost much of its solemnity, and -partook of something like harshness, if I also had come unprepared -with a subject of consultation, as, if so, we had best depart at -once, and leave the field to others whose business might be of more -importance, and who were waiting with such impatience without. The -question roused all the courage which was left within me, for I began -to fear that the magician might grow wearied, and dismiss us as he -threatened, and I answered in a low voice that I wished to consult him -concerning the health of a person who was dear to me. (I had already -forgotten all the questions I had intended to propound, as well as the -_calpin_ which I had so laden with notes.) - -“Cagliostro turned, and by a movement so abrupt and sudden that it -made us both start to our feet, drew the fauteuil wherein was seated -the veiled mysterious form of the female who had remained all this -time silent and motionless, across the floor, and still the figure -moved not. The feet resting on a board attached to the bottom of the -fauteuil, moved with the rest, producing an indescribable effect. At -the present day, when the mysteries of mesmerism have become common -household talk, and somnambulism has been made a general _voie de -guerison_ for every complaint under heaven, all this will appear vain -and puerile ceremony; but, at the period of which I am now speaking, -they were familiar but to the initiated few, and Boufflers and I, poor -ignorant novices, were struck with awe and wonder. - -“‘What is it you seek to know?’ said Cagliostro, resuming once more -his solemn and theatrical air, and, drawing a little aside the veil of -black crape, he bent towards the ear of the female, and whispered a few -words which we could not understand. - -“I was so afraid at the moment of losing, as my friend Boufflers -had already done, the memory of what I had to say, that I replied -hurriedly, never thinking of myself, nor of the thousand and one -questions which I had predetermined to ask—‘I wish to learn the cause -of the migraine of my friend the Marquise de ——’ - -“‘Chut,’ interrupted Cagliostro. ‘The name is of little import. What -see you?’ added he, in a loud deep tone, turning to the veiled figure. - -“‘I see a fair and beauteous lady,’ replied a sweet soft voice from -beneath the veil. ‘She is attired in a dress of sea-green Padua silk, -her powdered hair is wreathed with rosebuds, and she wears long and -splendid eardrops of emerald and topaz.’ - -“Boufflers caught my arm, with a smile, which the excitement of the -moment had converted into a grimace, for he knew well enough the person -for whom I was so anxious, and knew, moreover, that there were certain -nights on which she wore the emerald and topaz suit, and that this -very night was one of them. The veiled form continued, in the same low -voice: ‘The lady is pressing her hand to her brow at this very instant. -Is it with pain, or is it with care? She is waiting for some one, for -now she rises and looks at the clock upon the console, and now she goes -to the small side-door to listen.’ - -“‘Enough, enough,’ said I, in my turn, growing impatient; ‘tell me at -once what it is that ails the lady, and what may be the remedy.’ - -“The figure spoke aloud no more, but whispered long in Cagliostro’s -ear, and the latter, turning to me, said, with ease and _àplomb_, ‘The -lady’s migraines are caused by overwatching and anxiety—the _cure_ is -easy, and must be applied at once—the _cause_ will be removed in time.’ - -“He pushed back the fauteuil into the corner whence he had drawn -it; the veiled figure by which it was occupied remained still and -motionless as death. He then opened a small door in the wainscot, -belonging to a cupboard filled with shelves, containing bottles of -all sorts and sizes, and drew from it a phial, which he filled from a -jug of that which stood upon the floor, and having performed various -‘_passes_’ and evolutions over it, he handed it to me, bidding my -companion and myself to lose no time in retiring, for others were -waiting outside. - -“His dismissal of us was as abrupt as possible, scarcely, indeed, -consistent with politeness. ‘You have told your ailments and your -griefs—you bear with you the never-failing cure—now begone.’ - -“With these words he opened the same low door through which he had -let out the two visitors whom we had succeeded; and Boufflers and I -passed out, obeying, without a word, the gesture of the magician, which -pointed towards the passage beyond. - -“Such is the history of my first interview with the great Cagliostro. -To you, who behold daily the strange and varied examples of magnetism, -my story will perhaps appear pale and puerile; but you must remember -that, at the time, the thing was new, and, notwithstanding all that -has been discovered since, none has surpassed him; even to this very -hour, the secret of Cagliostro has not been discovered. It is supposed -that ventriloquism was much employed by him in his various _tours de -force_. Perhaps it was made the agent of deception in my own case, -and the figure veiled with black crape may have been a mere puppet -set up to delude the credulous. The circumstance which would seem to -favour greatly the suspicion of imposture is, that, as Cagliostro -never employed twice the same agency, the _consultant_ could never -come _prepared_ to watch and detect the machinery of his experiments, -and in fact, being always taken by surprise, had no leisure to think -of anything else than the consultation he had come to hold. Again, how -_could_ the adept have known, by natural means, that the Marquise de -Br**, whom he had not suffered me to name, was young and beauteous—that -she possessed eardrops of emerald and topaz, which mixture of jewels -was peculiar, and that she would wear them on that very night? All -these reflections completely bewildered me, as I hastened on to the -Opera, certain that the marquise would be there, full of curiosity to -see if her dress and appearance would correspond with Cagliostro’s -description. Boufflers could not help me, nor suggest a single idea -to solve the mystery, so absorbed was he in the memory of the strange -scene he had been witnessing—so completely wonder-struck by the silence -and mystery of the whole proceeding. - -“We arrived at the Opera just as the curtain was about to rise. I shall -never forget the performance, so linked is it in memory with that -night’s adventure. It was Gluck’s opera of ‘Alceste.’ Boufflers and -myself took our places in the parterre, immediately below the loge of -the marquise, which was empty, and remained so for some time; and I can -assure you that, when, in the midst of one of the most pathetic scenes -of the opera, I heard the door of the box open, and a valet-de-chambre -announce, as was the usage among the fashionables of the day, ‘Madame -la Marquise de Br**,’ we both turned sharply round. She entered, -muffled up to the chin, and evidently suffering greatly from her old -enemy the migraine, for she held a screen before her eyes to shield -them from the glare of light, and bent her head upon her hand as soon -as she had taken her seat. - -“‘Look! she _has_ roses in her hair,’ exclaimed Boufflers, all aghast. - -“It was true enough the roses were there; and _I_ could see even more, -for the eardrops of emerald and topaz caught the light of the girandole -in front of her box, and played before my eyes in a most tantalizing -manner. - -Presently the marquise, overcome by the heat, withdrew her cloak and -muffles, and stood revealed to us in the full light, exactly as she had -been described to us so short a time before. The dress of sea-green -Padua silk, looped with roses, seemed completely to choke poor -Boufflers, as he stood gazing on her in mute amazement. So far, the -wizard had told us truth. Since his day, the same experiment has been -repeated, and in thousands of instances has succeeded. You have all, I -doubt not, some little story of the kind to tell, much more striking -and interesting than mine, but the sequel of my anecdote, I think, may -be unique, so completely did the adventure jump from the sublime to the -ridiculous at a single bound. - -“At the conclusion of the piece we both repaired to the box of the -Marquise de Br**. She was suffering greatly from her migraine, and -greeted me ironically, observing that I was ‘_bien aimable et bien -galant_—that she had waited for me to escort her to the Opera, and -had been compelled to depart from home alone. After the performance, -we all adjourned to her hotel. I had completely reinstated myself in -her good graces, by the promise of a complete cure for her migraine. -The gentlemen of the company, however, all voted that a glass or two -of champagne should be tried first, before the dear marquise was put -to pain and torture by any of the diabolical remedies of the sorcerer -Cagliostro. The vote was carried, and the marquise compelled to submit -to their prescription first, which she did with the greatest grace -and good-humour, using every effort to appear gay, although evidently -suffering much pain at the very moment. - -I will not attempt to record all the good things which were uttered at -the _petit souper_, nor all the _idées folles_ to which the champagne -gave birth. Boufflers was quite himself again, and had recovered all -his wonted vivacity, all his mad gaiety, and kept us in a roar of -laughter by his wicked sallies and pointed jokes concerning our visit -to Cagliostro. He counterfeited with such excessive humour the whole -scene as it had passed before his eyes, that no one could have imagined -him to be the same individual who had sat quaking in fear and awe -before the very man whose power he was now deriding in such exquisite -glee. - -“Of course, the phial and the contents became soon the objects of -attack, and I was petitioned on all sides for a view of them. By the -permission of the marquise herself, I yielded to the clamour, and it -was handed round amid the commentaries of the laughing guests, until -Boufflers proposed that the remedy should at once be tried in the -presence of us all, so that, if it failed, we might at once go and give -Cagliostro the _charivari_ which he would so richly deserve; and, if -it succeeded, we might publish its virtues and the compounder’s skill -throughout the world. - -“It was not till I had uncorked the phial, and was about to pour it -into a glass, that it all at once occurred to me, that, in the hurry of -our dismissal from the presence of Cagliostro, I had entirely omitted -to ascertain whether the liquid was to be taken as a medicine, or to -be applied externally. To the eye, it was nothing but pure water from -the fountain, it possessed neither smell nor colour, and the greatest -curiosity was excited to behold its marvellous effects. At length, -by the suggestion of the marquise herself, who was growing weary -of our _badinage_, it was decided that there would be less danger -in misapplying it externally than in swallowing it, should it prove -pernicious; and as I was chosen to be the operator, I poured a small -quantity of the water into the hollow of my hand, which Boufflers -guiding, so that not a drop was spilt, I placed gently as possible over -the forehead of the marquise, pressing it there, but certainly not with -violence, and, supporting the back of her head with the hand that was -free, held her, thus awaiting the result. - -“The marquise closed her eyes, but uttered not a word, and there was a -moment’s silence among the clamorous group bending over her with such -eager curiosity to witness the effect of the miraculous cure, when -suddenly it was broken by a loud convulsive shriek from the marquise -herself, which was almost echoed by many of those present, so sudden -and startling did it burst from her lips. ‘Take away your hand! For -God’s sake, take away your hand!’ exclaimed she, in a voice of agony; -and, starting to her feet, she endeavoured, with all her strength, to -pull my wrist downwards. But strange to tell, not all the efforts of -the marquise, nor those I used myself, could tear away my hand from -her forehead! No words can describe the sensation of terror with which -I found myself not only deprived of the faculty of withdrawing my arm, -but drawn by some powerful attraction closer and closer still, until it -almost seemed as if the fingers were about to bury themselves in the -flesh. - -“At first, as you may suppose, it was imagined by those present that -the whole event was a jest, and the piteous shrieks of the marquise, -and my own supplications for assistance, had at first been greeted -with roars of laughter; but when it was found that the affair was -serious, the company began to take alarm. It was not, however, till the -unfortunate marquise sank back in her chair, fainting and exhausted, -that the Duc d’Argenton, recovering from the consternation into -which the discovery of the extraordinary event had thrown the whole -assembly, seized my wrist in a nervous grasp, and tore it by main -force away, drawing with it large patches of skin from the forehead of -the marquise, upon which the imprint of my touch remained in bleeding -characters. My hand was torn and lacerated likewise, and the pain was -unbearable. I bound it in my handkerchief, and gave all the assistance -in my power towards the recovery of Madame de Br**, who was conveyed -to bed, still in a deep swoon. We all remained in the saloon, which -had so lately been the scene of our mad gaiety, with downcast looks -and subdued voices, waiting the report of the surgeon who had been -sent for to apply the proper remedies to the wounds of the marquise, -who was not pronounced out of danger till towards morning. We then -dispersed, with the firm determination of having the mystery cleared by -Cagliostro himself as soon as possible. Boufflers instantly repaired to -M. de Sartines, the head of the police, and he furnished us with two -officers, and with all power to make search at the magician’s house, or -take any steps which we might deem necessary. - -“Cagliostro received the visit with the greatest _sang froid_, and, -without the slightest resistance, allowed the officer to prosecute his -search among the various tools and utensils which he employed in his -calling. The large jug from which he had taken the liquid contained -in the phial which he had given to me, still stood in the same place -as on the preceding day. There remained but a few drops, for his -patients had been numerous, but these the officer poured into a bottle -and conveyed to the nearest chemist, who laughed in the man’s face, -and pronounced them to be clear water. To my bitter reproaches and -angry exclamations, Cagliostro replied, with perfect calmness, that -the liquid was pure and innocent when he placed it in my hands, and -that if it had grown pernicious it must have been owing to the guilty -passions or to the evil sympathies of those who had used it. No further -explanation could be elicited, and the affair, which made a great -noise at the time, remains a mystery to this hour. As for me, I lost -an amiable and valued friend, for the Marquise de Br**, either through -fear of the ridicule which attached to the adventure, or from memory -of the pain which she had suffered, could never endure me to approach -her after that. She would not even grant me an interview in order to -express my regrets at the strange accident which had happened. She -avoided me when by chance we met in public, scarcely even returning my -salutation but by a cold and formal acknowledgment. She refused all -the efforts of our mutual friends at effecting a reconciliation, and, -wearied with my importunities (for I really felt anxious to do away -the unjust impression), she ended by returning my letters of apologies -and supplications unopened.” - -The prince paused thoughtfully. The story was at an end. - -“Did there remain a scar or trace of the wound which the marquise had -incurred?” said Madame de V——. - -“She carried the mark of that night’s adventure to her grave,” replied -the prince; “a long, narrow scar, which all the art of the coiffeur -could not disguise. The corner of one her exquisitely traced eyebrows, -too, had been torn off, and never grew again; but she replaced it with -great effect by an _assassin_, which she wore there ever after.” - -The prince paused again for a moment, and then added, while a smile -full of malicious glee, of exquisite _finesse_, passed across his -countenance, “The _girandole_ eardrops of emerald and topaz she not -only wore no more, but had the cruelty to bestow upon her maid, who -adorned herself with them at the next Opera ball, whither she was sent -by her mistress to _intriguer_ me, while the lovely marquise replaced -them at times with long pendants of snowy pearl, emblem of innocence -and simplicity, and I soon began to observe, with bitterness, that, -on these occasions, whether I proposed Opera, ball, or play, Boufflers -always had some ‘particular engagement’ which prevented him from -joining our party.” - -Many were the comments upon this adventure, and many the discussions -upon the possible contents of the phial, which it would be absurd to -suppose consisted of nought but pure water. Some defended Cagliostro, -others were loud against him, when the dear Duchess de V——, fearing -that the time might be lost in dissertations on mesmerism, suddenly -exclaimed, “Dear prince, you who have seen so many great men in your -time, did you ever see Voltaire?” - -“Yes, indeed, fair lady, I _did_ once behold M. de Voltaire,” (the -prince always called him so to the last day of his life,) “and my -interview with him is connected in my mind with a curious fact. The -narrative of my adventure may perhaps amuse you. It was in 1778, the -year before his death, that I had the singular good fortune to obtain -an audience of the great philosopher. He lived at the corner of the -Rue de Beaune and the quai which has since been called by his name. -He had intimated to my friend, Champfort, his great desire to become -acquainted with me, and I, who all my life had been tormented with the -wish to behold this greatest genius of the age, the master spirit of -his own time, the guide of that which was to follow, did not need a -second bidding. - -“The philosopher received us with great urbanity. He had been prepared -for our visit in the morning, for he still loved dearly all kinds -of form and ceremony, and, to the very last day of his life, set a -higher price upon his title of M. _de_ Voltaire (which, by the by, was -usurped) than on the popular and honourable abbreviation of ‘Voltaire,’ -_tout court_, by which he was designated long before his death. M. de -Voltaire was seated on the edge of his bed, attired in one of those -short loose dressing-gowns much worn at the time, and which displayed -his spindle legs and shrunken feet in all their unveiled ugliness. -Never have I beheld a form so withered, so diminished; every vein in -his whole frame was visible and defined, like those in an anatomical -study. The later portraits of M. de Voltaire give a very just idea of -his appearance, but they generally fail in expressing the singular -look of the eyes—an expression which I never have seen in any one -since that time—an anxious, unquiet, restless look—a hungry, thirsty, -keenly-searching glance (hunger and thirst of praise), and searching -with avidity for admiration, which, such was the Voltairian fever of -the time, he never failed to obtain, and yet, as ‘_l’appétit vient en -mangeant_,’ never wholly satisfied his craving. - -“The room wherein the great man received his visitors was entirely -darkened (such was his whim), save where one single shutter, folded -back, allowed the light to stream in through a long, narrow aperture, -immediately opposite to which he himself was placed, so that he became -thus the sole object clearly visible in the apartment. And here he -sat to receive visitors, although, the sun shining at the moment, the -light was so strong that it must almost have blinded him. His niece, -Madame Denis, ‘_belle et bonne_,’ was seated at the foot of the bed -near the chimney, attired in a dimity camisole, rather soiled, and her -hair, escaping in disorder from the little cap placed on the top of her -head, was tied in a fantastical _fontange_ with a faded blue ribbon. -She was no longer young, poor _belle et bonne_, and her sedentary life -had induced a degree of corpulence which made her look older still. She -had certainly forfeited all pretensions to her first title, and there -was much in her face that to a physiognomist would have given a flat -contradiction to the second. She had evidently been engaged in writing -from M. de Voltaire’s dictation, for she had risen from the bureau, -and turned to the fire, where there was placed some cooking utensil to -which she soon directed her attention. - -“But it was not long before I had forgotten the very existence of -Madame Denis, in the interest of the conversation with M. de Voltaire -himself. He spoke quickly and nervously, with a play of feature I -have never seen in any man except him. His eye kindled with a vivid -fire almost dazzling, as it danced in the ray of sunlight from the -window, and moved about from one to the other of his listeners, rapid -and quivering like the summer lightning. He had just been receiving, -that very morning, a deputation from the Théâtre Français, begging -permission to commence the performance of ‘Zaïre’ that evening with a -complimentary address to himself, which permission of course the poet -had granted with an enviable self-satisfaction, merely requesting that -the verses should be submitted to his own inspection, and subjected -to his own corrections and improvements, if any such were needed. He -was in high good humour at this mark of honour and distinction, for, -as I have said before, flattery had become of more importance to his -existence than the very food and nourishment of each day. - -“When the great man had conversed for some little time with my friend, -with whom he had been intimate for many years, he turned to me, and, -after courteously expressing the pleasure which my visit gave him, he -added, ‘I had desired to see you, M. de Perigord, to communicate to -you a fact concerning your family, which happened some years ago, and -may be of importance to you hereafter. As you are the youngest of your -family, you may one day like to be its chronicler.’ - -“He then commenced the relation of some interesting particulars -regarding the Talleyrands and Perigords, intermixing, with a precision -of memory quite marvellous, the different branches and connexions -either by birth or marriage. All these, of course, were familiar to -me, but, as it was not natural that a narrator like M. de Voltaire -should ever tell a story without a point, all this preamble ended -in a tale of interest and wonder which completely riveted my whole -attention, and kept me in a thrill of delight, not so much by the -story itself, which, however, was full of most powerful interest, as -by the irresistible charm of the diction. I can safely affirm that -M. de Voltaire spoke with even more ease and grace than distinguish -his writings. I think he would have made a splendid orator. His words -seemed to _fly_ from his lips, so rapid, yet so neat, so distinct and -clear was every expression. His meaning was so precisely defined, that -you never had an instant’s doubt or hesitation whether you were quite -sure that you fully understood him. The language of Champfort, bold -and vigorous as it was—full of fire and passion—seemed to lack energy -and spirit as he answered M. de Voltaire. The fire of the one was like -the red beacon light, steady and strong, lurid and fierce; the other -was the treacherous spark which, flying upwards in seemingly harmless -sport, yet driven this way or that by the most trifling breeze, may -spread ruin and devastation wherever it may chance to fall. - -“We remained for more than an hour with the great philosopher. _Belle -et bonne_ had completed the cooking of her chocolate, and M. de -Voltaire had taken it, without the slightest ceremony, in our presence. -Letters had arrived, to some few of which he had dictated short -replies through the medium of his niece. I had listened in rapture to -the story which I had come to hear; Champfort had already been twice -confuted in argument, and M. de Voltaire obliged once to yield, before -we arose to depart, and even then I think we were hurried away by -Madame Denis, who reminded her uncle, with a look full of meaning at -us, that it was just the hour for his siesta; which clear, unmistakable -hint, of course, we immediately took, and left him to enjoy his repose -unmolested. I looked at him long and earnestly as he shook me cordially -by the hand, and bade me a most paternal farewell. Every line of that -remarkable countenance is engraven on my memory. I see it now before -me—the small fiery eyes staring from the shrunken sockets, not unlike -those of a cameleon; the dried and withered cheek traversed in every -direction by deep cut lines; the compressed lips and puckered mouth, -round which played a perpetual, sarcastic smile, giving him altogether -the air of a merry fiend. Every feature of that face is as present -to my memory now as it was at that moment while I was gazing on it, -impressed with a kind of sorrowful conviction that I should behold it -no more. - -“The event proved that I was right in my presentiment: M. de Voltaire, -soon after that, denied himself entirely to strangers, and none but -his intimate friends were admitted. These, however, were sufficiently -numerous to form a little court around him, and to do him all the -honour which he so much loved, and amid which he died, surrounded by -flatterers and sycophants until the latest hour of his life.” - -“Now, if it is not an indiscretion, do tell us the story that he told -you, prince,” exclaimed the Princess de C——, as Prince Talleyrand -concluded his recital; “do tell us the tale that Voltaire could think -worthy a place in his memory: it must be a curious one. Try and recount -it in the same manner that he used when telling it to you. I am sure -you would imitate it admirably.” - -The prince smiled, (he never laughed,) as he replied, “Now have I to -make a strange confession, for which I know you will never pardon -me, and which I would willingly have been spared. Indeed, had it not -happened to myself, I could scarcely have credited it. On leaving -Voltaire, Champfort and myself had separated; he had taken the -direction of the Tuileries, and I had sauntered along to the Palais -Royal, thinking all the while of the great man to whose presence I had -just been admitted, and retracing in memory every word, every gesture, -he had used during the interview. In the garden I was accosted by the -young Duc d’Aiguillon, who had just arrived from Versailles, and who -began in his usual rattling manner telling me a long story about the -ball which had taken place the evening before in the Orangerie, of -which story, mark you, I remember every word. It was about the Duchesse -de Levis, a sort of court butt just at that time, and the changing of -her shoulder-knot by some wag, which _plaisanterie_ had caused the most -laughable mistakes during the whole ball. - -“When I had got rid of this wild talker, I adjourned to the hotel of -the Marquise de J——, where there was _grande reception_, followed by -_grand jeu_ and _souper_. There I remained until a late hour of the -night, alternately winning and losing considerable sums at the faro -table, until I rose winner of a hundred and twenty louis d’or from -Maurice Duvernay, of which he paid me seventy down, but having lost -immensely, wrote an order for the rest on the back of one of the Queens -of Diamonds. - -“I tell you all this to show you that I can, to this very hour, account -for every minute of that day, one of the most memorable of my whole -life, from the moment of my leaving M. de Voltaire; and when I returned -home, late as was the hour, before retiring to rest, I sat down to -begin a letter to my uncle, the Cardinal de Perigord, in order to -recount to him the adventure of the morning, and above all, to tell him -the anecdote concerning our family, which M. de Voltaire had related, -and in which I knew my uncle would take a most peculiar delight, both -from the source whence it came, and the personal interest inspired -by the subject. Judge, then, of the mortification I experienced upon -finding that, in spite of all my endeavours to collect my wandering -ideas to the one point in question, I could not recollect the story -which M. de Voltaire had been at so much pains to tell me, to which -I had listened with so much attention and with such extraordinary -relish; I could not even write in my letter the immediate object of the -story—neither detail, nor hero, nor point, (which last I remembered had -diverted me beyond measure,) would present itself to my remembrance; -and, after much vexation of spirit, I was fain to leave my letter -unfinished, until I had met with Champfort, whose memory I doubted not -would be fully able to supply the deficiency of mine. - -“I was determined to lose no time in assuring myself of this, and -called upon the poet the very next day. What, think you, was his answer -to my urgent entreaties that he would assist me? ‘Parbleu, _mon cher_, -I was too much occupied in thinking what I should say to M. de Voltaire -to notice what _he_ was saying to me. I heard not a word of his story, -but you must own that I completely succeeded in proving the false -quantity in the second canto of the Henriade.’ - -“He had not even heard the story! so there was no hope in that quarter, -and I was obliged to content myself with the trust, that at some future -day I might be fortunate enough again to meet M. de Voltaire, and -induce him to tell the tale once more. As I have already said, however, -I had not the good fortune to see him afterwards. - -“Often and often, in the long years that have passed since then, have -I endeavoured to catch the purport of his tale, but in vain. The whole -scene of that interview rises at command—the welcome, the farewell, and -the various arguments of the two _beaux-esprits_—but that narrative, -which I would often give much to remember, is gone for ever! The -pre-occupation of the scene, the wonder, the delight inspired by the -philosopher’s conversation, have left a blank, which neither time -nor reflection have ever been able to fill up; and even now I cannot -remember the incident without feeling the same kind of embarrassment -which I experienced on that occasion, and often surprise myself when, -falling into reverie, chasing the phantoms of that hour through my -puzzled brain, and endeavouring, in spite of experience, to arrest -the fugitive impressions made by the story at the time, but without -success.” - -The prince now paused, and leant back in his chair for a moment, with -his eyes closed, evidently lost in thought. It was well that no one -spoke, or we might have been deprived of the tale which followed, and -in which, at the age I was then, I took more interest, and remembered -with more pleasure, than any which had preceded it. - -“How mysterious a thing is memory,” said he, as he bent forward once -more, and smiled upon his listeners. “The name of Champfort has brought -to my mind the story, long-forgotten, of his fellow-prisoner, a young -officer formerly in the mousquetaires. His name we all know, for he is -among us still, and, in short, he has promised that he will visit us, -before the autumn is over, here at Valençay. He was, without exception, -the handsomest youth I have ever seen; and his manners and address -being remarkable for a grace peculiarly his own, and his reputation -for high courage and chivalrous bearing having been fully established -by one or two _affaires brillantes_ in which he had been engaged, it -may naturally be supposed that his _succès_ of every kind left him -nothing to desire. But he sought no conquest, even where the enemy -held out offers of surrender; he seemed callous and indifferent to -all the advances, the allurements, of which he was the object, until, -such was the state of morals at that time, the ladies of the great -world in which he moved began to act as spies upon each other, being -fully convinced of the impossibility of his having remained so long -insensible to the arts and blandishments by which he was surrounded. - -“For a long time his secret remained impenetrable; his part was so -well acted, his measures so well taken, that the scandal-mongers were -in despair, and the charitable souls, of whom there are always a -few, were beginning to hope, when the mystery was divulged in a most -extraordinary manner, and formed the town talk for many a day; and, -as the story has been told with divers variations, and has got abroad -under different versions, I will tell you the right one, which I had -from the Marquis de J——’s own lips: - -“In those days there were _fermiers généraux_, and the said _fermiers -généraux_ were almost always among the oldest, ugliest, richest, and -most disagreeable men that the kingdom could produce. One of these, who -united in himself all these superlatives, had just deceived all the -cherished hopes of the ladies of the court by marrying a young girl -from his own province, of noble birth, although of slender fortune, -who was described as being of little beauty, and glad to acquire by -marriage, wealth and station, even at the sacrifice of those other -qualities in a husband which are generally sought for by young ladies. - -“A year had elapsed since the return of M. de B. from Besançon, where -the marriage had taken place. No one had seen his bride; she remained -entirety at his country house—a delicious little ‘Folie,’ so it was -said, at Auteuil, close to the Bois de Boulogne. The lady had not -been presented at court, and M. de B. had never requested any of his -friends to visit her, so that she was at first supposed to be imbecile -or ugly, and was then forgotten. But the devil’s hoof, which certainly -is busy with all men’s concerns, trotted one day through the muddled -brain of the old Dowager de Marville, and suggested to her that it -would be a mighty pleasant thing to have a _feu d’artifice_ in the Bois -de Bologne, on some dark night when there would be no moon, and that -it would be quite a funny sight to behold all the skirts of the wood -festooned with coloured lamps, and adorned with flambeaux; and then she -began to torment M. de B. to throw open his ‘Folie’ to the _élite_, and -give a fête there to his friends without delay. He was a good-natured -man, but, nevertheless, he took a great deal of persuading before he -would consent to have his privacy thus broken in upon. He offered the -ladies of his acquaintance a ball at his own hôtel in Paris, with -interludes of opera-dancers. But no, the fête at the ‘Folie’—nothing -else would do, and the poor man was obliged at last to promise the -much-desired entertainment. His excuses had all a relation to his -wife; her ignorance of the world, her innocence and utter simplicity, -had all been put forward as motives for refusing, but no excuse could -be taken. Give the fête he must, and the ladies, on their part, -promised to treat the rustic bride with indulgence, and not to crush -her by too great an assumption of superiority. - -“The day of the fête arrived. The most brilliant anticipations had -been formed of the entertainment to be given in such a sweet place, by -so rich a man, and they were most certainly not disappointed. Every -arrangement was of the best, and the whole place illuminated like a -dream of fairy-land; which last circumstance did not vex the ladies -so much as one would have imagined, for it helped to prove that the -opinions which had been formed of the bride of M. de B. were correct -in all points. She was very young, very timid, and very reserved -and _gauche_, like a little _pensionnaire de couvent_ as she was; -and, what was worse, like all _provinciales_, who think nothing more -beautiful than what is to be found in their own province, she never -once expressed the slightest admiration or astonishment at anything -she saw—nay, she preserved the same cold, unmoved air, even when her -husband presented to her, in due form, the vanquisher of all hearts, -the renowned Marquis de J——! Some of the ladies said that she was -pretty; some said not; some that she might become dangerous in time, -from her paleness and the languishing expression of her eyes. Others -again laughed at this opinion, and felt sure that there would never be -anything to dread from her. These last expressed surprise that she had -even made the conquest of her stupid old husband. - -“Well, the company left the ‘Folie,’ enchanted with their -entertainment, and dispersed at daybreak to their respective hotels, -without so much as bestowing a thought either on Madame de B. or her -husband. The next day, however, loud was the wailing among the ladies, -for the Marquis de J—— was missing from all his accustomed haunts, -where he had been used daily to charm the eyes and captivate the hearts -of his fair admirers. Kind and anxious messages were despatched to -his quarters, and the answer given was, that the marquis was slightly -indisposed, but would appear again in a day or two. The next rumour -afloat was, that old B., the _fermier-général_, had sent back his -wife to the convent from which he had taken her the year before to -marry her; but no one felt astonishment at this—so cold, so awkward, so -shy—not even polite to the Marquis de J——! Of course, poor old B. must -feel assured he never could get on in the world with such a wife as -that. - -“The marquis appeared again in a few days after the fête, but much -altered in appearance, with haggard, melancholy look, and sad, dejected -spirits. His arm was in a sling, too, which gave rise to more tender -questioning, which he sought to parry as well as he was able, by saying -that he had met with an accident at M. de B——’s Folie. - -“The history of the case was this. (Oh, _jeune_ France, know you -what even the meaning of the word ‘love’ is?) After the company -had departed, M. and Madame de B—— had retired to their respective -apartments, but M. de B——, being unable to sleep, had descended into -the garden, to take a refreshing walk amid the groves, where still hung -suspended the variegated _lampions_, extinguished, drowning with their -vile odour the scent of the flowers. There was no moon, but the night -was wearing away, and the dawn was just beginning to change the pitchy -darkness to a pale tint of grey, when M. de B—— thought of retiring -towards the house. Just as he was in the act of mounting the steps -which led to the long glass windows of his own room, his attention was -attracted by the sound of footsteps on the gravel walk beneath. He -was by no means a coward, M. de B——, and his first thought was of his -wife, and of the alarm which a hue and cry raised at such an hour might -occasion her; so after calling ‘_Qui vive?_’ and receiving no answer, -he slid gently down over the balustrade of the _perron_ into the -flower-garden below, feeling quite sure of the capture of the thief, -as the little plot of ground belonging to his wife’s apartment had no -communication with the park, save by a door of which she herself always -kept the key. He ran lightly over the grass and along the gravel-walk; -he could hear retreating footsteps; as he advanced he was sure of -this, but the bushes overhung the narrow pathway in such luxuriance, -that he could not discern the form which he was pursuing. At length he -reached the bottom of the path—he distinctly heard the swinging of the -gate as it was opened cautiously—he made one frantic bound across the -flower-bed which skirted the path—the door _must_ have been opened -by some one, for it banged-to just as he approached—he heard a faint -cry on the outer side, and then all was silent as the grave. M. de B—— -could proceed no farther, for the key was not in the lock, and the -door was closed, but he immediately sought the apartment of his wife, -full of alarm concerning her, and dreading lest some thief, lured by -the display of jewels which she had worn on the previous evening, -might have endeavoured to force an entry through the ill-secured -glass-windows of the chamber, which looked into the garden. To his -utter astonishment, after having with difficulty regained his own room, -and thence by the inner passages of the house arrived at the chamber -of his wife, he found her up and dressed, still decked with the same -jewels which she had worn at the fête. She evinced great alarm and -trepidation at first, on hearing his recital, but, after a moment’s -reflection, declared her belief that M. de B—— must have been under the -influence of a dream, as she had herself been standing at the window -taking the air, and had heard no sound nor beheld any shadow pass. He -asked for the key of the gate: she had mislaid it, she said, and, the -gate being so seldom used, she had not cared to search for it. So M. -de B—— was fain to content himself with this assurance until daybreak, -when he was determined to renew his search more minutely. The garden -was torn and trampled towards the direction of the gate, but that might -be by his own footsteps, for he had hurried in his pursuit after the -flying thief. The gate was closed and locked, and yet there was still -some mystery in the adventure, for, on the outer side, which opened -into the park, the ground was stained by drops of blood, which could be -traced to some little distance, and then ceased altogether. Here was -more mystery still, for the gardener, on searching amid the bushes, -found the key of the gate, which had so long been missing. M. de B—— -instantly applied it to the lock, and the door yielded slowly and with -difficulty to his endeavours to push it forward, and when at length it -opened, and the obstacle was sought for, it was found to be a _human -finger_, crushed and jammed against the doorpost, which, upon a close -inspection, appeared to have been cut off close to the root by some -rude and hurried operation. - -“Alas! Madame de B——, who had remained calm and passive during the -whole of this adventure, could not support this last disclosure, but -was seized with violent hysterics upon being informed of the discovery -which had taken place, and in the midst of her tears and convulsions, -the name of the Marquis de J—— was for ever on her lips. Of course -the adventure could no longer be kept secret; the coincidence of the -wound, the utterance of the name of M. de J——, determined at once the -nature of the occurrence. He himself described to me the terror of -his flight through the flower-garden, the agony of fear with which he -hurried forth lest _she_ should be discovered. It was M. de B——, who, -in pushing against the door, had jammed his finger in the lock, but -he cared not for the pain so long as _she_ was safe and secure from -all suspicion, and, disdaining to call for help, he had himself drawn -forth the little pocket-knife which he always carried, and cut off -the finger by which he was detained. He had never once thought of the -danger or disfigurement; he did it, not complaining, but rejoicing to -think that _she_ was unsuspected at least, and her reputation secure. -His only regret was at having lost the key of the gate, which he had -dropped among the bushes, when he had stopped to bandage with his -pocket-handkerchief the bleeding wound. Had _she_ not betrayed herself -in her grief for him, their secret might yet have been kept. M. de J—— -left Paris soon after, and travelled for some years, and Madame de B—— -was despatched back again to the convent at Besançon, from which she -had not been absent more than a twelvemonth in all. It is said that M. -de J—— remained for ever faithful to his first love. It is certain that -when he returned among us, handsome, brilliant as before, although less -gay, he never sought to inspire affection in any of the fair ladies who -were at so much pains to please him. He steadily refused all offers -of marriage which were made him, although some of the most splendid -_partis_, both maids and widows, were among the number. From the first -moment of his beholding Madame de B——, which was on her arrival with -her husband, while changing horses at the last relay towards Paris, -at the post-house, where he happened to be halting with his troop—he -had owned himself her slave; he vowed to me for years afterwards, that -no other woman should ever boast of having won a thought from him, -and that no other female hand should ever feel the pressure of his -own. His heart was with her who was suffering loneliness and captivity -for his sake, and he regarded as sacrilege the idea of a possibility -that he could break his vow of fidelity to her. At the revolution, he -was imprisoned, but released _faute de preuves_, and, meanwhile, the -convents having been broken up and dispersed, his first step was to -secure a safe retreat for Madame de B——. Together they fled to Holland, -where they remained for some years, and returned, when the storm was -over, as man and wife. They lived together in happiness, and we all can -bear witness to the grace and distinction which she shed around the -circle she frequented, and to the respect with which she inspired all -who approached her, as well as to the regret which was universally felt -when she was withdrawn from us for ever. Such is the true story of the -Marquis de J——: now tell me, Jeune France, will ye dare to condemn the -_ancien régime_, or say that you even understand the depth of devotion -and of love from which such faith as this could spring?” - - * * * * * - -The prince rose as he concluded his story, and the grating of -carriage-wheels on the gravel walk without the windows, announced the -hour for the promenade. I took my seat in one of the landaus by the -side of C., who had promised to show me the lions of the place, but -it was some time before I could command my attention to the beauties -of the scene, for the story of the prince had brought back the memory -of my last _soirée_ in Paris, where I had beheld a withered old man -playing with avidity at _bouillotte_, and I remembered to have been -startled and disgusted when he took up his cards in a _three-fingered_ -grasp. And now I remembered, too, that his partner had addressed him by -the name of De J——. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -CHILDHOOD AND JUVENILE YEARS OF TALLEYRAND. - - -Our drive was delightful over the green turf beneath the arched vista -of the old avenue. The rain-drops glittered on every leaf, and the -turf, moistened by the shower, after the long drought, sent up a -delicious fragrance beneath each pressure of our horses’ feet. The -prince was alone in his carriage, with his dog Carlo. There was but -one person in the whole world whom he ever allowed to take the seat -beside him in his drives, and she was that day absent from Valençay. -There was something touching and poetical in the solitary figure as he -reclined back, leaning on his cane, not gazing on the landscape, but -musing, abstracted and motionless, save that from time to time he would -bend slightly forward, and pat old Carlo fondly on the neck, as if his -train of thought had led him into recollections of the long attachment -of the faithful animal, contrasting it, perhaps, with the treachery and -ingratitude which he had met with in man. - -In the poetic fervour of the moment I could not help hazarding -this supposition to my friend, who laughed heartily at my youthful -enthusiasm, but declared that it was never so ill-bestowed, for that -it had been subject of astonishment that the Prince was never known to -give way, after the fashion of age, to any of those loud and bitter -railings against the injustice and ingratitude of mankind, which -sometimes render the society of elderly persons liable to the complaint -of querulousness and discontent, and yet none had ever perhaps better -cause of complaint than he has had. - -“The destiny of that man,” said C., musingly, and scarcely conscious -that he was speaking aloud, “has been a most singular and mysterious -one. Each great event of his life might serve as a type of the people -among whom it took place, and illustrative of the times in which it -_could_ have happened. The history of his childhood alone would serve -to paint the epoch. It was one of the latest examples of a style of -morals and manners which the great revolution wholly swept away. He -was born in Paris, in the year 1754. As was usual with families of -distinction at that period, a nurse had been provided, who lodged in -the hotel for some time previously to the birth of the expected babe, -so that, immediately on the arrival of the offensive object, she might -be at hand to carry it away. This arrangement was most agreeable and -convenient. In a little space the mother re-appeared, brilliant and gay -as ever, amid the circles she had deserted but for a moment. She had to -endure at first, on the part of her ‘_essaim d’adorateurs_,’ some few -tender reproaches upon her cruelty in having deprived her friends of -the charm of her society ‘for so many centuries,’ some few _grivois_ -remarks upon the _accident_ which had caused this absence, and then the -event was forgotten by all, even by the lady herself, who resumed, with -increased ardour, her gambling and flirtations, while the poor wretched -infant, abandoned by its natural protectors, and condemned to the care -of mercenaries, was left either to vegetate in ignorance and filth, or -to die without even having known a single moment of its mother’s love. - -“Such was the fate of Charles Maurice, the eldest son of the Comte de -Talleyrand. Hurried from the paternal home in the very hour of his -birth, he was taken into a distant part of the country by a nurse whose -trade it was to tend and bring up children _tant bien que mal_, as he -himself has often said. Here he remained until he had arrived at the -age of seven years. The nurse was regularly paid—her reports of the -child were always good—he was her ‘_cher coco_’—‘the darling of her -heart,’ ‘the pride of the whole country.’ He was well in health—he -had fresh air and exercise—he wanted neither food nor clothing—what -then could the boy require more than all these? His mother must -have answered this question, if ever she put it to herself, most -satisfactorily; for it is certain she continued the business of her -life—the _petit jeu_, the _grand jeu_, the _petit lever_, the _grand -lever_—with as much energy and ardour as if no child had ever been. -About this time, however, another ‘_fâcheux accident_’ occurred—the -birth of another son. Again was the lady obliged to retire for a while; -again were her sentimental swains in deep distress. The second son -appeared, and, like the first, was full of health and vigour; like -the eldest, cast in the mould of a manly race, with neither spot nor -blemish. Such had been the will of God—but how was his goodly work -perverted! - -“The poor little new-comer was, like Charles Maurice, despatched to -the same village where _he_ still dwelt—revelling in village ignorance -and liberty, with no care and no constraint, knowing no master, for he -was the young seigneur; fearing no God, for he himself was the idol of -the whole canton. None of his own family had been to see him during -the whole of those weary years, and the little brother, whose arrival -he now welcomed with such glee, in consideration of sundry boxes of -delicious bon-bons, with which the nurse, according to old French -custom, returned laden, was the only individual, not only of his race, -but also of his own rank and station, whom he had ever seen! The father -was frequently absent with the army for whole years together, in the -pursuit of fame; the mother was entirely absorbed in the duties of the -court, and stirred not further from Paris than Versailles. _She_ was -steady in pursuit of fortune. Did either of them succeed? The one died -young, obscure in the annals of his house; the other died old and -dependent; while the poor neglected child lived to make all Europe ring -with his renown; and to found, by his own exertions, one of the most -splendid fortunes of the Continent! Thus will Fortune mock at the weak -endeavours of poor vain mortals, to work out their own destiny! - -“Such was the tender care and nursing that befel Charles Maurice, the -eldest son of the Comte de Talleyrand Perigord, and the circumstances -of his childhood, so far from being remarkable or uncommon, may be -taken as an example of the manner in which the nobles of that day -fulfilled the first and most solemn duty of the whole existence of -man—that of tending and fostering with care the offspring which God -has been pleased to bestow. However, all evil, as well as good, must -cease in time, and Providence has granted for our consolation that, -as the one must have an end, so shall the other not endure for ever; -and thus, about three years after the arrival in the village of the -little Archambault, his brother Charles Maurice did at length behold -the countenance of one of his own kith and kin. The youngest brother of -his father, the Bailli de Talleyrand, capitaine des galères, and knight -of Malta, had just returned from a cruise. He had been absent from -his family for many years, and came with a heart overflowing with love -towards his whole kindred; among whom stood first his brother and his -young children. - -“He was much grieved at the absence of the children, and immediately -declared his intention of proceeding to the village where they had been -placed, in order to embrace them before he set sail again, perhaps -never to return. It was the depth of winter—the snow lay heavy on the -ground—the roads were dangerous, but, ‘_corbleu! morbleu! ventrebleu!_’ -what cared he for danger? and what danger should prevent him from -visiting the _petits drôles_, and even from carrying the eldest off -to serve with him on board the Saint Joseph, if he found him, as he -doubted not he should, full of fire and courage, and willing to assist -in rebuilding the fortunes of his family by serving on the seas? He -arrived at the village near nightfall, and alone, for the roads were so -bad that he had been obliged to take horse; and, but one having been -found in a serviceable condition, his servant had been obliged to stay -at the town some miles distant. - -“The entrance of the brave bailli into that solitary village must have -caused quite a sensation; and I have heard that the whole scene has -remained graven on the powerful memory of the prince, as though it had -occurred but yesterday. He will sometimes recount it to his intimates, -and laugh at the singularity of the circumstances; but that laugh, -believe me, must be one of bitterness and scorn. No wonder that this -man should have felt such strange contempt for his fellow man—no wonder -that he should at times have acted as though he fancied that he alone -existed in the world. - -“Well, just at a turn of the road which led down into the village, the -bailli bethought himself that he knew not the way to the house of the -Mère Rigaut, the nurse to whom he had been directed; and he checked his -steed, to gaze around and see if any one was in view who could assist -him. While he thus paused, there came hobbling up the hill a pale, -delicate-looking boy, with long ringlets of very fair hair, hanging -loose over his shoulders, and an indescribable look of gentility, which -the bailli perceived at once—at least he always said so afterwards. He -carried a bird-trap in his hand, for he was just going out to seek -for larks among the snow. The bailli called to him to come on faster; -but, alas! as he drew near, he perceived that he was very lame, and -that he bore a little crutch, which, however, he did not always use, -but sometimes walking several steps without its aid, would flourish it -before him as if in defiance, until a roughness in the road, or a loose -stone, compelled him to place it again beneath his arm. - -“‘Hallo, _mon garçon_!’ shouted the bailli, ‘will you tell me the way -to the house of the Mère Rigaut?’ - -“‘That I will,’ cried the boy, eyeing the bailli askance and smiling -slyly; ‘and, moreover, I will conduct you thither, if you will give -me——’ - -“‘Ay, ay,’ said the bailli, ‘never fear; but make haste child—the wind -blows cold and sharp, and you shall have no cause to complain of my -want of generosity.’ - -“‘Nay, nay,’ replied the boy, colouring, ‘I meant to have asked you but -for a ride on your steed to Mother Rigaut’s door.’ - -“And as the child spoke, he looked with envy at the rough post-horse, -which, all unkempt and shaggy as he was, appeared far superior to the -rude animals employed in plough or cart—the only ones ever seen in that -distant village. - -“‘Is that all?’ said the good-natured bailli, ‘then come -along—mount—quick, my lad—there—jump up in the twinkling of an eye.’ - -“The boy, lame as he was, sprang into the saddle, but the portly person -of the bailli prevented him from taking a safe seat, so he leaned -his little crutch upon the toe of the bailli’s boot, and grappled -the horse’s mane with a firm grasp, almost standing upright; while -the bailli, heedless of his perilous situation, trotted over the -rough stones of the village pavement, the bells at the horse’s bridle -jingling merrily, and the loud laugh—half fear, half delight—of the -bold urchin echoing far and near. Of course the whole village was -roused in an instant, and the astonishment was great at beholding -Mother Rigaut’s ‘Charlot’ trotting down the street upon a strange -gentleman’s steed, his long fair hair blown about by the wind, and his -face shining and glowing amid the golden masses of silken curls which -fell over it. - -“The bailli stopped at Mother Rigaut’s door, but so little was he -prepared to meet the truth, that he bade the boy, with whom he seemed -mightily pleased, hold the horse while he entered the house to speak -to the good woman, who was already standing on the threshold, all -smiles and courtesies, to welcome the strange gentleman. The bailli -entered and closed the door after him. What passed within none can -tell. It must have been an extraordinary scene, for the sound of voices -in high dispute was heard for some minutes—a sound of sobbing and -of wailing, and of loud expostulation; and presently the bailli was -seen bursting from the cottage, and rushing upon the boy, and hugging -and embracing him with transports of affection; then, all pale and -trembling with emotion, he waved back with his riding-whip the advances -of Mère Rigaut, who was pressing forward to clasp the child in her -arms, and, seizing him in a sturdy grasp, he threw him on the saddle, -and sprang up after him. But this time he allowed him room enough to -ride at ease, and bade him sit in comfort, and then he placed his -brawny arm round the boy’s middle with solicitude, to keep him firm -upon the saddle, and, putting spurs to the capering post-horse, he -dashed out of the village without even asking news of any other child, -or suffering the boy to take a last farewell of the Mère Rigaut, who -followed him with shrieks and lamentations until he was lost to sight. - -“It was not till they had arrived at the little town, distant about two -leagues from the village wherein Charles Maurice de Talleyrand—Mother -Rigaut’s ‘Charlot’—had passed these first twelve years of his eventful -life, and which he was destined to behold no more—that he was informed -that the strange gentleman who had carried him off so abruptly, and -in such a storm of indignation that he had not even stayed to see the -little Archambaut, was his own uncle, the Bailli de Talleyrand, his -father’s brave and loving brother, whose generous heart had glowed -with such indignation at sight of the unheeded state in which the poor -child had been left, crippled for life through the awkwardness of the -ignorant nurse, that, without hesitation, without permission, he had -torn him from his misery, and, although greatly disappointed in the -hope he had conceived of being able to take him on board the ship he -commanded, in consequence of his infirmity, yet he would not suffer him -to remain a moment longer abandoned to the ignorant kindness of which -he had so long been a victim. - -“As he was compelled to delay his return to Paris for some little -time, he immediately wrote to the count, to inform him of the -circumstances in which he had found his nephew, Charles Maurice, and -his intention of bringing him at once to Paris. The letter reached its -destination some days before the worthy bailli, accompanied by his -young charge, drove into the courtyard of the hotel where the Comte de -Talleyrand resided. Here, to his great mortification, he found that the -count was absent with the _armée de Flandre_; the countess was also -absent on duty at the palace, it being her _semaine de service_, and -not for worlds would she neglect her duty. She had, however, with an -affectionate _prévoyance_, worthy of the greatest praise, appointed a -gentleman to receive the boy from the hands of the bailli—a professor, -who was to be his tutor at the College Louis le Grand, whither he was -immediately to conduct his pupil, arrangements having already been made -for his reception. The bailli sighed as he consigned the lad to the -care of another stranger, and, taking an affectionate farewell, which -was his last, immediately set off for Toulon, where he embarked, and -was drowned at sea some few months afterwards. - -“Had the worthy bailli lived, the destiny of Charles Maurice would -have been far different, and the fate of Europe have been changed. -He would have found protection and support in his own family—in one -of its members at least—and they would not have dared to wreak upon -his head that deadly wrong, which changed the whole current of his -existence, and compelled him to struggle and to toil for that which was -by right his own. However, bad as matters were, they certainly might -have been worse; for the gentleman to whose care Charles Maurice was -confided, was at all events a kind and liberal person, and soon became -greatly attached to his pupil. I have frequently seen him at the Hotel -Talleyrand, even so lately as the year 1828. He was but a very few -years older than the prince, and it was like a dream of other days to -hear the ancient pupil and his more ancient tutor discourse for hours -together of those early times, so long gone by, and of their friends -and companions, all, with very few exceptions, long since in the grave. -I have often thought that it must have been to the society and counsels -of this most excellent man that the prince chiefly owed the softness -and humanity of his character, which even his enemies, amid all their -absurd accusations, have never been able to deny. - -“I have heard the prince, even very lately, speak of _ce cher_ Père -Langlois, as one of the most benevolent and pure-minded of men, and -his friendship and affection for him knew no change, through all the -vicissitudes of fortune, or the changes in politics. The prince, I -believe, allowed him a very handsome income up to the day of his death; -but this circumstance did not prevent him from sometimes indulging his -quondam pupil with a few gentle remonstrances and _réprésentations_, -whenever, by any misplaced word, or ill-timed reflection, he wounded -the old professor’s prejudices; and it was a most curious sight to -witness the deference with which his observations would be received -by the prince, who, so strong was the power of old association, bowed -his mighty intellect, and submitted to the reprimands of the obscure -and dependent professor. I have often been present at his visits, and -always took most especial delight in witnessing the kindly feeling, -the true affection, which existed between the pair. M. Langlois still -wore, in 1828, the costume he had worn before the revolution, when, -as professor of rhetoric at the college of Louis le Grand, he had -undertaken the care and education of the poor neglected boy from the -distant village in Perigord—a long-skirted black coat, without a -collar, and buttoned up to the chin, black knee breeches and silk -stockings, with large shoes and bright plated knee-buckles. His -coiffure was in _ailes de pigeon_, with a long and goodly queue, well -powdered; the large, flat snuff-box which he drew from the vasty deep -of his ample pocket, and the brown checquered handkerchief which he -used with a flourish and a loud report, brought back to memory at once -the whole herd of _savans crasseux_ of the eighteenth century. - -“Well, to return to my tale. At the college, Charles Maurice devoted -himself most manfully to study. This is proved by the fact of his -having obtained, the second year of his admission, the first prize of -his class, although competition must have been hard with boys who had -been in the college for many years, while he had been running wild and -barefoot on the plains of Perigord. Three years passed away cheerily -enough at the college. His life of study had, however, but little -variety, for he was during that time one of the unfavoured few who were -compelled by the arrangements of their parents to remain at the college -during the short vacation. His mother came but seldom to visit him, -and never came alone. She was mostly accompanied by an eminent surgeon -of Paris, who examined the boy’s leg, and bandaged it and pulled it -out to force it to match in length with the other, and burnt and -cauterized the offending nerve until the poor fellow learned to dread -with extreme terror the summons to the _parloir_, and the announcement -that _madame sa mère_ was awaiting him there. I have often heard him -tell of the agony of these visits, and of the disappointment which he -experienced on seeing all his playmates depart to their various homes -for the holidays, but I never heard him utter a single complaint or -condemnation of his mother’s conduct. - -“It was at this time that his father died from the consequences of -an old wound received in a skirmish some years before, and Charles -Maurice was now the Comte de Talleyrand, and head of that branch of the -family to which he belonged. Meanwhile, the younger son, Archambaut, -had likewise returned from his most refined and tender nursing; but -_he_ had had the better chance; _his_ limbs were sound and well -developed, as God had made them. No dire accident, the consequence -of foul neglect, had marred his shape or tarnished his comeliness. -So, one fine day, and as a natural consequence, mark you, of this -fortunate circumstance, when Charles Maurice, the _eldest_ son, had -finished his course of study at Louis le Grand, having passed through -his classes with great _éclat_, there came a tall, sallow, black-robed -priest, and took him away from the midst of friends to the grim old -_seminaire_ of St. Sulpice, and it was there that he received the -astounding intimation, from the lips of the superior himself, that, by -the decision of a _conseil de famille_, from which there was no appeal, -his birthright had been taken from him, and transferred to his younger -brother. - -“‘Why so?’ faltered the boy, unable to conceal his emotion. - -“‘He is not a cripple,’ was the stern and cruel answer. - -“It must have been that hour—nay, that very instant—the echo of those -heartless words—which made the Prince de Talleyrand what he is even -to this very day. Who shall tell the bitter throes of that bold, -strong-hearted youth, as he heard the unjust sentence? Was it defiance -and despair, the gift of hell, or resignation, the blessed boon of -Heaven, which caused him to suffer the coarse, black robe to be thrown -at once above his college uniform, without a cry, without a murmur? -None will ever be able to divine what his feelings were, for this one -incident is always passed over by the prince. He never refers to it, -even when in familiar conversation with his most loved intimates. It is -certain, therefore, that the single hour of which I speak, bore with it -a whole life of bitterness and agony. - -“It is evident, as usual with him throughout his whole life, that his -decision, however, was taken on the instant. He murmured not—he sued -not for commutation of the hateful sentence. He knew that it would be -in vain. He even sought at once to conform, outwardly at least, to all -the tedium of the endless rules and regulations by which the house -was governed; but his whole character was changed—his very nature -was warped and blasted. Whatever historians may write, and credulous -readers choose to believe, he was _not_ a ‘silent, solitary boy, loving -to muse while his comrades played around him,’ as I have seen it -written in a recent account of his life. Just the contrary. While at -Louis le Grand, he was remarkable for his skill and dexterity at all -kinds of games requiring either fleetness of foot or strength of limb; -which fact was so extraordinary, from his infirmity, that the tradition -has been preserved in the college. He was strong and hardy, in spite -of his lameness. This he owed to the fresh air and free exercise he -had enjoyed in his early childhood. His temper was mild and tractable, -and, when attacked, his only weapon of defence was his tongue. His -sharp, quick speech became, indeed, the terror of his comrades. Even -then he had learned that the art of governing others consisted merely -in self-command. What a pity that some of his juvenile _bon mots_ have -not been preserved; they must have been delightful; the very sap and -freshness of his mental vigour. - -“At Louis le Grand he had been surrounded by the bold, ambitious -spirits of the rising generation of that day, boys of all classes of -society, all animated with the same eager desire for distinction, and, -each in his degree, with the same thirst for glory. Even these children -were awaking to the conviction that a new light was about to break -upon the world, that the triumph of mind over matter was nigh at hand, -and that the power of brute force must yield at length to the mightier -power of intellect. A discontented spirit had gone forth, and even -walked abroad into the very nurseries throughout the land. The days -were past when the boys of noble blood sat down to table first and were -served by the urchin _roturiers_, their fellow-students. At board, in -class, or at play, the sons of the noble and the lowly, of the wealthy -and the poor, were now jostled together. The high-born dunce, who was -at college merely to while away the useless years between the epoch of -actual childhood and that of his admission (still a child) into the -army, no longer took precedence of the plebeian boy who was toiling -and striving to acquire knowledge, even though it might have been the -credit of the former which obtained the admission of the latter into -the college. - -“In this struggle, the talents and quickness of young Talleyrand had -shone conspicuously. His position on his first entrance into the -college had been most undefined and false. He had arrived from Perigord -wild and untutored, ignorant of the simplest social tradition of the -_noblesse_; therefore had he no place or influence among the nobles; -while, without wealth, or any of the dazzling appurtenances of his -rank at command, he could scarcely be expected to have sway with the -_roturiers_; and yet, before the first half year had passed away, he -was found to be the prime mover and counsel of both factions by the -power of his intellect alone. These are facts which still live in the -memory of some few of the prince’s old associates, and show how early -that grasping mind, which was destined to govern those who governed the -world itself, began to assert its dominion and to exercise its powers. - -“I have dwelt thus lengthily upon the childhood of the Prince de -Talleyrand, because, in the events by which it was marked, you may find -both cause and excuse for many things that took place in after years. -Such had been his life at Louis le Grand. Now, at the Seminaire, he -was thrown at once among a set of creatures of a far different stamp -from the bold and independent beings he had left. His new companions -were mostly, like himself sons of the poor _noblesse_; but, unlike -himself, they were either the _younger_ or the _bastard_ sons. Not one -of these had been deprived, as he had been, of his name and birthright, -therefore none could have sympathy with all the bitterness that must -have lain so heavy on his heart. Instead of the variety which gave -such interest to his college life, and such constant food to his -perceptive powers, he was surrounded in his new abode by beings all -actuated by one single motive, and who had therefore been moulded by -the same views into the same character. The sleepy dream of life at -St. Sulpice centred wholly in ecclesiastical distinction and honour, -and merely resolved itself into either riches or dignities, according -to the temper of the dreamer. The ready wit, the lively perceptions of -young Talleyrand, could not be appreciated in a community where hope -was deadened, and imagination dulled, by the certainty that robbed the -Future of the dim veil with which it is hidden from the great mass of -mankind, and which, according to the morals of the period, rendered -the after years of the younger son of the poor noble, or the bastard -child of the rich one, as easily to be defined, and as easy to unravel -as a record of the past. So must have thought that little congregation -of the Seminaire of Saint Sulpice, who were gathered there in 1770, -the year of the admission of Charles Maurice. But God had ordained it -otherwise; and, could some few of the fortunes of those lads be told -at this day, we should perhaps find as great diversity of adventure, -and many a tale of interest as wild and fearful, as those which could -be furnished by the youthful denizens of the Royal College of Louis le -Grand at the same period. - -“However, it does not appear that the young candidate for church -preferment was guilty, for a single moment, of deception, with regard -to those who had thus fashioned out his destiny. He wore no mask of -hypocrisy at that time certainly, made no false pretence of fasting or -of penance; but openly and freely shared in all the amusements which -were within his reach, perhaps buoyed up with the presentiment that the -time was drawing nigh when the cowled monk and the stoled priest would -be bound by no obligation to keep the vow which had been breathed from -terror or necessity. - -“It is pleasant to listen to his quiet and even mirthful tales of the -life he led when staying at the _succursale_ of the establishment, -which was situated at Vaugirard, near which place (at Issy) the Duchess -of Orleans, mother of our present King Louis Philippe, possessed a most -splendid château. Here she used to assemble all the _élite_ of the -society of Paris, and on the boards of the little theatre belonging -to the château were first produced some of the dramatic pieces which -afterwards had the greatest vogue in the capital. To be present -at these representations was an honour, of course, far beyond the -pretensions of the poor seminaristes, whose ears were tantalized during -the long summer nights by the rattling of carriage-wheels, and the -hallooing of livered attendants, as all the rank and beauty of Paris -flew by the old gray convent, where the priestly inhabitants should -have been slumbering in holy calm. But young Talleyrand slumbered not. -He would remain gazing for hours through the narrow apertures of the -jalousies,—which the watchful eye of the _surveillant_ caused always -to be closed,—and, with straining eyes and yearning heart, seek to -picture to his fancy the faces and the forms of the fair occupants -of the carriages which passed in rapid succession, until the desire -to join the happy groups he beheld thus fleeting before him became -irresistible, and he resolved _coûte que coûte_ to gratify it. No -sooner was the resolution formed than he hastened to its execution. - -“Accordingly, one bright balmy night in August, he flung his black -serge frock _aux orties_, and, without assistance and without a -confidant (he never asked or took advice), he climbed the old -crumbling wall of the garden, and jumped up behind one of the gay -carriages which had so excited his envy. He will sometimes smile even -now at the self-confidence with which he planted himself, all terrified -and blushing, however, at the heels of the party who alighted at the -_perron_ of the château. He was fairly astonished at his own impudence, -when he found himself comfortably seated in the parterre of the -theatre, with an officer of the Gardes Françaises on one side, and a -little masked and mincing _abbé petit-maître_ on the other; nor could -he believe, as he raised his eyes and gazed around on that bright and -brilliant company, that he was not in reality where he ought at that -moment to have been, stretched on his lowly pallet, and dreaming of -paradise. - -“When the curtain rose, and the play began, his admiration and delight -became almost painful. The piece was Racine’s ‘Phèdre,’ and the famous -Mademoiselle Contat, who performed the part of the wretched wife and -mother, was in more senses than one the heroine of the evening. She -had just been released from the prison of Fort l’Evêque, where she -had been confined for some time, in consequence of having refused to -apologize to the Paris parterre, for treating its opinion and authority -with contempt. Enthusiasm was at its height on her account. Party -spirit had run so high, that duels had been fought between old friends, -and _liaisons_ of long standing been broken off, in consequence of -differences of opinion with regard to her conduct in this matter. -Madame de L——, a great patroness of the drama, had not hesitated at -making herself the public talk, by taking to prison, in her open -carriage in broad day, and in the face of all Paris, seated on her -lap, with dishevelled hair and streaming eyes, the fair and injured -Emilie! The new perfume, _larmes de Contat_, had become indispensable. -Better go without a pocket-handkerchief at all than produce one which -was not redolent of the complicated fragrance. There had been but a -single incident to divert from tears and sobs in this adventure. The -police-officer, who had been charged with the arrest of Mademoiselle -Contat, had found her in the tragic mood, lofty and sullen. ‘Take all!’ -she had exclaimed, with theatrical grandeur; ‘you are welcome to take -all—my liberty—my very life itself—but you cannot take my honour!’ -‘Fear not, mademoiselle,’ replied the man; ‘_où il n’y a rien, le roi -perd ses droits_.’ - -“Some had laughed at the witticism—others had felt it most deeply, as -the unkindest cut of all. In short, her punishment and its cause had -created a species of frenzy in the public mind, which had occasioned -all minor troubles, whether of politics or finance, to be forgotten -for a while. You may judge, then, of the effect produced by the -appearance of Mdlle. Contat on the stage of this little _théâtre de -bonne compagnie_, before an audience of whom she was the idol, and -who had taken her imprisonment as the deepest personal offence to -themselves. Every individual in the house rose and greeted her with -transport. There was loud clapping of hands, and stamping of feet; and -some wept salt tears, and embraced their neighbours lovingly, so great -was the common joy, so universal the gratification afforded by the -release of the great Contat! Charles Maurice alone remained impassible -amid all the clamour, for he knew not what it meant, until the Garde -Française gave him a cuff, and bade him shout, or he would pink him, -and the perfumed abbé fell upon his neck, and with sobs begged him, -for Heaven’s sake, to clap his hands, that he might be quite sure he -was not seated next to a corpse, for nothing else could thus long have -borne the presence of a beauty so divine without some demonstration of -delight. - -“It was when the clamour had ceased, and the play was allowed to -proceed, that the real delight of young Talleyrand commenced. I have -often heard him say, that never, during the lengthened years of his -brilliant life, does he remember to have experienced an admiration so -glowing, so intense, as on that memorable evening. During the whole -of the performance, he had remained in a perfect trance, and, when it -was concluded, he almost wept at the thought that he might possibly -behold it no more. The play was followed by a supper, again followed -by dancing, which doubtless lasted till the dawn, but our seminariste -deemed it prudent to hasten homeward before matins, for fear of -detection. This he accomplished on foot, and with celerity, and he was -just comfortably settled in his bed when the odious clang of the chapel -bell roused him ere he had yet fallen asleep. And it was long, indeed, -before he again slept calmly as he had done before. That night’s -entrancement had opened to his sight visions of forbidden things, of -which till then he had never dreamed, and the possibility of returning -again with composure to the dull life of the seminaire was gone for -ever! His passion for Mademoiselle Contat grew to be the one sole -thought which occupied his mind, and he soon found means to indulge it. -Night after night would he escape from his prison, and walk to Paris -(after her return to the Théâtre Royal), in order to witness the least -fragment of her acting. Sometimes, on the vigils of great festivals, -when prayers had continued late at the chapel, or the superior had -indulged his flock with an over-long story at the supper-table, the -poor youth could not set out on his perilous journey until it was too -late; and many a time has he had the mortification of arriving at the -theatre, after an expensive ride or a fatiguing walk from Vaugirard, -just as the curtain was about to fall, and shut out the goddess from -his sight. He often recalls those few short months of peril and -excitement, as among the happiest of his life. - -“It was just about this time that he met with a romantic adventure, -which he cannot even now relate without emotion, and which has all the -character of the events which compose the most pure and healthy of the -novels of the period. He was one day returning from the _Bibliothèque_ -of the Sorbonne to the Seminaire Saint Sulpice, laden with books and -papers, when a violent storm of rain coming on, he was forced to seek -shelter beneath a gateway in the Rue du Pot de Fer. The neighbourhood -at that time was full of convents and ecclesiastical establishments—the -Benedictines—the Carmelites—the Frères Minimes—the Cordeliers—all had -houses or _succursales_, about the Place Saint Sulpice; so that you -might have walked down whole streets of dark gloomy wall, without -finding a single refuge from the rain—the convent doors being kept -inhospitably closed, and the small space beneath the eaves being -even more drenched than the middle of the street, from the dripping -gutters which poured down upon the miserable wayfarer one continued -sheet of water, certainly not so pure as that which fell straight -from heaven. There was but a single space in the whole street where -the passenger could hope for a dry footing, and young Talleyrand knew -it well; a little archway, leading to the back-door of a convent of -Benedictines—the name of which I forget—whose principal entrance was in -the Rue de Vaugirard. - -“It was a long, narrow passage, so dark that it was impossible to -perceive any one concealed there, and might have served admirably as -a place of ambush for any lurking thief or assassin, who might have -chosen to harbour in its gloomy recess. Here the youth had stood some -time watching the rain—which continued to fall in torrents—still laden -with his books, yet not daring to open one of them, fearful that the -rest might fall into the mud—of course devoured with _ennui_, and -stamping with impatience,—just, in fact, on the point of launching -forth once more—if it were merely for the sake of changing his station -for another more amusing,—when suddenly he became conscious of the -presence of another person in the passage. He says that he was rather -startled at first, but it did not belong either to his age or character -to pass without investigation any circumstance which had arrested his -attention: so clearing his throat with a successful effort, he called -out manfully, ‘_Qui vive?_’ - -“The exclamation was answered by a faint and stifled cry, issuing -from the very furthermost corner of the obscure passage. The young -man ventured forward without hesitation, and discovered a dark and -shapeless form huddled up in one corner of the threshold of the -convent-door, whose outline, so dark was the place, was invisible, even -at arm’s length. He was conscious that the form was that of a female, -and he stretched out his hand, and said kindly,—‘What fear you?—are you -in trouble?—why are you hidden thus? Let me assist you, if you are in -pain.’ - -“As he spoke these words, the figure slowly rose—a slight, frail, -delicate form, that of a girl scarcely beyond the age of childhood, -attired in the loose black dress of serge and large capuchon of the -convent beneath the gateway of which they were standing. He took her -gently by the hand and led her forward to the light. The poor girl -was so terrified, that she offered no resistance, and, conducting her -to the entrance of the passage, he gently withdrew the capuchon, with -which she had covered her face, bidding her take comfort, for that he -would do her no harm. The girl looked up into his countenance with an -expression of anxiety and doubt, but the gentle kindness which she saw -written there must have relieved her instantly, for she exclaimed, in -a whisper, ‘Oh no—I _know_ you will not betray me—but how _can_ you -assist me? I am lost for ever!’ and then she buried her face in her -hands, and sobbed aloud. - -“The youth remained gazing upon the girl, in mingled admiration and -surprise. Never, to this very hour, he has often said, has he beheld -a face of greater beauty than that which stood thus revealed to him -in the dim light. It was a small and exquisitely delicate cast of -countenance, with large wild eyes and arched eyebrows, and a calm, -snow-white forehead, which a painter might have given to the Madonna -standing at Saint Anne’s knee. Her hair was hanging loose about her -face, in dripping masses, from the rain through which she had passed, -and the steam of the capuchon. Her small chiselled mouth was parted, -and disclosed two rows of pearly teeth. But Talleyrand was most struck -by the singular beauty of her complexion, which, although she evidently -had been terrified, was not pale, but of the most vivid bloom, like -the petals of the damask rose; while her eyes almost dazzled him, so -bright and flashing was their lustre. By his patience and his kindly -manner, he soon succeeded in winning the little maiden’s confidence; -and, although still in great agitation, she told him the story of her -troubles, which was a singular one, and most affecting. - -“She said that she was a novice of the convent of the Benedictine -ladies, of the Rue de Vaugirard, and that the passage where they were -standing formed part of the premises belonging to the building. She -had been in that house ever since the age of four years—she was now -fifteen—and during all that time she had never once been allowed to go -beyond those walls. She had often yearned most intensely, she said, -to see the world, which the other novices and the _pensionnaires_ -had described to her as being so very beautiful. She had sometimes -begged very earnestly, too, to be permitted to accompany one of the -lay sisters, who went sometimes into the country, to see a sick nun of -the order, who was staying there for the recovery of her health; but -she had been told that out of kindness she must be refused; for, as it -was her destiny to pass her whole life in that old convent, it would -be much better that she should behold no other place, and those who -had more experience than herself could tell what regret and misery she -would avoid by her ignorance of other scenes. She was to have renewed -her vows of novitiate on the Thursday before, but she had been so ill, -that the ceremony had been deferred until the week following, and then -she should enter into the last year of novitiate, and when that had -passed away, she should take the black veil and be cloistered for the -rest of her life. Her name, she added, was Constance de V., but she -knew not of any friends or kindred which she had. A notary had always -remitted to the abbess the sums necessary for the expenses of her board -and education, and the dower money also was already lodged in the -lady’s hands, so that there was no hope—none—none—that she should ever -realize her dream of beholding ever so small a portion of the world, -of whose beauty she had heard so much. She said this with such a deep -sigh, and such a yearning look towards the gloomy street where the rain -still plashed in torrents, that the listener was moved almost to tears. - -“‘But how came you here, mademoiselle?’ said he, ‘and in this state, -too?’ pointing to her dress, which was wet through, and clung to her -form in damp and streaming folds. - -“‘Oh, I have not told you all,’ replied she, hesitatingly. ‘I know -that I have done wrong, but my punishment is great as my offence:’ -and she looked down the dark passage towards the door with a shudder -of affright. ‘But thus it was. I had been ill in bed for more than a -week, and had grown so weary of my little cell—and last night I could -not sleep for thinking of all the brightness of the world I never was -to see. I prayed to the Holy Virgin to take away these wicked thoughts -from my mind, but she did not think fit to give me grace, for towards -morning my desire to go abroad became even more intense; and so, when -sister Marthe, who watches me, left me, still thinking that I was -asleep, to go to matins, I rose from my bed and came down, to walk for -a few moments beneath the cloisters of the outer court, in the hope -that the air of the place, confined as it was, might help to cool the -fever of the past night. I have long been forbidden to go into the -garden; they say it is too cold and damp, and that my cough will be -worse than ever if I stay beneath the trees. Well, I turned round and -round the court, listening to the chimes of Saint Sulpice, and thinking -of what our Lady Abbess tells me I should never think of—the delight of -lying in some cool green meadow, on the grass, beneath the overhanging -branches of some old tree—when the tempter, who, as Sister Marthe has -often told me, already half possesses my lost soul (alas! she _must_ -speak truth), led me this way—into the cloister which leads to yonder -door. It was ajar—Mother Jeanne, the _femme de peine_, had just been -cleaning it with broom and pail, and had opened it to sweep the rubbish -into this dark passage. How she could have left it open thus I cannot -tell—yes, Sister Marthe is right—it _must_ have been the tempter’s -work! My heart beat violently at sight of that open door. I thought to -have fled, but I yielded to temptation, and peeped through the long -dark passage into the street beyond. Scarcely had I thus gazed for an -instant, when I was seized with a desire so burning, so intense, to -see the _Place_, which I had been told was at the end of this little -street, that, without a moment’s reflection, I rushed down the passage -and was free. I meant to have merely cast one look upon the _Place_, -and have returned immediately. I thought it might be possible that in -this illness I might die, and it was very hard that I should leave -a world, which they tell me God has made so full of beauty, without -having beheld aught besides this dull old pile; so I stepped out into -the street with more delight than I ought to have done, considering -that I was doing what was wrong. I buried my head in my capuchon, -and turned boldly down the street to the left; but I had not gone far -before I perceived that I must have taken the wrong direction, for as -I drew near to the end, I saw not the fine open square which I had -been promised, but another street more dirty and more dull than the -one I had just traversed. During the walk, I did not meet a soul, or I -think I should have fainted, for it was not till I thus stood for the -first time alone and unaided that I remembered that my dress must at -once betray me. I was resolved to return immediately, but, in the mean -time, this storm of rain came suddenly beating down with such intense -fury that my dress was wet through in an instant. I ran with all the -swiftness of which I was capable, to regain this dark passage; but -judge of the agony of affright that I experienced on beholding the door -which I had closed, and of which I had taken the key, fastened on the -inside! Mother Jeanne must have perceived the absence of the key, and -have bolted it within. Oh, I am lost! She has doubtless already been to -tell our lady mother. They will all know ’tis I who am the guilty one, -for everybody else will be at matins!’ - -“As the poor girl concluded her story, she again burst into a paroxysm -of grief. The young seminariste endeavoured to soothe her, and offered -to go round to the great gate to try and obtain admittance there, but -the trembling girl clung to him with such energy, that he could not -tear himself away. - -“‘No, no; do not leave me now,’ exclaimed she. ‘I dare not be left thus -alone. What shall I say when they come and find me here? They will -come, I know, directly, and bear me back with hootings and with shame.’ - -“As she spoke, so great was her terror, that she shook like the aspen -leaf, and her companion was obliged to support her by placing his arm -gently round her waist, or she would have fallen. He then perceived, -with great distress, that this violent trembling was the spasmodic -shuddering of fever; and, as she placed her hand upon her bosom to -still the convulsive throe, he beheld with yet greater horror that -she wore nothing beneath her robe but the night dress which she had -on when she left her bed. His heart was wrung at the thought of that -delicate creature abroad thus, burnt with fever, and wet to the skin. -It must be death to so fragile a being. Something, however, must be -done. He durst not leave her. She was in that state of mind that she -might have fallen senseless to the earth if she had been left alone; -neither could he drag her with him the whole length of the street -through the pouring rain, in order to arrive at the great gate of the -convent. The scandal would have been terrific, had they been seen -together in the costume which they each wore. In the midst of this -painful embarrassment, like the drowning man who clings to a straw, he -went up to the door and turned the key. There was no impediment in the -lock. He shook the door violently, then pushed it with all his might. -Oh, God of mercy, it yields! It is _not_ bolted, for daylight may be -seen through the opening. Once more he brings all his strength to bear -against the iron-studded door. The drops of sweat stand like beads upon -his forehead, with the anxiety of the moment and the violence of his -exertions. But he is presently rewarded by the grating noise caused by -the removal of the obstacle within, and the faint shriek of joy which -escaped the lips of the sweet Constance. She sees it all now! Mother -Jeanne, in her rage for cleaning, had moved the old oaken bench from -the archway of the cloister, and had placed it crosswise before the -door, where it had resisted all her own puny efforts, as though it had -been a wall of iron; and now her laugh of delight is so convulsive -that it is more painful than were her tears and sobs. Meanwhile, young -Talleyrand had pushed open a space sufficient for her passage into the -cloister, and he assisted her to mount the bench and pass through. -The hand which she gave him, and which but a little while before had -startled him by its burning touch, was now as cold as marble. He -imprinted one pure and holy kiss upon it before he closed the door for -ever; and when he found that she withdrew it not, but thanked him, and -blessed him fervently, and called him her deliverer, and said ‘_that -he had saved her life_,’ he shut the door abruptly, for he could bear -no more. He stood for a moment listening at the keyhole for the sound -of her retreating step. It must have been very light, however, for he -heard it not. He then walked slowly home to the _seminaire_, insensible -now to either wind or rain. - -“The books which the young student had brought from the Sorbonne -were unperused that day. His mind was too much absorbed with the -memory of that beauteous maiden, and with the undefined terror which -he experienced for her sake. On the morrow, he walked several times -completely round the convent walls, but he saw not an evidence that the -building was inhabited by a single human being. On the third day, he -could not control his impatience, and bestowed a silver crown on the -_commissionaire_ to go and ask, as if despatched by some great lady, -whose name he was to forget, for news of the health of Mademoiselle -Constance de V. The answer he brought back was that ‘Mademoiselle -Constance de V., in an attack of fever, being for a few moments -unwatched, had risen from her bed and gone down into the cloisters, -no doubt feeling grievously ill, and in search of assistance. It was -supposed that she had wandered for some time in the quadrangle, for she -was found lying drenched with wet upon the oaken bench, by the _porte -de service_ of the outer court. She was without sense or motion when -taken up, and it was certain that she had already been dead for some -time (this was the private opinion of the _tourière_), although the -superior would insist on having the viaticum administered all the same. -She had been buried that very morning at daybreak, and Mademoiselle -de Breteuil, the favourite _pensionnaire_ of the abbess, had got the -promise of her cell to keep her birds in, until the arrival of another -_pensionnaire_ to occupy it. The abbess was very angry with sister -Marthe for having left the bedside of Mademoiselle de V., but could not -punish her, it having been proved that she had only gone to matins. - -“Such had been the fate of that beauteous girl! The earth already -covered her, before she had even seen the light. That stealthy walk -along the dreary street, amid the cold and pelting rain, was all the -experience she had earned to the grave, of the world she had longed so -ardently to see; and, when the _seminariste_ thought on the story of -her life, and compared it with his own, he felt that he no longer had -a right to complain. He had spent his childhood at least amid fresh -air and free exercise wholesome to the body, and also amid the rude -kindness and overwhelming affection wholesome to the mind; while the -poor child whose dying grasp he almost fancied that he could still -feel, had never been allowed to roam beyond the gloomy precincts of her -prison-house. With her innocence and loveliness, she had been suffered -to grow like some rank weed which springs amid the crevice of the -pavement stone of the foul jail-yard, and struggles but in vain to -catch a gleam of sunshine or a breath of air, until, wearied with the -effort, it sinks back dead into the crevice from which it sprung. - -“This event made a great impression upon M. de Talleyrand, and -sobered him for some time after its occurrence. He took to studying -more diligently than hitherto, and shone among his competitors as -brilliantly as he had already done at Louis le Grand. His speeches at -the conferences which were held every month at Saint Sulpice, were -judged to be masterpieces of reasoning and logic, and were thought -worthy of being preserved among the records of the _seminaire_—an -immense honour for so young a man. He was now seventeen: it was judged -advisable that he should go to finish his theological studies ‘_en -Sorbonne_,’ and it was during the short interval which elapsed between -leaving the _seminaire_ and entering the _Sorbonne_, that he first -lodged at home. Note this when ye talk of the ‘good old times:’—the -Prince de Talleyrand was seventeen years of age _before he had slept -a single night beneath his father’s roof_! Well might Jean Jacques -thunder forth his maledictions upon the fine ladies, the ‘_marâtres -sans entrailles_’ of his day!” - -My friend here paused, to my great sorrow, with all the -self-complacency of a professed lion exhibitor, to descant upon -the beauty of the landscape as seen from the point at which we had -arrived. Of course there were the well-known wonders familiar to all -natural-beauty-hunters ever since the world began—the seeing into so -many departments—the commanding a view of so many parishes, but which -always worry me to death. - -“What is that ruin?” said I, pointing to a pile of rubbish which lay -close at hand. - -“Ah, that is no ruin,” replied C., laughing, “it is just the contrary, -for it is an unfinished building. The history of that ‘ruin’ would -amuse you, more than all the history of the person whose work it was. -The prince calls it the ‘_Folie Princesse_,’ and you shall have the -story as we go home.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -MIRABEAU—THE PRINCESS T.—THE MAYOR OF VALENÇAY. - - -We alighted from the carriage, and sat down on one of the blocks of -stone which lay scattered about in all directions, bearing witness -to the gigantic intentions of the projector, and also to the signal -failure of the enterprise. C. looked around with sadness. - -“The sight of this place,” said he, “recalls to mind so much both of -pain and pleasure, so many associations for ever lost to Valençay, that -I cannot behold it without a certain feeling of melancholy, which I -little thought it would ever have inspired. And yet, in spite of all -the jesting and merry sarcasm, the bon-mots and epigrams to which the -first discovery of the little monument gave rise, it might serve to -illustrate my favourite argument, when answering those who attack, by -sweeping generalities, the whole life of the prince, and which I frame -thus: ‘No man can be so very worthless who has made such friendships as -he has done, and won attachments so lasting and so true.’ - -“It is, in fact, one of the most extraordinary qualifications of this -great man, and forms a parallel to what is told of the fascinating -influence of Napoleon. His powers of pleasing are so great, that he -can with justice boast of never having failed to captivate, where -he has been willing to do so, even when having to combat enmity and -prejudice. Those who are accustomed to the bland and polished courtesy -of his old age can readily imagine that in youth his influence must -have been all-powerful. With this fascination of manner he must have -also been possessed of the most aristocratic and handsome person, from -the dignity of which, strange to say, the deformity of his foot never -detracted. He was very fair, of most brilliant yet delicate complexion, -with eyes of a soft dark blue, much covered by the lids, which -contributed greatly to the air of quiet _recueillement_, misconstrued -by many into an expression of cunning, which was habitual to him. His -hair has always been considered one of his greatest attractions, being -of the bright golden hue, so uncommon even in the north; and when he -wore it loose over his shoulders, neither discoloured by powder nor -disfigured by the torturing iron of the perruquier, it must have been -most beautiful. Even to this very hour, you cannot fail to remark its -rich luxuriance. It is not yet wholly white, but merely grey, and its -original golden colour still shines bright amid the silver. - -“I have seen several portraits of the prince, taken in his youth. There -is one, a miniature, which, set in a bracelet, has met my eye every -day for some years past, upon the arm of the fair Duchess de D., which -never fails to arrest my attention, and to inspire me with the same -interest, the same dreams and illusions of the past, as though, upon -each occasion I behold it, it was for the first time. The likeness may -be strongly traced even now. The features are moulded with a delicacy -peculiar to the race of the Perigords, and the countenance is one -which might certainly have been suspected of having greatly aided -his varied talents and endowments, in the success for which he was -so applauded and so envied. The costume in this picture is of about -the year 1775, when Talleyrand was in the prime of youth, and when he -had not long emerged from St. Sulpice; and yet the portrait is rather -that of a young man of fashion of the time than of a youth vowed to -a life of penance and austerity. The hair, of which he was always -proud, hangs loose and unshorn over his embroidered coat; no sign of -monkish scissors or of priestly tonsure is there. There does not exist -a picture of the prince either as Abbé de Perigord or as Bishop of -Autun. So completely did he ever separate himself from the state of -life into which he had been thrust by the force of circumstances, that -he never would consent to have a palpable record of his profession -brought in after times as a memorial against him. There is a beautiful -portrait of Talleyrand when Prince de Benevent and Vice Grand Elector, -painted by Gerard, and one of the best performances of that artist, now -at Rochecotte, wherein the physiognomist might have _beau jeu_, for -the countenance in this picture bears the most lively and _spirituel_ -expression that could possibly be represented by art. The painting -by Scheffer, which has been engraved in London, and published by -Colnaghi, is the best in existence as to the likeness, which is most -striking. The artist has represented, in a manner almost sublime, the -peculiar _mélange_ of melancholy and _finesse_ which the countenance -of the prince always wears when in meditation,—an expression which -sometimes inspires me with a feeling of the deepest sadness; it is the -cheerfulness of the mind contending against physical infirmity and pain. - -“You will readily believe that, with all the advantages both of mind -and person which he possessed—with ambition of that quiet kind, which -knows no obstacle in the attainment of its ends, and yet can wait with -calm and bide its time—which is slow to decide, yet quick to move -when the hour is arrived for action—with the courtly manners which -must have been hereditary, joined to the calm dignity which he had -acquired in the _Séminaire_ de St. Sulpice, his first appearance in -the world wherein he was destined to live and move, was hailed with -peculiar triumph and satisfaction. The fame of his skill in argument, -his subtlety in wrangling, had got beyond the walls of the _Séminaire_, -long before he himself had left it for the independence of the -Sorbonne. The _conférences_ which took place weekly in the old hall of -the _Séminaire_ had brought out his powers of persuasion, and his great -quickness of imagination, which displayed itself admirably in pointed -epigram and brilliant repartee. - -“There are people living even now who can remember the effect which -some of his controversial arguments produced at the time, among the -audiences who enjoyed the privilege of a seat upon the old oaken -benches of the _Séminaire_, on the days reserved for these public -discussions. They must have been _chefs-d’œuvres_, full of point -and pith, and generally sent the listeners away laughing with him, -and sympathising with his adversary. These discourses were always -read in public from a manuscript _cahier_, and were preserved in the -_archives_ of the _Séminaire_, until the revolution dispersed the -whole of the property of the establishment, and they were lost. It -is a great pity they were not preserved, as they must have contained -much of the vivacity and energy of his youth, which were sadly wanting -in his subsequent speeches; for Talleyrand has never possessed the -qualifications necessary to the success of an orator; his delivery was -lengthened, and his voice too deep and hollow to produce an effect -upon a large assembly. Had it not been for these natural defects, all -the vigour and fire of a Mirabeau would have been reckoned as nought, -compared with the steady wit and cool philosophy of which Talleyrand -was master. - -“The world of fashion, ever on the look-out for novelty, stretched -forth its arms to hug to its bosom the young abbé on his first -appearance within its charmed ring. The reverend title with which he -was invested, so far from being a preventive to his enjoyment of all -the pleasures of the corrupt society of the period, rather served as -an additional pretext for claiming his full share. The youthful Abbé -de Perigord was courted and flattered by all parties; his sayings were -repeated, his sentiments quoted upon all occasions. The world would -now most willingly have spoiled him, and avenged the neglect of his -relations, and the wrongs and insults which had been heaped upon his -childhood. But it was too late: he had already learned to despise -that world to whose mean prejudices he had been made a sacrifice, and -his heart and soul were already devoted to the cause of those whose -struggles were beginning to make the old fabric of society quake and -totter to its very foundations. It was while he was studying at the -Sorbonne that the first shocks of the new era were beginning to be -felt; but young Talleyrand, as yet, took no share in the struggle. -His whole ambition for the moment was devoted to retrieving lost time -in literature, and I have heard him say that the happiest days of his -existence were spent alone, in the gloomy library of the Sorbonne, -seated coiled up on the steps of the library ladder, while his cousin -went abroad to pick up the news, and bring home reports of the progress -of events. The practical knowledge of books which he acquired in this -way was immense, and has served him all through life to season his -conversation with quotation or parody. - -“He was soon, however, torn from the enjoyment of this quiet mode of -existence, by being named coadjutor to his uncle, the Archbishop of -Rheims. From that time forward, books were laid aside, and he returned -to them no more. The human heart became his only study, and one in -which he soon became a perfect adept. The history of his life must -prove, to every thinking mind, that at this very period his decision -was thoroughly taken as to the line of conduct he would pursue, and -the party in politics it was his intention to adopt, for he never -gave himself up to the seductions of that world which sought him with -such eagerness. He entered into its enjoyments, and profited by its -indulgence; but there is no record of any strong friendship having been -formed with any of its members. He allied himself at once to the new -party, and among its leaders were his attachments chosen. Sièyes and -Mirabeau were the beacon stars of his youth. The latter, in particular, -was known to entertain the highest opinion of Talleyrand, and has left -ample proof, in his letters and papers, that he considered him the -only man capable of succeeding him as leader of the party he had so -triumphantly created. - -“You will scarcely credit the assurance, that not even to this very -hour can the prince speak without emotion of the ‘giant Mirabeau.’ I -verily believe that this affection has never been supplanted in his -bosom. It was not long since he was compelled to break off suddenly, in -the midst of an anecdote which he was telling, wherein were mentioned -the circumstances of Mirabeau’s death. He became all at once silent, -and no one dared request him to renew the thread of his story.” - -“Did you ever hear him allude to those circumstances on any other -occasion?” - -“Once only,” replied C.; “we were alone together in his study in the -Rue St. Florentin, one fine summer’s evening. I had been reading to him -some pages of Thiers’s ‘History of the Revolution,’ and had just closed -the book, for want of light, at the mention of Petion. - -“‘That man,’ said the prince, ‘was the greatest scoundrel this country -ever produced. Mirabeau, whose greatest defect in political conduct was -the extraordinary facility with which he gave himself entirely up to -the first person possessed of the slightest show of talent, who could -take off his own hands any part of the labour, had grown _entiché_ -with Petion. For it was extraordinary that Mirabeau, whose mental -vigour could, Atlas-like, have borne the world, was yet possessed of so -much physical indolence that he was seldom known to carry out his own -gigantic designs. Upon how many occasions, when his burning eloquence, -his energy, had roused the angry lion, has he been known to laugh in -pity, to see the _meute_ whom his own fiery zeal had urged into hot -pursuit, rush madly by, while he himself lay down to rest until some -newer game was started. From the moment that such men as Petion, -Brissot, and Condorcet, began to surround Mirabeau, and were admitted -into his privacy, with Cabanis, whom he had chosen as his medical -attendant, I augured ill for the future fate of my friend. Already -were Mirabeau’s views and principles grown too tame, too reasonable, -for these infuriated demagogues, and they had several times received -with ill temper his biting sarcasms at what he called their _exaltation -republicaine_. I remember the effect produced upon one occasion at -a private meeting of his friends, and the gloom and murmurs of rage -with which the concluding words of a speech he had risen to make were -received. ‘_Even supposing, my friends, that royalty were now to be -abolished, it is not a republic that must be established—we are not yet -ripe for this—it must be a commonwealth._’ From that moment, such is -my firm belief, his ruin was decided; but whether he really did meet -his death by unfair means, or whether it was the consequence, as was -proclaimed at the time, of excitement and fever of the blood, brought -on by over-exertion and anxiety, none can tell to this hour. The -circumstances of his death will certainly justify, both to his friends -and to posterity, every suspicion of poison; while, on the other -hand, there were no symptoms which could not be accounted for by the -complaint under which it had from the first been proclaimed that he was -sinking.’ - -“The prince paused for a moment, and I feared that he was about to fall -into a reverie, as is sometimes the case when he has called up any -touching souvenir of his early days; but presently he resumed: - -“‘It was just such an evening as this, warm, glowing, early spring, -when the fiery spirit of Mirabeau was passing away. The whole thing had -been so sudden, so unlooked-for, that we could scarcely believe him in -danger, before we learned that he was gone. It was the 2nd of April, -and but two days before, he had come to fetch me, full of life and -spirit, to dine in the Palais Royal with a party of friends, to talk -over the proposition of a law of succession, which he had had for some -time under consideration, and which it was his intention to present -to the National Assembly. We walked together from my lodgings to the -_restaurateur_ Robert’s, where dinner had been ordered. I thought, -in the conversation concerning his _projet de loi_, that Mirabeau -was somewhat more depressed than usual, and that his words came less -freely and less flowing from his tongue. He certainly did complain of -oppression and pain in his head, and, although the evening was far -from sultry, he walked without his hat. I was particularly struck with -the lassitude and weariness which he seemed to experience when we had -arrived at our destination, and which could not be accounted for by our -short slow walk from the Rue St. Honoré. He flung himself listlessly -upon one of the benches beside the fountain in the middle of the garden -of the Palais Royal, and said, sadly, that he was well pleased that -our friends had not yet arrived at the rendezvous, for he was desirous -of having a few moments’ private conversation with me, not, for once, -about public affairs, but concerning his own. “Is it not strange,” said -he, “that I, who am about to present to the Assembly a law, and to -pronounce a speech, the result of long study, upon wills, should never -during my whole life, have given one single thought to the making of my -own? Do you not think that it’s growing high time to think of _every -possibility_, with such strange proceedings going on around us—eh, my -friend?” - -“‘I was surprised at this sudden revolution in Mirabeau, for, of all -men on earth, he had ever been one of the most thoughtless as to the -future, caring little indeed even for the present, living _au jour le -jour_, heeding not if the morrow never came; and I could only attribute -his unwonted _accablement_ to over-exertion and fatigue. He had spoken -much in the Assembly, and had, I well knew, passed many nights of late -in the framing and preparation of other acts and decrees, to be brought -forward before the close of the session. - -“‘I tried to cheer him with soothing words, and told him it was likely -that his day for thinking of this sort of thing was yet far off; that -it was a mere fit of depression which caused him to dwell upon such -gloomy possibilities; and I ventured to assure him that a good dinner -and a glass of our friend Robert’s best Chambertin would soon produce a -good effect in calming his sudden misgivings about the future. - -“‘He shook his head mournfully: “These are _banal_ phrases, and you -know it,” said he; “they are unworthy of you. I am neither a child nor -a woman, and fear not to listen to the whispering voice of my own soul. -The truth is, I _do_ feel, at this moment, most singularly overcome by -a sadness hitherto unknown—as if my task being, as it were, but just -begun, needed no longer my exertions to finish it.” He laid his hand -upon my knee, and looked in my face, wherein must have been expressed -some anxiety, for I knew not what to think of the mood in which I -beheld him, and added gently, “Should anything happen to me before -long, you will think of what I have been saying.” - -“His voice was so altered, and his countenance so drawn, that I became -moved with sympathy, and began to fancy that he really felt very -ill, but, with an _amour propre_, which, however misplaced on such -an occasion, would still have been compatible with his character, -I thought he might have been concealing his state until he could -no longer bear up against it. I now listened, in mingled pity and -interest, while he explained to me many of his intentions regarding -the disposal of his property, in case he should die without a written -testament. The education of his natural son, and the proper disposal of -his papers, were the subjects upon which he displayed the most concern. -He had already taken the precaution to have the greater part of his -documents of importance conveyed to a trusty friend in Holland, and -but few of those which remained in France were in his own house. He -told me where these few were concealed, and bade me to take charge of -them, “In case,” he always would repeat, “that anything _fâcheux_ (that -was his word) should befal him.” - -“‘He then spoke long and earnestly about his political career. In the -single hour that we passed thus seated side by side, amid the hurry and -bustle of the crowds who were hastening on all sides to the different -_restaurateurs_ beneath the galleries, did we converse together upon -the splendid past, the exciting present, and the TERRIFIC FUTURE. -We spoke in earnest whispers, pre-occupied and abstracted from all -around, as though we had been conspirators in the bosom of some forest -solitude. The whole scene—the day—the hour, I can conjure up in colours -fresh and vivid, as though they had vanished but one moment ago, and -nothing else had been impressed on the canvas of my memory during all -the long years since!’ - -“I have seldom, very seldom indeed, beheld Prince Talleyrand give way -to any demonstration of feeling, even when cause sufficient may have -been found in some particular event going on around him. Perhaps, -indeed, I may say that I never saw him betray anything like emotion, -excepting on the occasion of this reminiscence of Mirabeau. But he had -taught himself from his youth up to subdue speedily all outward display -of his inward feeling, and he resumed, in his own subdued manner: - -“‘It will surprise you when I tell you that scarcely a day passes, even -now, that I do not call to mind that scene: in fact, it is often forced -upon me by the occurrences which are continually taking place before my -eyes. It was a cunning device of the ancient seers to affirm that the -gift of prophecy might sometimes fall on men about to die. It is not -thus; but the words of those we loved are garnered up, when they who -perhaps had spoken them many times before unheeded, can speak them no -more, and we remember them as something new, although ’tis likely we -may have heard them oft and oft before. - -“‘Mirabeau had doubtless many times, as upon this occasion, held forth -to me his fears and doubts, his hopes and his despair, but I remember -it not. I can find place in memory for but this one interview, and I -have treasured up each word and phrase with a jealous vigilance, as -though they had been uttered during the brief visit of a spirit. I had -never been thoroughly inspired with the conviction of the Herculean -powers of the man until this conversation. He seemed to toy with -difficulties; nothing was beyond his grasp; nothing beyond the power of -his will to bend. There is scarcely a single _prévision_ of his which -time has not realized, and often am I startled even now at events, -which, seemingly the consequence of yesterday, had been foretold by -him that evening, beside the fountain in the Palais Royal. He gave -me many kind admonitions and warnings against some who were in our -intimacy, and whom he deemed unworthy of friendship. He counselled me -respecting the path that I should take in case this _quelque chose de -fâcheux_, which seemed to haunt him so strangely, should take place, -while affairs were in such a troubled state. In every case did I follow -this advice, and in every case had I cause to rejoice that I had done -so. Mirabeau was certainly inspired on that evening—he was sublime. I -remember being struck with a saying of his, which I have since found of -the greatest value. After having traced out for me a plan of conduct, -in case public events should take the turn which he was anticipating, -he concluded by saying, solemnly, “But, above all things, my friend, -slight not public opinion. Listen with open ears to the public -clamour—for remember that the voice of the people is the VOICE OF GOD!” - -“‘It was thus we conversed for more than an hour, during which I -learned more of Mirabeau than I had done during the many years of -strict friendship in which we had lived together. I should have -regretted him far less, had this confidence never taken place, for I -should less have learned to estimate his stupendous intellect, and -the grandeur of his mighty heart. As you may suppose, I could have -listened, entranced as I was, until midnight, and was angry when -Condorcet, who was of our party, came running gaily up to our bench, -and seated himself beside us, with a loud exclamation of surprise at -the unusual gravity of our demeanour. Of course the spell was broken -at once, and the conversation became general. Soon afterwards, our two -other friends joined us, and we adjourned to Robert’s, at that time the -first _restaurateur_ in Paris, where we found dinner waiting. - -“‘The dinner was gay enough. I alone, of all the company, was sad, -and spoke but little. Mirabeau, at first absorbed and pre-occupied, -gradually yielding to the influence which he never could resist, that -of wine and good fellowship, by degrees shook off the recollection of -the colloquy we had had together so short a time before, and became -as usual the light and life of the _réunion_. It would be a hopeless -task to endeavour to recal one tithe of all the brilliant sayings, the -startling epigrams, uttered by Mirabeau during this his last flash of -existence. I had never beheld him so excited, so madly gay. He drank -largely, and the wine seemed to inflame his blood until his excitement -bordered on delirium. He raved—he sang—he spoke in loud harangues—he -laughed fiercely at us all—at the court, at the people, at himself, in -short, at everything; and our companions hailed with loud shouts and -applause every _bon mot_ that he uttered. I alone could not share in -this strange mirth, for I was yet shaken by the solemn foreboding, the -dismal presentiment with which he had inspired me. - -“‘At about four o’clock in the morning, the spirit, no longer to be -controlled even by the gigantic physical strength which he possessed, -gave way at last. He complained that his head felt heavy, and said -that the daylight, which was just beginning to peep in from the -window opposite, fatigued his sight. Coffee was then proposed before -we parted, and Mirabeau eagerly took a cup, which he himself poured -out and sweetened. His hand trembled violently as he raised it to his -lips, and he had scarcely replaced the cup upon the table when he fell -forward with his head upon his hands, exclaiming, “My God! what strange -new pain is this?” - -“‘He rallied again, however, presently, and bade the waiter fetch -a coach instantly, saying that he foresaw an attack of spasms in -the chest, and that he knew his remedy, which was a hot bath and -fumigations as quickly as possible. He requested me alone to accompany -him, and from that moment until his death I never left his side. We -drove to the public baths on the Boulevard, opposite to the street -where Mirabeau then lived, the Rue de la Chaussée d’Antin. Here his -sufferings increased to such a frightful degree that I sent for -Cabanis, who, however, did not arrive until the patient had left the -bath, after having taken, against my most earnest desire, a large bowl -of milk and cocoa, of which he was extremely fond. Strange to say, -he was considerably better after this, and left the bath for his own -house, _on foot_. It is this circumstance, I have no doubt, which has -given consistency to the belief that he had been _poisoned_, as it is -averred that, had the mess of milk not been absorbed as _antidote_, -Mirabeau must, in the state in which he was at the time, have died -immediately on taking it. Such sweeping reasoning as this is of course -beneath comment. - -“‘It was with some difficulty that he could be prevailed upon to go to -bed. He resisted to the last, declaring that the bright morning sun, -which by this time was streaming in glory through his windows, would -renovate him better than any physician’s advice. Soon after he had lain -down, however, a change, from which he never rallied, came over him, -and he continued to get worse until he died. It was a dreadful sight -to behold his face, all swollen and bloated, and speckled with livid -spots, and the white foam which gathered upon his lips as fast as his -attendants could wipe it away. It certainly should not have been made a -public show, which, before the end of the day, the death-bed of poor -Mirabeau had become. Those foul suspicions of treachery and poison had -their origin, I doubt not, in the extraordinary symptoms which his -disease presented. - -“‘Never from the first instant did Mirabeau deceive himself, or shrink -from the decree. It has never been my lot to witness a death so -dignified, so sublime. In the morning, through the day, surrounded by -friends and admirers, all was well; but then came the silent watches of -the night, when his whole heart was bared to me, his only comforter. -Not once did he swerve, neither did he throw back one single look of -regret over the road which he had for so many years been travelling. -Quite the contrary;—he met the grim enemy with a courage and equanimity -of temper, the gift of a philosophy of the highest order. - -“‘If popularity could have satisfied the soul of Mirabeau, he surely -must have died content. His house was besieged, and, from the moment he -was declared to be in danger, the very street became impassable from -the crowd of messengers who thronged his door. High and low, rich and -poor, felt alike an interest in the fate of the great man who was to -protect them between monarchy and anarchy, which it is certain the -mighty intellect of Mirabeau would have made an easy task. - -“‘He lingered thus in pain and agony during the whole of this day and -night, and died in my arms on the following morning at eight o’clock, -having preserved his firmness of intellect until the very last moment. -It _is_ true (for there were some absurd stories afloat) that, about -five minutes before he actually expired, he wrote on a piece of paper -(for speech was already gone) these words: “_It is far easier to die -than to sleep!_” The movement which he made to place the paper in -my hand was his last. He never stirred afterwards. I have kept that -precious scrap of writing through every change of fortune; and in the -hope of keeping it to my dying day, have taken measures to have it -preserved when I shall be no more. During his illness, he frequently -reverted to the conversation which had passed between us on the bench -at the Palais Royal. He told me that he then already _knew_ that his -fate was sealed, and dared me to maintain a conviction of the contrary. -Throughout my whole life, I have ever resisted superstitious feeling, -but there certainly does seem something strange and unaccountable in -this gloomy foreboding of Mirabeau, that gives the lie direct to all -one’s predetermined disbelief in the doctrine of “presentiments.” - -“‘The generation of to-day, contrary to anticipation, has learnt to -undervalue Mirabeau; but I think a re-action may come even in your -time, because he was not a mere orator, whose fame must die when his -powers of speech are gone, but he was also the greatest thinker of -his age. How would the face of the country have been changed had he -lived but a few months, nay, even a few weeks longer! This has been -so strongly felt by all parties, that there were many who blindly -_rejoiced_ at his death, even among those who had known and loved him; -while those who had most cause to mourn, declared, in their terror, -that he must have been poisoned. - -“‘I have told you all the facts connected with his illness and his -death, and with me you will cease to feel astonishment that the -suspicion of such a crime should have gone abroad, when you consider -the suddenness of his illness, its short duration, and the dreadful -sufferings amid which his life was closed. These must have been -terrific; for, about an hour before his death, he turned angrily round -to Cabanis, and said, ‘A physician who is a true friend to the patient -would not hesitate at giving a dose of opium strong enough to quiet -such pain as this for ever.’ And yet, so powerful was the _morale_ of -the man, that even when thus writhing in agony, he could not refrain -from laughing most heartily at some popular _lazzis_ which were -bandying between a screaming _ecaillière_ and the lackey of some person -of quality, who were contending for the first hearing of the bulletin -of the past night, and which reached his ear through the open window -looking on the court-yard below. - -“‘The public grief at the death of Mirabeau told more for his worth -and greatness than whole volumes of written eulogium could now do. -Perhaps there never before was an example of a _chef de parti_ having -been mourned as sincerely by the adverse party as by his own. The court -was in consternation; the queen concealed not her despair, for she -foresaw the dread consequence; the last barrier between the furious -people and the angry _noblesse_ was down, and the bitter tide would, -ere long, rush in through the breach which the falling of this goodly -corner-stone had made. I myself was so overcome by regret at the -sudden loss which I had sustained, that I retired for some little time -to Auteuil, scarcely daring to look at the future, or to speculate for -an instant upon what was next to happen.’ - -“Such,” said C., “is the account given of the death of Mirabeau, by one -who was with him from the moment of his first being seized with illness -to that when the troublous scene closed for ever. The history contains, -perhaps, as fine a moral lesson as ever was preached from pulpit-desk -or read in school. - -“The sentiment which subsisted between Sièyes and the prince was of a -different nature. There might have existed, in the origin, some little -feeling of jealousy between them; it is certain they never were free -from the _esprit de critique_ indicative of rivalry, either secret or -avowed. On no one subject did they differ more than on the subject of -Mirabeau, Sièyes refusing him the mighty powers that the prince loved -to allow him; and I have been witness to long and severe discussions on -this one topic alone. - -The prince was fond of telling a story _à propos_ of Sièyes, -illustrative of the theory of great results from little causes. He was -one day walking with him through the Tuileries, when, just opposite to -the gate in the Place de la Concorde, a little beggar girl, leading an -old woman on crutches, came up to solicit alms. Sièyes gave her a sou, -which, in her hurry to seize, she let fall, and the coin rolled under -the hoofs of the charger mounted by the _garde du corps_ on duty at -the gate. The child pressed forward to pick it up, but each time that -she stooped, almost at the risk of her life, the soldier, apparently -glad to divert the _ennui_ of sentry by an event of this kind, spurred -the animal to one side, and the wretched little girl, to avoid being -crushed to death, was compelled to withdraw, to renew her endeavours -again as soon as the beast stood still, but each time with as little -success as before. The whole scene—the terror of the child—the -overboiling wrath of the old cripple, and the insolent and cruel -mirth of the _garde du corps_, presented altogether a most exciting -spectacle, and, combined with the angry passions of the crowd, who were -not slow to take the part of the child, formed a picture not easily -forgotten. - -“Sièyes, finding that the people were growing angry, thought it best -to put an end to the scene at once; so, giving the girl a double sou, -he bade her begone, which injunction she immediately obeyed, and -the crowd forthwith dispersed. But Sièyes remained thoughtful and -pre-occupied during the whole evening; and, when he parted with his -friend, he said, ‘I have been thinking over the occurrence we witnessed -together this morning. Something must be done for the people. _When -they have an army of their own_, they will not run the risk of being -insulted by hired mercenaries.’ - -“This was the very first idea which had ever entered human brain -respecting the formation of a national guard. Once started, the idea -found favour with all the disaffected. Sièyes himself planned and -invented the _projet_, and, by dint of perseverance, got it accepted -some long time afterwards. Little did the proud _Garde Nationale_, -when they marched to the frontier—when they dictated laws to the -country—when they barricaded Paris—dream that they owed their existence -and creation to a halfpenny which a starving beggar wench found it hard -to pick out of the gutter! - -“_Apropos_ of this story, there is an addition to it which the prince -always gives us, and which you, who are come of a superstitious race, -and plead guilty to the accusation of superstition yourself, will -perhaps like to hear. M. de Talleyrand had taken peculiar notice of the -soldier who bestrode the charger. He was a remarkably handsome youth, -quite an exquisite, an _incroyable_, with coal-black moustaches and -_royale_, and snow-white powdered hair,—a combination that certainly -gives a piquant expression to the countenance, which all the fine -chestnut hair or raven locks in the world, however redundant, however -silky, can never impart. Besides, it suited so well with the costume -of the period, that it would seem as if the one had been invented on -purpose to show off the other. However, to my story. You may well -imagine that the old cripple had not left the spot, however well -satisfied she might be with the unexpected generosity of Sièyes, -without loading the air with curses upon the head of the young _garde -du corps_. She was a filthy hag, blear-eyed, and lame; and it was -fearful to hear her, as she tossed her rags aloft upon the wind, utter -such awful maledictions, in a screaming, discordant voice, that the -blood ran cold to listen. The soldier sat in calm defiance on his -saddle, in the prettiest attitude imaginable. Stiff, starched, on duty, -without moving a muscle, with his hat on one side, and his hand bent, -and resting on his thigh, he looked straight at the woman, for fear of -being suspected of wishing to shun her gaze; but he betrayed no heed of -her words, save by a slight smile, which curled his lip, whereon rested -a green leaf (as was the fashion among the bucks of that day), to keep -it moist, and prevent its cracking by exposure to the sun. - -“The old witch, enraged at finding that her words produced no greater -effect, at length raised her crutch in the young man’s face, and -shrieked a fearful malison. ‘Proud as you are, jackanapes, I shall live -to see your soul in h—, and your body devoured by the dogs!’ With this, -she hobbled away, and we also turned aside in disgust, while the young -man remained immovable and unconcerned, as though the words had not -been addressed to him at all. - -“The event I have been relating took place before the breaking out of -the revolution. Now rejoice, and listen, thou northern believer in -prophecy and witches. The very day after the return of the king and -queen from Versailles, when traversing the Place Louis Quinze, M. de -Talleyrand was attracted by a crowd gathered round one of the deep -fossés, by which the place is intersected, and, on going up, there -beheld the body of the unhappy _garde-du-corps_, lying all mangled -and bloody at the bottom. Some men belonging to the police were -endeavouring to catch at the corpse with hooks, in order to drag it to -the surface; and, as they did so, it was discovered that a great part -of the throat and breast had been gnawed away by starving dogs during -the night. The poor lad had been doubtless murdered by some unknown -hand during the bustle and confusion of the previous day, and thrown -into this convenient place, and thus was the prophecy fulfilled.” - -C. rose as he finished his story, and gazing around, said, laughingly, -“See you now the misfortune of having to do with professed -story-tellers? We began with the history of this unfinished hunting -seat, and have paused at the beginning of the French Revolution!” - -“I need not lose by the delay, however,” said I; “you can tell me the -tale of this ruin as we go home.” - -“I remember,” replied C., “the sight of the building brought to mind -the subject, which has formed a study of mine ever since I have been -with the prince—his powerful and varied influence with all who -approach him—and it was thus that I was led into this long digression. -This building, which you now see so ruined and degraded, was intended -to have been one of the most remarkable objects of the whole country -round. It was planned and designed by the late Princess T——, as a -surprise and _galanterie_ for the prince, who had once, when taking a -drive in her company, expressed an opinion that this would be a good -site for a _maison de plaisance_. The princess said nothing in reply, -but immediately on her return to the château, despatched a courier with -letters to Chateauroux, containing orders for architects, surveyors, -masons, and all the _attirail_ of building, to be sent immediately to -the spot; and, in less time than you can well imagine, the foundations -of a goodly-sized building, with courts and _dépendances_, befitting -the residence of a repose-seeking prince, were erected. Expense was to -be considered nought—despatch everything—workmen were to be employed -night and day until the edifice was completed. All this was, moreover, -to be kept a profound secret until the building was quite ready to -inhabit, when the princess proposed leading the company at the château -through the wood to the spot, and then, enjoying their surprise, to -request their attendance at a ball and collation of her own providing, -in the _maison de plaisance_, ‘which she had built as a present to the -Prince de Talleyrand.’ - -“Meanwhile the prince, being again abroad with the princess on another -fine day—in quite an opposite direction, almost drove her mad, by -suddenly stopping to admire another view. ‘Of all places in the wood, -this is the exact spot I should choose, were I consulted, to erect a -_maison de plaisance_!’ said he. - -“The princess was glad to hear this in time, although it gave her great -trouble and caused immense outlay; however, she consoled herself with -the hope that she should succeed at last in delighting the prince. She -immediately gave orders for the transport of the workmen and materials -to this new ‘Folie,’ and once more did the hammer and saw resound -through the silent wood, and again did the grinding cart-wheels disturb -another solitude. Scarcely, however, were the foundations of this -second pavilion laid, when the prince again disconcerted all the plans -of the poor princess, by exclaiming one day after dinner, ‘I drove -this morning by the river side—what a beautiful _point-de-vue_ there -is down by the Willows; most assuredly if I ever built a _maison de -plaisance_, that is the spot I should choose.’ - -“This was too much. The princess was completely overcome. She burst -into tears, and left the table, much to the astonishment of the -company. Nothing could persuade her that the allusion was not wilful on -the part of the prince, and she was in actual despair of being able to -please him. She regretted not the large sums which she had expended, -and which had already grown serious, but only the misfortune under -which she had laboured in not having chosen the right spot. The prince -laughed heartily at the joke, and, during the whole of that season, -his favourite promenade was to the hill upon which the magnificent, -unfinished Folie Princesse remains a memento of the devotion of her -highness, and of her inability to give satisfaction. - -“This lady was one of the ‘_illustrations_’ of Valençay, and her -death has caused an immense vacuum in our circle. Both by birth and -marriage allied to many of the sovereign families of Europe—with a -colossal fortune—with the tradition and remains of great beauty—she -gave up even her own identity, to become a mere part and parcel of the -_apanage_ of the Prince de Talleyrand, content to live in his shadow, -and to borrow her importance from him alone. There was a great deal -that was touching, from its total disinterestedness, amid all the -absurdity of this romantic devotion. - -“The prince was often annoyed by the extent to which she carried this -_culte_, but, _en homme d’esprit_, he generally succeeded in throwing -back the ridicule, which he felt was likely to attach to him, upon -herself, and scrupled not to enliven the dulness of the evening circle -by drawing her out; while she, poor soul, too happy to occupy his -attention even for an instant, consented willingly to become his butt; -and thus it often happened that the Princess T——, daughter, widow, and -sister of princes and heroes, was employed to divert the _ennui_ of -many a little _gentilhomme campagnard_, or _hobereau de province_, who -might, as matter of form and neighbourly feeling, chance to be invited -to dine at the château. But, as I tell you, although perfectly aware of -this—for she was by no means wanting in penetration—she cared not so -that ‘_ce cher prince_’ found amusement; indeed, I think she even felt -honoured by the preference accorded to her above the other guests. - -“However, she failed not upon other occasions to avenge herself upon -these witnesses of her discomfiture, and in her turn crushed without -pity every one around her who was not the ‘prince,’ or allied in some -way with him, or one whom he delighted to honour. With others, never -was there a more _rogue et fière Allemande_, and in spite of her good -nature and generosity, she had more enemies than many who sought less -applause. - -“She was the most eccentric person I ever met with; the last of a race -of which it will be impossible, from the change in human ideas, ever -to behold another specimen. In her youth she had been most beautiful, -and still retained, saving the loss of an eye, traces of loveliness -even in advanced age. She could not be called either clever or witty, -but was the cause of such interminable wit in others, of such endless -good sayings on the part of the prince, that Valençay, to those who -were accustomed to her society, seemed dull _à périr_ when she was not -there. She had the greatest fund of originality and natural vivacity -that could be possessed by any human being. Her ideas could not be -made, by any force of reasoning or persuasion, to follow the tide of -improvement of the times, and she could never be taught to believe that -the revolution had wrought any change in the relative positions of the -aristocracy and the people, but continued, to the latest period of her -life, to treat all plebeians and _roturiers_ as though they had still -been serfs and vassals, subject at her will and pleasure to _détresse_ -and _corvée_. She was an invaluable specimen of the old insolent -noblesse; and after a day spent in her company, you might retire to -rest, no longer wondering at the horrors of the great revolution, nor -yet at the hatred by which they had been instigated. - -On one occasion, she had nearly set the whole province in an uproar -by an unseasonable display of what the prince was wont to call her -_impertinence Régence_. A large party had been invited to dinner at the -château, a party in honour of the arrival of some high and illustrious -visitor at Valençay; I think there were even scions of royalty among -the guests. In short, it was one of the gaudy days of the castle, when -the flaming yellow liveries, and the antique silver, and the royal -gifts, were all displayed. Of course the _préfet_ of the department, -the _maire_ of Valençay, the _curé_, and, in short, all the authorities -of the place had been invited, and with true provincial punctuality had -arrived at the exact hour named in the invitation, which, as usual in -modern times, was long before the princely host expected to receive his -guests; and, when they were ushered into the drawing-room, they found -that none of the family had as yet appeared, and that they would be -consequently compelled to amuse themselves as they best could until the -ringing of the bell, which would gather together the stray members of -the household. - -“In a short time, however, the great doors of the drawing-room were -thrown back with a loud _fracas_, and in sailed, in all the majesty of -stiffened silks and fluttering plumes, her highness the Princess T——. -The troubled provincials immediately with one accord turned from the -chimney, where they had been talking in mysterious murmurs concerning -the mighty individuals whom they were to meet at dinner, and moved -in a body with sundry low bows, and a great display of gymnastic -prostrations, towards the fair princess. The latter stood for a moment, -and gazed as they advanced, then turning suddenly round to the grinning -domestic, who had remained standing at the door: - -“‘Fool!’ exclaimed she, indignantly, ‘did I not bid you ascertain if -anybody had arrived, before I troubled myself to come down to the -_salon_?’ - -“‘Yes, princesse, and I came myself to see,’ answered the servant, -looking rather puzzled and embarrassed, first at his mistress, then at -the guests, who stood wondering where the questioning would lead to, -‘and when I found these gentlemen here, I——’ - -“‘Idiot!’ interrupted the princess, ‘not to know your business better; -remember that such as these are not anybody, but NOBODY.’ - -“With these words she tossed out of the room, pointing with her fan -over her shoulder at the poor stupified provincials, whose rage and -mortification defy description. They were not slow to spread the tale -of her insolence and haughtiness throughout the country round, and the -circumstance caused the princess to be viewed with no very friendly -eye, as you may well imagine. - -“Soon after this occurrence, having occasion to visit Paris, she -left Valençay in her carriage, drawn by four horses, and driven by -the postmaster himself. Her highness was always in a most tremendous -hurry, and loved to be driven at a tremendous rate. This the postmaster -knew well, as he had been in the habit of driving her for years. He -accordingly took much pains upon the occasion to which I refer, to go -as slowly as possible, in order to vex and worry the princess, whose -temper was not long in breaking forth, and she presently began by -calling after the driver in the most imperious manner to hasten his -speed. This injunction not being attended to with as much alacrity -as she could have wished, she began to pour forth volleys of abuse, -seasoned with sundry fierce sounding exclamations and oaths in the -Polish language, to which, upon great occasions like the present, -she was wont to give utterance, (according to her own account, quite -unconsciously.) The man bore this for some little time, perhaps rather -more diverted than otherwise at the thought of the trick he was playing -one of those ‘infernal aristocrats;’ until at length, no longer able to -contain her indignation, the princess seized the footstool which was at -the bottom of the carriage, and hurled it at the postillion, with such -unsteady aim however, that the missile flew far above his head. ‘Dolt!’ -shouted she, standing upright in the carriage, and gesticulating -fiercely, ‘do you imagine you are carrying a load of manure to market?’ -‘_Ma foi!_’ exclaimed the postmaster, coolly dismounting from the -saddle, ‘many’s the load of manure I’ve taken which has fetched at -market twenty times more than you would have done there!’ With these -words, he deliberately set about unharnessing the horses from the -carriage, and bidding the other postillion do likewise, he turned -back towards Valençay, leaving the carriage standing alone in the -midst of the long solitary road, with not a human habitation in sight -and night coming on. The shrieks and menaces of the lady were all in -vain; the man having paused to light his pipe, with the greatest _sang -froid_, jogged by the carriage window, cracking his whip with fiendish -enjoyment of her terror, until he got to the very bottom of the hill, -and was lost sight of. The princess could never be prevailed upon to -tell the sequel of the story, nor of the means by which she had been -extricated from her most mortifying situation; and, as neither of her -tall valets nor her talkative maids could ever be induced to betray the -secret, it was thought that she had compelled them all four to turn out -into the road and drag the carriage to some wayside ale-house, where -she could rest till horses arrived. I know not if this was the case, -but she certainly was quite capable of doing it. - -“A goodly volume might be filled with her _naïvetés_ and unconscious -witticisms; for it was her total indifference to the good things that -she uttered, and her contempt for the effect which they produced, that -constituted their greatest charm. - -“I shall never forget the effect produced in the _salon_ one evening -by an event which occurred a short time before the prince’s embassy to -London, and which served to _égayer_ the society for some time. Among -other ancient traditions of the courtly life of former days which she -loved to keep up, and one, too, which completely coincided with her -tastes and habits, was the custom of the _petit billet_, a usage which -has been completely lost since the time of the great revolution, and -which might be taken as a specimen of the time-killing, fiddle-faddle -occupations in which the _noblesse_ of that day passed their lives. - -“This custom of the _petit billet_ still exists in many of the old -families wherein courtesy and etiquette are still maintained, at least -among the elder members. It consisted in writing a short note of -inquiry every morning to the person beloved, who answered it likewise -in writing, for no verbal message would have been received. Of course -the contents of the note could not be much varied. There could be -nothing to say but day after day the same ‘good morrow,’ with inquiries -how the night had been passed, and other questions of small interest, -which the present generation, who live deep and fast, expending their -sentiments and energies on greater things, have no time to make. I -myself know a married couple of the old school who, like all married -couples of the old (French) school, have been separated _de corps et de -biens_ for the last forty years, and who have never missed once during -the whole of that time sending the _petit billet de matin_. I was once -thoughtless enough to rally the lady upon this constancy, when she -replied, angrily, ‘Monsieur, although Monsieur le Comte and myself may -not choose to live together, yet our mutual position, and the rank we -both hold in society, prevent our enjoying the privilege of dispensing -with the common customs and formalities of the circles in which we have -both been bred. In renouncing all idea of love for each other, we have -not renounced good breeding.’ - -“Well, the princess, who was, as I tell you, _à cheval_ upon etiquette -with regard to the prince, never appeared in the morning without -having been preceded by her _petit billet_, although the prince never -thought fit to encourage her absurdity by sending a written answer. -One evening, she had retired earlier than usual, and, shortly after, -just as the company was breaking up, a note was handed to the prince -by the princess’s valet. We were all rather alarmed at first, fearing -that she might have been seized with illness; but presently the billet -was handed about amid roars of laughter; there was nought to fear; -it ran thus: ‘Cher prince. How are you this morning? I myself am far -from well, having passed a wretched night, although when I _did_ -sleep, I dreamed of you, which was some little consolation amid all -my agitation and restlessness.’ The note bore the morrow’s date, and -had been given by the careless servant some twelve or fourteen hours -too soon! Upon inquiry, it proved to be the habit of the princess to -write these little billets over night, to avoid being disturbed in -the morning; they were laid on her toilet table, whence the valet had -taken the one in question, without inquiry and without reflection. Of -course the prince was merciless; the Princess de T—— furnished the -standing joke of the season, and was never left in peace until some new -absurdity caused the story of her ‘precautionary measure’ to fade in -the background.” - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY LIFE, BY PRINCE TALLEYRAND. - - -“It is a most extraordinary circumstance,” said I to C., one -evening, as we sat together in the little turret-chamber, “that no -well-authenticated life of the prince has ever been written. It would, -I have no doubt, attract more attention than any work of the kind which -has appeared for years. Why do you not attempt the task? You are better -qualified, from the length of time you have been in his intimacy, from -your very admiration of the man, to undertake the task, than any one -else now living.” - -“You flatter me,” said C., smiling; “the undertaking would be far -beyond my power, or, indeed, it would be within the limit of the -capabilities but of one man alone. The sole biographer of Prince -Talleyrand must be Prince Talleyrand himself. Any clever, well-informed -historian might give the facts of the prince’s life, but who but -himself could render to posterity a satisfactory account of the -_motives_ which had led to action, the _consequences_ which have -accrued from the various decisions which he has taken, and which, in -most instances, as he himself is always declaring, have been totally -in opposition to the results foreseen? Such a biography of himself as -_he_ could write, would be a literary monument as lasting as the world -itself. It would be the _secret_ history of every government of Europe -for the last sixty years—the private memoirs of every distinguished -individual would have to be incorporated into such a biography, where, -of necessity, every distinguished individual in Europe _must_ be made -to play a part. I know that M. de Talleyrand has been for years past -compiling his diplomatic memoirs, but, by a singular infatuation, he -has proclaimed his intention of not permitting their publication to the -world until forty years after his death. This determination, _à la_ -Voltaire, is singularly in accordance with the character of the man, -who is always repeating so playfully, ‘No one can doubt my powers of -waiting.’ - -“Some of those most interested in the matter, to whom he has -communicated his malicious decision, rail loudly against such a -determination; whilst others, with perhaps equally good reason, as -loudly applaud; so that it is evident to the unconcerned looker-on, -that whatever may be his secret motive for thus deciding, it is already -justified by the different passions which it has excited. He has in -this, as in everything else, displayed the depth of his reflective -powers, and refused to sacrifice high interests and grave results to -a paltry feeling of _amour propre_. He has reflected that, in those -intervening years, all the loud baying pack of fierce detractors of his -fame will have yelped forth their calumnies—the smaller fry will also -have all expended their puny efforts, and then _he_ will come and call -upon posterity to judge between him and them. Doubt it not—posterity -will answer the appeal. The next generation will be more just than his -own. The fierce passions, the deadly struggles, the political hatreds, -amid which his own existence has been passed, will all have died away, -and men will sit in calm, unbiassed judgment on the various actions -of his life, and will be the better able to pronounce their verdict -when they have beheld the _consequences_ of his counsels; when they -shall have been enabled to compare his adoration of his country, his -indifference to its _rulers_, with the slavish self-interest, the -narrow-minded, mercenary views of those with whom he had so often to -contend. - -“Believe me, a man must entertain a tolerably good opinion of his own -discrimination, and have the organ of self-esteem developed in no -mean degree, who could sit down coolly with a pretension of giving to -the world a correct, nay, even a _lucid_ life of Prince Talleyrand. -He has out-lived the greater portion of the comrades of his youth, -of whom even then he lived so far in advance, that it was said of -him, he had ‘comrades and colleagues, but no contemporaries.’ Long -before middle age, he had learned that, in public life, the one thing -needful is discretion; while he it was who first published to mankind -the discovery he had made, that ‘speech was given to man to conceal -his thoughts.’ Therefore, it is not probable that there exists a soul -who could ever have penetrated sufficiently into the wily statesman’s -confidence ever to gain enough knowledge of his aims and views, to -_account_ for the different changes in his principles, with which -he has been so taunted by all parties. There is not a single epoch -of his life which is not, besides, so bound up with anecdotes and -incidents of the ‘times in which he lived,’ that often the most simple -recital of facts, as connected with any adventure in which he may have -been engaged, might give deep offence in other quarters, and cause -recrimination, and perhaps even, in some cases, litigation, on the part -of other high personages, whose names would have to be brought forward. - -“No man was ever made the object of so much unjust vituperation as -the Prince de Talleyrand, of calumnies which have been accepted by -the credulous with as much good faith as proofs of holy writ; while -not one single _proof_ of perfidy or baseness has ever been brought -against him—nothing but supposition, for the most part ill-sustained, -and sometimes even completely belied by his subsequent conduct. -Notwithstanding the apparent freedom with which he admitted all his -_entourage_ to his intimates, how little is really known of his private -life! Notwithstanding the greediness with which the public have always -sucked in any stray anecdote, any fugitive _bon mot_, or axiom of this -great man’s, yet how strangely ignorant do they still remain of his -real character—how blind to the real grandeur of soul, which he ever -displayed amid the most trying circumstances—where any other than he -would have clutched at the shadow, he let both the empty substance and -the emptier shadow pass, while he calmly paused for that which was to -follow. The truth is this—the _mind_ is made the judge of the public -character; the _heart_ alone can understand the value of the private -one. - -“I have often myself seen him smile at the idea of any one attempting -his biography, and, whenever by chance he found himself compelled to -receive at Valençay any of the petty journalists, the stray collectors -of _bon mots_ and epigrams for the _salons_ of Paris, I have beheld him -take a malicious pleasure in mystifying their credulity by relations -of the most extravagant adventures connected with himself, or with the -great public men with whom he had come in contact. One of his keenest -enjoyments consists in making me read, while he is at his toilet, these -same anecdotes as they appear in the peculiar journal for which the -poor _gobe-mouche_ has been catering. As I have said before, there -is so much that is real, and so much that is false, mixed up with -everything connected with the prince, that the historian who would seek -to be veracious, finds himself completely baffled. On the other hand, -the world of anecdote is our own. He is no niggard, in sooth, of his -rich store of souvenirs, and loves to dispense them to his intimates -with a bounteous hand. The mention of an obscure name, the raising of -the simplest doubt, will draw forth, when he is in the vein, such ample -fund of amusement, that many a thick, closely-printed volume might have -been compiled from this source alone. - -“I remember that, one evening, by some unaccountable circumstance which -I now forget, we were fated to spend the hours from dinner till bedtime -alone. The ladies of the family had gone to do honour to the bridal -of a rich vassal in the neighbourhood of the château, and had most -especially recommended the prince to retire early, as he was labouring -under severe cold on the chest. You will scarcely believe me when I -tell you that we remained up together until daylight—so absorbed was -he in the remembrance of events of years gone by, and of which some -simple observation on my part had touched, as it were, the galvanic -train, and roused the reminiscences which had slumbered perhaps since -his youth, while I thought not of rest or sleep so long as he talked -on. I could have listened until doomsday. One of the subjects on which -he spoke that evening was the very one upon which I have just been -entertaining you; that of his memoirs. There had been an advertisement -in one of the Paris papers that morning announcing sketches of ‘the -Arch-Diplomatist, from Original Documents.’ - -“‘This is about the fortieth attempt of the kind within the last dozen -years,’ said he, in answer to my information of the circumstance, ‘and, -what is more astonishing is the fact, as I am told, of their having -all met with more or less success. The public love to be duped, and -seek with eagerness every occasion to be deceived. It is the charlatans -alone whose numbers fail, dupes are never wanting.’ - -“Had I not been already convinced of the utter impossibility which -must ever exist of any individual of our day being able to do justice -to the ‘Life of Prince Talleyrand,’ that evening’s conversation, in -the old Perrault-looking drawing-room of Valençay, would have amply -proved it. A volume might be filled with the anecdotes he told me -merely relating to the first years of his youth—just at his _début_ -in the fashionable world, before the revolution. He began with the -_Séminaire_, recounting with peculiar delight the history of his -intimate associates there—his prodigious memory seeming to grasp -the most trifling details relating to each with as much vigour and -freshness as though he were speaking of yesterday. Many were the -curious customs, the picturesque observances, of the old place, the -very tradition of which has since been lost, obliterated, and trodden -under foot in the mire of the revolution, and of which he alone, in the -whole world, was left the chronicler. - -“‘It cannot be denied,’ said he, in speaking of this establishment, -‘that vice and infidelity had crept in there as elsewhere, as how -could it be otherwise, when all the talent and brilliancy which have -dazzled youth in all ages were on the side of doubt and irreligion? And -yet there were still some bright examples, some few specimens of a -higher order of beings, gathered among us, whose light shone out yet -brighter from amid the utter darkness by which they were surrounded. -The histories of some of those young men would better serve as themes -for novel or romance than for book of saintly lore; for the revolution -dispersed them right and left, and sent them forth to the world, some -to battle with their fierce, pent-up passions, others to struggle with -their timid fears. - -“‘Not all the romance that ever was written could equal in interest -the plain narration of some of the adventures which, in after life, -befel my fellow-students. Some perished beneath the revolutionary -axe, voluntary martyrs—others were found in the ranks of Napoleon’s -army, wearing the epaulettes and moustaches of his _avant garde_, or -caracoling among his voltigeurs. There still live some few who occupy -posts of honour and of trust, which the government of Louis Dixhuit -bestowed in utter ignorance of antecedents, while many of those who -had mourned their bondage the most bitterly, lived to regret it, with -yearning for the quiet which it yielded, and which they have lost for -ever. - -“‘One of the most striking examples of the vanity of human wishes -may be found in the history of Eugène de B——, who had been my fellow -salver-bearer at the visit of the Bishop of Bordeaux to St. Sulpice. -This was considered an office of honour, and bestowed upon the two best -wranglers of the season. My companion was one of the handsomest young -men I ever beheld; tall and dark, with all the fire of the south in -his black eye and swarthy complexion, and the impress of high descent -stamped upon his features. He was the natural son of a nobleman holding -a high office about the court, and might hope through this channel to -rise to the loftiest dignity and honour in the church. It was not known -who his mother was, but it was whispered amongst us that she must have -been either Jewess or Bohemian—a belief to which his singular eye and -chiselled features gave rise. He was of a proud, impassioned character, -violent and indomitable; one with whom his teachers and those in -authority were obliged to pause before they ventured to rush into open -warfare. Neither penitence nor reprimand had ever been able to tame -his violent, irascible nature, and, on more than one occasion, had -it not been for the great honour which his learning and acquirements -conferred on the establishment, he would have been expelled. - -“‘His fiery soul revolted at the idea of entering the Church. I have -seen him shudder with disgust as he donned the black serge dress which -denoted his calling, and absolutely refuse to walk in his rank in the -processions, which, at certain festivals, formed part of the ceremonies -of the day. His dreams were all of a military life and military -glory. He told me himself, that, proud as he was, he had _knelt_ to -his father to beg him to suffer him to embrace the profession of -arms. He would have been a Knight of Malta—a volunteer—even a private -soldier—anything, so long as he might be permitted to follow the bent -of his inclination, and join the army; but his father had said coldly, -that his interest in the army was all swallowed up by his other sons, -and, besides, that he disapproved greatly of this clashing of interests -between young men of the same name, who yet bore it under circumstances -so different; that he would not countenance any change of profession; -that he might rely on his protection so long as he continued obedient -to his commands, and that a fortune, such as would satisfy his most -ardent ambition, awaited him on the completion of his studies, if he -would remain content in the calling which his relatives had chosen for -him. - -“‘From such reasoning there was no appeal, and poor Eugène remained at -the _Séminaire_, cursing his fate, and nursing his bitterness against -the existing order of things, which thus left him helpless and without -defence, the slave of another’s will, to follow the very calling he so -much despised. You will readily believe that, with these sentiments, he -was one of those who yielded the most readily to the influence of the -new doctrines which the philosophers of that day had begun to preach -with so much success. He had frequently been severely reprimanded, and -sometimes even harshly punished for his undisguised approval of the -new tenets, for among his class-fellows, he sought not to conceal his -sentiments, but proclaimed aloud his contempt of the aristocracy, his -hatred of the oppressors of the people, his opinion that the king would -one day be taken to task for his weak administration; and, above all, -his tongue waged loudest war against the queen, poor Marie Antoinette, -‘_Autrichienne_,’ _l’étrangère_, the ‘cruel she-wolf,’ the heartless -dissipator of the _deniers du peuple_. - -“‘He left the _Séminaire_ with these feelings still existing; he was -much younger than myself, and I lost sight of him for some time; I -only heard accidentally that he had been appointed to serve one of the -chapels of Notre Dame, merely while awaiting a vacancy to occur in -some rich prebend or fat abbaye, to which his father might have credit -to get him appointed. Meanwhile, the revolution broke out, and Eugène -stood free to take the path from which he had been forcibly driven -while dependent on his father’s will. Of course, after what I knew -of his character, it did not in the least surprise me to learn that -he had thrown his frock _aux orties_, or that he had chosen to enter -the army; but what really did surprise me to a great degree was the -astounding information which was given me by his brother, the Marquis -de B——, that he had attached himself to the broken remnants of the -_gardes-du-corps_; that he had followed them most pertinaciously as a -volunteer; that he had twice been severely wounded in defending the -queen from the fury of the mob; and that he was the individual who had -carried the dauphin, at the very risk and peril of his life, across the -Allée des Feuillans, on the day of the memorable attack! - -“‘And what became of him after this?’ inquired I of his brother, -already in my own mind anticipating the answer, for there were but few -of those who had made themselves the least conspicuous in the like -manner who escaped. - -“‘Why, he was of course arrested,’ replied the marquis, ‘and thrown -into prison, but was discharged on suspicion of madness, although -he was no more mad than I am. He remained in Paris without seeking -concealment during the hottest period of the _terreur_, and by a most -extraordinary chance, was suffered to go unharmed, doubtless protected -by the same suspicion of insanity. My father and myself had joined the -_armée de Condé_, and would then have been glad of the acquisition of -such a bold, brave spirit, to the cause. With the view of his passing -the frontier, we succeeded, by dint of the greatest privations, in -raising a sum of money which we had conveyed to him. He thanked us -sincerely, but said _he could not desert his post nor join us till -his task was fulfilled_! With alarm we heard of him again at the -execution of the queen, when he made himself remarkable by his conduct -at the scaffold. It appears that he threw himself beneath the wheels -of the cart in which that unfortunate princess was transported to -her doom, and narrowly escaped being torn to pieces by the infuriated -_poissardes_ for his loud and outrageous vituperations at their -cruelty. He escaped, however, by his extreme good fortune once again, -and we were once more appealed to for money to “procure him a passage -out of this horrid country,” wrote he, “where neither innocence nor -beauty could find favour in the sight of men more savage and cruel -than the beasts of the field.” He refused to tell us in what manner -he had disposed of the immense sum we had already, at great risk and -inconvenience, sent him for the same purpose. Nevertheless, so great -was our anxiety for his safety, and so great the desire that was -felt throughout the whole _armée de Condé_ for the acquisition of so -valuable a member to its ranks, that a subscription was raised among -us, poor as we were, and once more was the sum required despatched to -this _enfant prodigue_, while we awaited in terror his safe arrival.’ - -“The marquis paused in his narrative, and then added, ‘And, from that -hour to this, I have never beheld him, although he was living, until -lately, not far from my own château in Bretagne.’ - -“‘Why, then, came he not to join you?’ said I. ‘Did he escape from the -country?’ - -“‘He did.’ - -“‘And what became of him after this?’ - -“‘He became a MONK!’ replied the marquis, ‘with the money we had raised -at so much toil and pains; he left the country and went to Italy, where -he entered a convent of Camuldules; but, after the Restoration, finding -the rules of this order not severe enough, he returned to France, and -entered the monastery of La Trappe. It is but a few months ago that I -received a letter from the superior of the convent, informing me of -my brother’s death, and mentioning that, although it was against the -regulations of the order to admit of the bequeathing of any legacy to -the laity, yet, in consideration of the marvellous piety of brother -Eugène, he was willing to forward to me, according to his dying wish, -the bequest which he had made me. This letter was accompanied by a -small sealed packet, which contained about a yard of narrow black -ribbon, and a receipt in due form for a sum of money which I instantly -remembered was the exact amount despatched in the first instance to -my brother from the _armée de Condé_! The writing was in the hand of -_Henri Samson, the executioner_, signed by him, and bearing witness -that the money had been received on delivery to the citizen Eugène B—— -of the black ribbon which had bound the forehead and held back the hair -of the _citoyenne_ Capet on the morning of her execution. - -“‘It was all stained, and stiff with drops of blood. There were a -few lines hurriedly written on the back of this paper by the hand of -Eugène, wherein he said that he wished not to leave behind him the -suspicion that he had disposed in an unworthy manner of the money which -we had had so much difficulty in raising, and that he desired that I -should become possessor of this relic, and that if possible, it should -be preserved in the family from generation to generation. He then -merely added that he felt sure, from the knowledge of my sentiments, -that I should cast no reproach upon his memory for having spent the sum -in the acquisition of this treasure—this memorial of one, who, from -having been a martyr upon earth, was now a saint in heaven.’ - -“‘The marquis told me that he had immediately despatched the ribbon to -Gratz, deeming that the relic would be most appreciated by the royal -lady who sits there in desolate grandeur to mourn the fate of all whom -she has loved in this world. He showed me, however, the receipt, which -is, perhaps, one of the most extraordinary _pièces justificatives_, -which could possibly be produced, and would, I doubt not, readily find -a purchaser at a higher price than that for which it was given in -acknowledgment. - -“‘Such was the history of my fellow salver-bearer. After a youth -spent in burning vows, in oaths and protestations of what would be -his achievements, should he ever be freed from that sombre habit and -that slavish tonsure—with a heart beating high with courage, a soul -burning for honour and distinction, no sooner had he obtained the -freedom for which he had so long sighed, than he hastened to bury all -hope, ambition, and liberty beneath the cowl and lowly gabardine of the -Trappist. It is evident that his boiling imagination and ardent fancy -had been struck with the charms and matchless grace of Marie Antoinette -as soon as he had beheld her; he had nursed this passion through years -of sorrow and despair, and, when all was over, had sought this solitude -but to dwell undisturbed with the memory of her whom he had loved so -long, and with devotion so true and yet so hopeless. - -“‘What a pity,’ said the prince, with a malicious smile, as he -concluded his story, ‘that your favourite, Alexandre Dumas, or Eugène -Sue, should not have been apprised of the existence of my poor comrade! -What a fine five-act melodrama or eight-volumed romance would have -been drawn from such materials, could either of them but have procured -an hour’s interview with him, even through the famous hole in the -garden-wall at Meilleraye, by which I am told much knowledge of the -interior arrangements of the Trappists gets abroad into the world.’ - -“M. de Talleyrand never will lose an opportunity of giving a playful -_coup de patte_ to the _romantiques_, whom, like all the followers of -the school of Voltaire, he holds in most especial aversion; and many -are the amicable battles which he and I are in the habit of fighting -together upon this subject.” - -“Do you ever meet any of the prince’s fellow-students of Saint Sulpice -at the Hôtel Talleyrand?” - -“There is but one who frequents it,” replied C.; “for in general it is -they who rather shun the recollections which the _ci-devant_ Abbé de -Perigord must bear with him. _His_ intercourse with them has ever been -frank and free. As he never played the part of a hypocrite with them, -so has he never had to fear detection, or to dread an encounter with -those who could tell of his early life. - -“There is something touching in the candour and simplicity with which -the prince will sometimes converse of Saint Sulpice with the individual -to whom I now allude: the only one of his class-fellows with whom he -has maintained any degree of intimacy, and whom he has bound to himself -by ties of the deepest gratitude. He is the Curé of Saint Thomas, -one of the most simple-hearted and virtuous of men, and one whom, I -think, it would much surprise were he to be told that the Prince de -Talleyrand, in spite of his apostasy, had ever been taxed with foul -falsehood and black treason, and all the other crimes which have been -laid to his charge by the hackneyed writers of the day. In the eyes of -the good man (and if ever there was a saint upon earth, it is he), -M. de Talleyrand has never been guilty but of one fault, which he -qualifies by naming it a _tort_, when, in a misguided moment, he left -the Church for the allurements of the world; but nothing, however, can -persuade the worthy curé that the prince would not have returned, had -he not been prevented by his marriage. I know nothing more delightful -than to listen to the conversation of these two old friends, most -particularly when relating to the olden days, and to the _Séminaire_. -The prince is really much attached to M. D——; and I remember his being -highly incensed upon taking up a volume of some of the modern spurious -memoirs, wherein the old curé was mentioned with ridicule, on account -of his extreme simplicity. He told me the true story of the good man, -which was there related in a garbled form, and which he, who was at -Saint Sulpice at the time the adventure occurred, of course remembered -well, and told _con gusto_. - -“It appears that the good curé, who all his life has been remarkable -for his childlike simplicity and credulity, was known at the -_Séminaire_ by the sobriquet of ‘_Providence_,’ which he had acquired -from his readiness to believe in the intervention of Heaven, whenever -the cause was a worthy one, however trifling it might appear, to vain, -weak mortals like ourselves. He had risen one cold, snowy morning in -December, to attend early matins at some church in the neighbourhood, -and had dressed himself stealthily and in darkness, fearing to disturb -his chum, M. de Sèze, who, worldling as he was, snored on, heedless -that it was one of the most solemn festivals in all the year, the feast -of St. Nicolas. Meanwhile, the good youth stole shivering down the -stairs and through the gloomy streets, clasping his breviary beneath -his arm, and repeating all the way most eloquent invocations to Our -Lady of the Burning Brand, the patroness of charcoal burners, for a -little of that warmth which she bestows so liberally upon her votaries, -to enable him even to feel the beads of his rosary as he passed them -through his stiffened fingers. - -“On arriving at the church-door, he was assailed, or rather waylaid, -by a poor woman, an old pensioner of his, who rushed forward and fell -at his feet the moment he appeared, declaring that she was a lost -creature unless he came to her help; that she had passed the whole -night wandering in the streets; that her landlord refused to give -her admittance to her lodging to take away her few paltry rags, -unless she paid him what was owing for the rent, which she had no -means of doing unless through his bounty. Now it so happened that the -young _Séminariste_, never overburdened with the good things of this -world, found himself at that peculiar moment entirely _à sec_, and -was awaiting his monthly allowance of pocket-money before he could -venture to make his appearance among his poor pensioners, so boundless -were his charities, so great his nervous dread of being compelled to -refuse himself the pleasure of bestowing relief upon the needy—the -only pleasure, indeed, which he ever allowed himself to enjoy—the only -way in which he suffered himself to expend the scanty pittance which -his aged mother could spare from her poor income for procuring, as she -imagined, some few luxuries for her son. - -“It was in vain, however, that the young abbé endeavoured to assure -the poor woman of his utter inability to assist her this once. In vain -he endeavoured to shake her off—she clung to his knees—she bathed his -feet with her tears—she called on the Lord to bless him, her tender -benefactor—she _knew_ that he would relieve her—that he would not -have the heart to see her four poor fatherless children turned into -the streets to starve. What was a miserable sum of three small crowns -(_petits écus_) to such a noble gentleman? Why, he would not miss such -a paltry sum at night, were his pocket picked of it before he returned -home. - -“‘But my good woman,’ said he, completely overcome by her importunity, -‘rich as you think me, I have not at this moment a single _sou_ in my -possession.’ - -“‘Nay, nay, feel in your pockets, monseigneur; you will surely find -enough to save me and my helpless babes from starving. It is not much, -my lord bishop (for you will surely become one day a bishop), only -three poor crowns!’ - -“‘But on my word, _ma bonne amie_, I have it not—were you to search my -pockets through, I tell you again, you would not find a single _sou_.’ - -“‘Ay, that is ever the way,’ screamed the woman, clinging to the skirt -of his _soutane_, which she held fast in her grasp; ‘that is ever the -way with rich and noble gentlemen whose pockets are lined with gold and -silver—they never have a coin so small as a single _sou_—but search, in -Heaven’s name, and you will surely find my three poor crowns, which -are all that stand between me and perdition.’ - -“‘Nay, then, if you believe me not—see rather if I tell not truth,’ -said the poor lad, completely at his wit’s end; and, as he said the -words, he turned the pockets of his _soutane_ inside out—when, what -was his surprise (oh, miracle!) out rolled upon the ground three bran -new silver small crowns, which seemed to jingle with most heavenly -music as they fell at the feet of the poor mendicant, who, with a -shriek of joy, gathered them up, and rushed from the church, before -the thunderstruck abbé had as yet recovered from the awe and wonder -into which the occurrence had thrown him. He remained for some moments -riveted to the spot in a sort of beatified trance, unable to imagine -it possible that so great a miracle could have been vouchsafed to so -unworthy a sinner as himself. Once more he plunged his hands eagerly -into the pockets of his _soutane_—but no other coin was forthcoming. -Yes—it was evident—Providence had vouchsafed this miracle by way of -encouragement to his weak endeavours. He put up an inward prayer for -protection against the sin of self-conceit, as the thought overtook -him, and, presently recovering himself, he rushed to the altar of the -Virgin, and breathed forth his gratitude at her feet. So great was his -emotion, that he resolved at once to spend the whole day in the church, -in fasting and in prayer, that no earthly sentiment might mingle with -the heavenly feeling thus awakened within him. - -“The poor abbé was, indeed, so elevated with the adventure, that he -felt neither cold nor hunger, but remained the whole day praying at -the different altars; nor did he suffer a morsel to pass his lips -until set of sun. He then returned to the _Séminaire_ full of humility -and gratitude, determined not to tell his adventure to any of his -comrades, in dread of their unbelieving mockery. They were, however, -all abroad—for was it not the feast of St. Nicolas, the gayest holiday -in the year, the festival of the patron saint of all the youths and -unmarried men in France; when even the poor _Séminaristes_ were allowed -to spend the evening outside the walls of Saint Sulpice—and they had, -of course, all taken advantage of the permission, excepting M. de Sèze, -who rushed down the stairs in a perfect fury, as soon as the step of -poor ‘Providence’ was heard; and, without a word of explanation, began -to kick and cuff him most unmercifully, loading him with reproaches, -until he was forced to pause for want of breath; and then the unhappy -object of all this wrath was told that he deserved to be thrown -from the window of the seventh story, for having deprived, by his -carelessness, an old chum and comrade of his day’s holiday, by taking -his new _soutane_ in the dark, and leaving his old rusty one in its -place; and, worse than all, depriving him of the means of diverting his -_ennui_, by robbing him of his money, three bran new crowns which he -had put aside for this very occasion, and which he would find in the -left-hand pocket! - -“The miracle was then explained! The poor abbé, crest-fallen and -discomfited, slunk away, forced to confess the truth, and his utter -inability to make good the sum at that moment. The good-natured -M. de Sèze was, however, so diverted at the adventure, that he -thought himself amply revenged for the annoyance he had suffered, -by the mortification which poor ‘Providence’ had to endure and the -disappointment he expressed at finding that, after all, he had not been -made the object of a _miracle_. - -“‘It is most extraordinary,’ said the prince, who had been telling -me this anecdote of M. D——, one day after he had just left us, ‘that -this adventure did not in any degree lessen his confidence in the -interposition of Providence in his affairs, notwithstanding all the -mockery and derision of which he had been made the object after this -misadventure. On the contrary, he gave himself up with the greatest -confidence to the decrees of that Providence which had never deceived -him, and which certainly bore him through the most perilous and -troublous times without harm or molestation. He never emigrated during -the revolution; he remained at his post; and, whether he was deemed too -insignificant for annoyance, or whether, in consequence of the great -love which was borne him by his parishioners, it was thought prudent -to overlook the fact of his remaining in the country, I know not; but -it is certain that, without defiance, and yet without servility, he -remained, and was unharmed—perhaps the only instance throughout the -whole of France. - -“‘Another specimen of his trust in Providence is worth recording, as -it may give you an insight into the state of feeling at the time, and -of the enthusiasm which existed, even in remote country districts, -at the period of the breaking up of the old system. After leaving the -_Séminaire_, M. D—— was appointed to a small cure in the neighbourhood -of Rambouillet, which yielded him not more than about twelve hundred -francs per annum. You may readily suppose that, with a knowledge of -this fact, I was much surprised to find, on paying him a visit at his -_Presbytère_, that throughout the whole country round his name was -mentioned with prayers and blessings by the poor: not for his attention -to their ghostly comforts, not for his guidance in spiritual matters; -but for his munificent charities, his assistance in all their pecuniary -difficulties, wherein he always came to their aid, with even more -readiness than the inhabitants of the _château_ themselves. Meanwhile, -as far as his own personal indulgences were concerned, the poorest -peasant in his parish lived more sumptuously than he. - -“‘I found him in a ruinous old parsonage-house, with scarcely the -smallest of the comforts of life; and yet full of the most splendid -dreams of all the happiness he meant to confer by his administration -in the district to which he had been appointed pastor. There was to -be no more misery, no more want—the golden age was to be revived—in -short, his visions were much of the same nature, only partaking of more -simplicity, as those of your idol, Fourier. I could not help smiling, -as we sat down to our repast of two hard-boiled eggs, and water _à -discrétion_, to hear him declare his resolution of enabling his -parishioners to have each one, according to the vow of Henri Quatre, a -fat fowl to boil for his Sunday dinner. - -“‘But, my good friend, how will you be enabled to procure for them all -these luxuries?’ - -“‘Oh, I have hit upon a plan,’ replied he, chuckling with glee, ‘which -is a much better financial scheme, than any ever devised by either -Calonne or Necker. So simple too—to be understood by the meanest -capacity;’ as he spoke, he went to a small cupboard in the wall, and -drew from thence a long string of old and dirty playing cards. ‘This is -my coin,’ exclaimed he, triumphantly, waving the greasy mass before my -eyes; ‘with these simple pieces, which my poor pensioners deliver to -the various tradespeople, they can procure in the village, food, fire, -and clothing—with these old cards, begged from my evening games of -piquet with the old Marquise de Beaugency, I can purchase for them the -comforts, without which they cannot live.’ - -“‘But in the name of Heaven, who will pay the providers?’ - -“‘Oh, I must trust to Providence for that!’ - -“‘I must confess that I left my worthy friend with a mind full of -uneasiness, notwithstanding his trust—the more so, when I found, upon -inquiry, that he was deeply indebted in every direction for the very -provisions which he continued to distribute with such lavish hand. But -so great was the respect his name inspired—so great the confidence felt -by his flock in his honour and integrity, that no alarm was experienced -respecting the payment, it being imagined generally, that he was the -agent of some rich and charitable person, for the distribution of these -alms, and that they would be paid as soon as he himself received the -money. After having given him for his poor what I could spare—a mere -drop in the ocean, when viewed with reference to the heaviness of -the debts which he had incurred—I took my departure, full of anxiety -respecting the future consequences of this thoughtless expenditure on -the part of one, whose whole stock of worldly goods would not have -satisfied the demands of even one of his numerous creditors. - -“‘However, other more serious events coming, meanwhile, to occupy my -attention, I lost sight of my old friend, or if ever I _did_ think of -him, it was with a faint terror, lest, never having heard of him since -my visit to Rambouillet, he might have been reported to the bishop -of his diocese, and have incurred imprisonment and disgrace for his -imprudent practices. The great encounter between the people and their -rulers had commenced, and all France was summoned to assist at the -first parley, before hostilities began—the assembling of the _états -généraux_ at Versailles. - -“‘I arrived at Versailles the day before the procession from the -Palace to St. Louis, and was walking arm and arm with Sièyes upon -the _tapis vert_, gazing with curiosity on the scene. The day was -heavenly, (it sometimes seems to me as though we have no such weather -now, as we had then,) the _tapis vert_ was crowded—courtiers in their -court costume—officers in uniform—the _haut clergé_ attired with the -brilliant tokens of the rank each held in the Church—were all gathered -in groups, either sauntering beneath the shade of the _charmille_ -hedge, where the first tender buds of May were just sufficient to -screen the promenaders from the rays of the spring-tide sun—or else -seated on the stone benches along the alleys, conversing with the -ladies, who, all adorned in the gayest colours, and wearing the -brightest smiles, seemed bent on rendering the holiday as brilliant as -it was possible it could be. - -“‘On the other side, (the truth _may_ be told now without mischief,) -avoided by the rest, as though they bore the seeds of pestilence within -them, the members of the _tiers état_ conversed in busy, whispering -knots; no merry laughter was heard from _them_, no pleasant trifling -or mirthful jesting was seen lighting up _their_ discourse. All was -dark and gloomy, care sat on every brow, and that their converse was -of weighty matters, was evident, by the tone of mystery in which it -was carried on, and the sudden silence which took place among them -whenever any stray member of the _noblesse_ happened to pass by to join -the glittering throng on the other side. Their very costume contrasted -strongly with that of their contemptuous superiors; they all wore, -and contrary to anticipation, were _proud_ to wear the dress to which -they had been condemned—the black hose and surtout, and short black -cloak, which, by the antique sumptuary law, denoted the vile, base-born -_roturier_. - -“‘It was altogether a scene such as I shall never forget while memory -has power to act. I never remember in my whole life to have been -inspired with so profound a sentiment of melancholy as at that hour. -I could scarcely refrain from shedding tears, at perceiving, by what -was already taking place, what must of necessity come to pass before -long. As we drew near to the palace, the long windows of the suite -of apartments looking towards the _Pièce d’Apollon_, and then known -as the _Appartements du Dauphin_, were thrown open, and out rushed, -like a flight of butterflies, the whole bevy of court beauties, all in -high glee, in towering spirits, elated at the prospect of the morrow’s -pageant, which they evidently looked upon but as a show wherein they -were to see much that would amuse, and wherein they should be seen to -the very best advantage, as, fortunately, the _Salle des Menus_ was -lighted from _above_, which was so much more favourable to the effect -of rouge and _mouches_ than the broad, glaring, side light of the -_grande galerie_. - -I cannot tell you how the sound of that joyous laughter grated on my -ear, as it caused both Sièyes and myself to pause while we watched -those light forms, as they playfully chased each other on the terrace -among the flowers. The queen was with them there; and I think I see -her now, as she stood leaning for support against the pedestal of the -statue of Silenus, opposite to the marble staircase, so greatly was she -overcome by the fit of laughter into which she had been thrown by some -absurd mistake on the part of the Countess de Provence, for her ringing -voice and childlike accent reached our ears as we stood close below the -balustrade, as she exclaimed, pointing to her sister-in-law, “_Cette -chère Sœur_ will _never_ learn to speak French!” That radiant face -and beaming eye could not at such a moment be seen without exciting a -feeling of _pity_, and this I know was shared by Sièyes, for, without -uttering a word, he pressed my arm significantly, and led me from the -spot towards a group of the _tiers-état_ who were standing at the -entrance of the _bosquets_. As we drew near, I descried the Abbé Maury, -who was, as usual, declaiming with all his might, although in a low -tone, to an eager crowd of listeners. Just as we came up, he concluded -some section of his discourse with this question, ‘Eh bien, Messieurs, -if the noblesse treat us so, what are we to do?’ - -“‘_Why, trust to Providence!_’ was the answer, from one of those -standing near. The voice made me start, so little was I prepared to -hear it in such a place. I turned to the speaker—it was indeed my own -dear D——! - -“‘Of course my inquiries and his replies followed each other in rapid -succession, and I was almost led to believe that his philosophy was -the best that had ever been devised, when he informed me that he had -come to Versailles as representative of the clergy, deputed by his -_commune_, the electors being of course in this, as in every other -case, compelled to disburden him of his debts before he could leave -the canton. ‘It was quite unexpected,’ said the good man, ‘almost a -miracle; for how could I dream even a short month ago of deputies, -and notables, and gatherings at Versailles. You see I was right in -trusting to Heaven for relief. However, it _did_ astonish the worthy -_bourgeois_ a little, when they discovered how dearly they would have -to pay for their choice; and they might perhaps have cancelled it had -such a proceeding been allowed. _Mais, c’est égal!_—summer is coming -on, harvest time will soon draw near, and the poor of my parish have, -meanwhile, been clothed and fed!’ - -“‘It would perhaps be difficult to meet with a more beautiful -realization of the spirit of Scripture than is to be found in this -anecdote. He has met with his reward, for “_mes pauvres_,” as he -always called his little flock, protected him through the dangers -and persecutions which he subsequently had to undergo; and, at the -Restoration, he was appointed to the cure of St. Thomas, one of the -best _bénéfices_ of Paris, which he still holds, and where, until these -very few years, when, from old age, he has become incapacitated for -preaching, he was wont to deliver many and many a pithy sermon upon the -wonderful “bounty of Providence.”’ - -“There is scarcely a visitor at the Hotel Talleyrand,” resumed C., -“who does not, as in the case of the _curé_ of St. Thomas, elicit some -quaint history, some _piquant_ anecdote of days gone by, on the part -of the prince. His memory is so wonderful, that he can scarcely relate -the simplest trait of his own life without being led into many other -stories illustrative of the times in which the incidents happened, and -to which he knows better than any living being how to give a charm, -an interest, which will sometimes render the smallest circumstance -of value, and which is a gift so highly esteemed by our nation, -that _l’art de raconter_ has ever been placed far above any other -accomplishment in the qualifications requisite to form an agreeable -member of society. You will in general find the prince _indulgent_ when -relating anecdotes even of persons from whom it may be a well-known -fact that he has differed all his life. I have often heard him say that -‘experience teaches us indulgence,’ and that ‘the wisest man is he -who doubts his own judgment with regard to the motives which actuate -his fellow-men.’ I have sometimes heard him entertain his intimate -circle, during a long evening, with a vast number of amusing traits and -anecdotes relating to his ‘fellow-labourers in the vineyard,’ without -once having recourse to scandal or ridicule; which I consider the very -perfection of the story-teller’s science. The only person with whose -name he likes, even now, sometimes, to disport himself in his _moments -de malice_ is Madame Necker, whom he never could tolerate, and with -whom, even in her most palmy days, he scrupled not to declare himself -openly at war. He really _felt_ with regard to her what he so happily -expressed, ‘She has every virtue and but one fault, and that is, she -is insupportable!’ The good lady never forgave his comparing her to -a ‘frigate riding at anchor, and receiving a salute from a friendly -power,’ when she stood upon her own hearth-rug at the Hôtel Necker, -upon the occasion of her weekly receptions; her ample proportions -obscuring the light of the fire, as, with pinched-up features and -prudish smile, she listened to the compliments of the Academicians, -whom she assembled but for this purpose. The ‘strait-laced Genevese,’ -as he calls her, has furnished him, I verily believe, with more witty -_bon mots_, with more stinging epigrams, than even his most bitter -enemy. - -“His feeling towards her daughter, Madame de Staël, has much of -the same nature. To this hour, his _amour propre_ is wounded by -the obligation he owes her for having obtained, through her credit -with Barras, his recall from exile, and thus, in reality, laid the -foundation of his fortune. This unwillingness to own a debt may savour -somewhat of ingratitude; but the prince will be excused when it is -remembered that Madame de Staël possessed, in common with all persons -of a nervous, irritable temperament, an excess of that susceptibility -which phrenologists have denominated ‘approbativeness,’ which made her -over-value her success, and never cease bringing it to the memory of -the person obliged. This, to a proud, sarcastic temper like that of the -prince, must have been peculiarly annoying, the more so as Napoleon, -with the gross, soldier-like want of tact which he would sometimes -display, loved to remind him both of the immensity of the service, and -by whom it had been rendered, and then would laugh coarsely to see -him wince under the reproach, which all his wonted philosophy did not -enable him to bear with calmness. - -“He had never the same high opinion of Madame de Staël which the world -professed. He thought her style pedantic and _guindé_, and would -complain, when any of her compositions were read to him, of their -total want of nature and _coloris_. I have often heard him say, that -those who read the writings might fairly boast of knowing the writer, -for that nothing could more resemble Madame de Staël herself than -the false, exaggerated sentiments and superficial erudition of her -compositions. I have seldom seen him enjoy more keenly a story than -the one he will sometimes tell of an adventure which befel Madame -de Staël at a party where he himself was present. I think it was at -a _fête champêtre_ given by Madame Helvetius at her pretty little -château at Auteuil. The garden was full of all the talent of Europe and -America combined, for it was just at the height of the American mania, -and the fête, indeed, was given to the great champion of liberty, the -regenerator of his race—_l’homme de la nature_—the immortal Franklin. I -could tell you, by the bye, some curious circumstances connected with -the great patriot, which you, as an Englishman, would be glad to hear, -and which I am sure the prince would be equally glad to communicate, -for he has but small esteem for the _faux bonhomme_, as he called him. - -“Madame Helvetius was one of the most charming women that the world -ever produced. The style and type of such beings seem lost ever since -the revolution. Without being strictly handsome, she always succeeded, -without effort, in obtaining more admiration than the professed -beauties who might be in the same company with her. There was a charm, -a grace in every action, in every word she uttered, which has never -been surpassed. Although she herself possessed no literary talent, -there was not a celebrity in Europe who was not proud of her notice; -and her assemblies in Paris, and her fêtes at Auteuil are not forgotten -to this day. Upon the occasion to which I refer, Madame de Staël was -making her _début_ in the Parisian literary world, and calculating upon -even more success than she obtained, although, had she been a person of -moderate pretensions, she would have been more than satisfied. She had -just arrived in Paris; she herself and all those connected with her, -had been bright particular stars in the somewhat dim and cloudy horizon -of Geneva. - -“On her first appearance at the réunion, Madame Helvetius had, of -course, with well-bred courtesy, paid her most particular attention, -but having other guests to welcome, had left her after a while, to -superintend the distribution of the amusements about the grounds. Once -or twice she had passed Madame de Staël sitting gloomily on the bench -where she had left her, and at last sent M. de Talleyrand to keep her -company; but M. de Talleyrand had tact enough to know that, being -himself no literary lion, he was no company for Madame de Staël, and so -immediately went in quest of society more congenial to her taste. He -soon returned, in company with the Abbé Monti, whose poems were at that -time the rage all over Europe, and whose coming put the fair authoress -into the best of humours. M. de Talleyrand sate down on the bench -beside them, in silence, feeling himself quite extinguished by so much -talent, and remained a passive listener, anxious for improvement. The -conversation was overwhelming with erudition, and then the compliments -were poured forth like rain from an April sky,—the Abbé ‘had never -reckoned upon so great an honour as that of meeting the first writer of -the age;’ madame ‘little dreamed when she arose that morning, that the -day would be marked by so auspicious an event as the meeting with the -Abbé.’ - -“‘I have devoured every word that has escaped from Sappho’s pen,’ said -the abbé. - -“‘I cannot sleep until I read the charming odes from the Italian -“Tyrtæus,”’ said the lady. - -“‘Have you seen my last endeavour?’ said the abbé. - -“‘Alas! not yet,’ sighed the lady, ‘although report speaks of it more -highly than of any which have preceded it.’ - -“‘I have it here!’ exclaimed the abbé, eagerly drawing a small volume -from his pocket. ‘Allow me to present it to you, madame; a poor homage, -indeed, to so much genius, but it may prove interesting to one who has -had so much success in heroic poetry.’ - -“‘Thanks, thanks,’ cried Madame de Staël, seizing the little volume -with every demonstration of overpowering gratitude. ‘This is indeed a -treasure, and will be prized by me far beyond gold or jewels.’ - -“She turned over the leaves slowly, while the delighted abbé watched -her with a charming self-complacency—then suddenly dropping it into her -lap, she exclaimed, turning on the abbé a languid glance, ‘You were -talking of heroic poetry, dear abbé; have you seen my last attempt—a -dramatic scene, “l’Exilé”—a slight and poor imitation of some of your -own?’ - -“‘I have not been so blessed as to obtain a copy,’ replied the abbé. - -“‘How fortunate that I should have one in my reticule!’ said madame, -hurriedly seizing the strings of the bag suspended from her arm, and -drawing forth a thin volume in boards. The abbé bent low over it as she -presented it, and kissing it with reverence, placed it by his side, -and the conversation—that is to say, the complimenting—was continued -with redoubled vigour. - -“M. de Talleyrand then departed, and did not return till the company -broke up, when he found that they had both left the bench whereon they -had been seated so long together, leaving, however, the ‘precious -treasures,’ which they had received from each other with so much -gratitude, behind them! M. de Talleyrand seized upon them with -inexpressible delight, thinking that they would furnish matter for -innocent _persiflage_, when the loss came to be remembered by either -party. But the thing was complete—_they were never sought and never -asked for_, and he has them now in his library, and loves to show them -as he tells the story of their coming into his possession. - -“It is in this manner,” said C., as he pulled out his watch, surprised -at the lateness of the hour, “that M. de Talleyrand will sometimes -entertain us with familiar histories of many whom the world has set -upon pedestals of its own erecting, and from which he is fain to bring -them down, although without scorn or malice, in order that we may see -them more closely and know them better. You will now understand the -reason why it must be so difficult to write a good ‘Life of Prince -Talleyrand;’ there would be so little of himself, compared to what must -be told of other people—the work would be so full of digressions, that -it would become as bulky as a cyclopædia. Besides, a single person -could not do the whole. It would require writers of different talent, -of different character, of different nations—I was almost going to say -of different ages—to do justice to the varied scenes wherein he himself -displayed such variety of talents.” - -“Then why do you not, my dear friend, seize upon the branch which you -have at your own disposal, and give the world the _Vie Anecdotique_ of -the prince?” said I. “Supposing you were to begin and try your skill by -relating to me by way of practice before you publish?” - -“Well, well, the idea is not a bad one,” said C., laughing heartily; -“it is certainly not the _matériel_ that would be wanting, and when we -have time and solitude it may amuse us both. _One_ talent at least is -secure, for you are undoubtedly a capital listener.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -THE COUNTESS DE LA MOTTE, OF NECKLACE NOTORIETY. - - -It will easily be believed that I did not lose sight of the promise -which my friend had made with so much _bonhomie_, and the very first -time I found myself alone with him, I did not forget to claim it. The -opportunity occurred soon after the conversation I have just recorded. -We were pacing together the long picture-gallery of the château; the -rain was beating in torrents against the Gothic casements, and all -hopes of going abroad had been abandoned. The prince had not left his -chamber that morning. He was busily engaged, and had announced his -intention of remaining _invisible_ until dinner. He was occupied “_à -faire son Courier_,” as he called it, upon which occasion I have -known him sign and send off an entire bag full of letters, not one of -which was despatched without having first been carefully perused and -corrected by himself. The facility and precision with which he could -always find the exact word which was needed, and which his secretaries -would, perhaps, have been seeking for some time in vain, was matter of -the greatest admiration to all who witnessed it; but he could neither -write nor dictate with ease; the most trifling _petit billet_ which, -when completed, appeared the very model of graceful _laiser-aller_ and -badinage, often gave him as much trouble to indite as one of his most -complicated despatches. - -This, I think, may be attributable to the neglect of his early -education. Subsequent study and careful reading may impart taste and -erudition, but can rarely give facility. C. told me that he has known -the prince remain for more than a week upon the composition of a letter -of condolence or congratulation, if it chanced to be addressed to a -brother wit, or one of whose criticism he might happen to stand in awe. -In these cases, he would cause his secretary to write two or three -letters, in different styles, upon the subject he had at heart, and -would then compile from the number, one in his own writing, with his -own piquant additions and improvements, which was soon bandied from -hand to hand, and quoted in every _salon_ as a _chef-d’œuvre_ of wit -and epigram. Those who were in the secret would smile at the unbounded -praise bestowed by the journals upon the composition of his despatches -(some of which are really masterpieces), and the wording of his -protocols; for they well knew that they would scarcely have attracted a -single moment’s notice had the truth been known. - -“Does he give much time to the writing of his memoirs?” asked I of -C., as he was pacing thoughtfully the polished oaken boards of the -gallery, in which the double line of pictures, which garnish the walls -on either side, is reflected as in a mirror, so that at each step we -seemed to tread upon the semblance of some great king or warrior; for, -with a tacit self-homage, the prince had furnished the gallery with the -portraits of the sovereigns and great men of all countries, with whom -he had come in contact. - -“I think his memoirs were concluded some years ago,” replied C., in -answer to my question, “and that they have been deposited in safety, -out of the pale of his own country, _comme de raison_, where they -will remain until the time fixed by himself for their publication -shall have expired. Many competent judges are of opinion that, even -at that distant period, the interest of their promulgation to the -world will be but little diminished. There is yet so much mystery, so -much which has been withheld from public scrutiny, in all the great -political changes which have taken place, that there will be as much -novelty in the plain, straight-forward narrative of the causes which -led to their occurrence, as though they were events of yesterday. From -the very first years of the reign of Louis Seize, when the tone and -manners of society yet smacked of the wild and dissolute freedom of the -Regency, to the restraint and affectation of the Restoration, has M. -de Talleyrand always borne a part in public affairs. Always floating -on the tide of circumstance, he has kept himself in full view of the -wondering crowd of beholders, while many of those who had set forth -with better chances of success, by opposing the current, have been -overwhelmed by its resistless rush. - -“There cannot exist a greater proof of his cleverness and good taste, -than his steady avoidance of anything like public condemnation. He -has been _accused_ of every crime of which humanity can be guilty, -according to the caprice or fury of his enemies, but not even a -misdemeanour has ever been _proved_ against him. Even so long ago as -when he was as yet, according to his own expression, ‘_un assez mince -particulier_,’ long before the revolution, he had tact and sense enough -to steer clear of intrigue, and to avoid the society of those who were -suspected of dabbling in obscure political manœuvre. Indeed, had he -not been wise beyond his years, he could not have escaped intimacy -with the Prince-Cardinal, Louis de Rohan, he who has become famous -in history for his credulity in the affair of the diamond necklace, -and who, fool as he was, has yet been by many historians quoted as -the origin, the first great cause, of the Revolution. This prelate, -who at the time when M. de Talleyrand was a simple abbé, waiting for -preferment, was already at the very acmé of dignity and power, spared -no pains to conciliate the young ecclesiastic. But the Abbé de Perigord -was already possessed of too much discernment not to be fully aware -that these advances were less owing to any merit of his own, than to -the circumstance of his mother being at the time _Dame du Palais_ to -Marie Antoinette, whose good graces it had become a kind of monomania -with the unfortunate cardinal to gain. The prince, to this very day, -however, blesses the good fortune which sent him from Paris upon -business connected with his office as _Agent du Clergé_, just at the -very moment when the poor befooled cardinal, and his wily accomplice, -were in the very thickest of their plot; so that his name was never -mentioned throughout the whole course of the proceedings, neither as -frequenter of the cardinal’s hôtel, nor even as an acquaintance of his.” - -“Did he ever chance to meet with Madame de la Motte?” - -“But once, and that was on the very occasion of his going to take leave -of the cardinal, before he left Paris. He had been invited to sup with -his Eminence, _en petit comité_, and had come, prepared to undergo -long and _ennuyeux_ discourses upon the various duties of his new -office—the necessity of vigilance in detecting fraud—of conciliation -to prevent discord; in short, he almost dreaded the interview, fully -anticipating the _mauvais quart d’heure_ which is usually spent by -a young, inexperienced priest, when delivered up defenceless to the -torrent of recommendations and warning, of advice and moral instances, -which invariably fall to his share when alone with his superior. Great, -therefore, was the astonishment of the Abbé de Perigord, when, in spite -of the terms in which the invitation had been couched in the cardinal’s -own hand-writing—‘_Venez souper tête-à-tête avec moi_’—to find the -apartment into which he was ushered blazing with light, and signs of -ceremony and festivity evident in all the arrangements which had been -made for his reception. - -“‘I found,’ said the prince, in whose words I will tell you the -history of this adventure, ‘on entering the _petit salon_, which was -already lighted with perfumed tapers, and redolent of the fragrant -essences which the cardinal loved so much, seated by the blazing -fire, which was, according to the custom of the Hôtel Cardinal, -composed of scented woods, a lady, whom I instantly recognised as the -Princesse de Guéménée, ex-governess to the royal children, but who -had some time before been compelled to resign office, in consequence -of the disgraceful bankruptcy of her husband, which had not a little -contributed to lower the _noblesse_ in the eyes of the people, and -formed one of the most astounding events by which that turbulent -era was marked. The princess was alone; which circumstance rather -astonished me, for I had come prepared with an apology for being late, -and I wondered at the absence of the cardinal, as it was already -considerably past the time at which he had requested me to be present. -The princess herself seemed annoyed as I entered. She had evidently -been waiting for some time, for she was in no very pleasant humour, -and scarcely deigned to return a civil acknowledgment to my humble -salutations and inquiries. However, I was easily consoled for any -mortification I might have experienced at this apparent indifference, -for the poor princess had but few ideas to dispense, and I therefore -considered that it might be as a matter of prudence that she hesitated -about wasting them on so humble an individual as myself. - -“‘Upon this occasion, I was contented with warming my hands at the -scented blaze, and gazing on the portly form of the princess, reclining -in ample majesty on the green satin fauteuil before me. Perhaps there -never existed a type of ridicule and exaggeration more strongly defined -than the Princesse de Guéménée, particularly at this period of her -life, when, having lost, by extravagance and folly, the position to -which she was entitled by birth and fortune, she appeared as though -seeking to gain distinction in another way, by exaggerating the -follies of the times, and affording in her person a complete epitome -of all the extravagance and bad taste for which the court had become, -even then, proverbial. At the very hour of which I am speaking, even -when under the ban of dismissal from the court, of reproval from -the sovereign, and of the condemnation of all persons of credit and -character throughout the kingdom—when it was a notorious fact that -her husband and herself were paying loans upon the estates which yet -remained to them at the rate of fifty and seventy per cent.—was she -attired in all the absurd and costly frippery which a depraved fashion -might have excused some years before, when she was yet in possession -of the stupendous fortune which so long had caused the Rohans to rival -in splendour the sovereign himself, but which would only excite pity -and disgust in the minds of those aware of the desperate state of her -affairs. - -“‘She was attired in a robe of I know not what kind of rich stuff, -which stood on end, and completely filled the immense arm-chair -in which she was seated. This again was entirely covered with the -richest lace, which, looped with ornaments in brilliants, representing -_scorpions_, fell over either elbow of the chair, completely disguising -its form, thus leaving the princess to represent to the beholder the -richly-decorated joss of some Chinese temple, that scorns, in virtue of -its divinity, the support which mortals need when seated. Altogether I -scarcely ever remember to have seen a more ridiculous figure than that -of the Princesse de Guéménée as she sat thus before me, the light of -the fire dancing upon the diamonds with which she was covered from head -to foot, now resting upon the thick rouge upon her cheeks, then flying -off to some absurd and comical ornament with which she had thought -fit to load the towering fabric of her powdered hair, and making her -countenance take all kinds of fantastic expressions, as though she had -been the sport of some merry demon. - -“‘I endeavoured, as in duty bound, to divert the _ennui_ under which -the princess was labouring, by trying to recount some of the latest -news of the court. I had just returned from Versailles, where I had -spent the day bidding adieu to my friends, and thought that it might -be agreeable to her to hear the newest gossip. But I could gain no -attention. She suffered me to talk on until I was weary, and I could -see that she was not paying the slightest heed to my endeavours to -amuse her. Suddenly, and in the midst of one of my most diverting -anecdotes, she roused herself by a strong effort from the fit of -abstraction into which she had been plunged, and turned sharply round -towards me. - -“‘You say you have just returned from Versailles?’ - -“‘As I have had the honour to tell you, princess.’ - -“‘Did you hear of my nephew being at court, to-day?’ - -“‘Indeed I did not hear the cardinal’s name pronounced during the whole -day, although I did not leave until the latest hour of admission.’ - -“‘_Mon Dieu!_’ exclaimed the princess, in a tone of the deepest -emotion, ‘then he has gone thither _en secret avec cette intrigante_!” - -“‘These were her very words, and, just as she had pronounced them, the -rattle of carriage-wheels was heard in the court-yard of the Hôtel -Cardinal, and presently a great noise and bustle were heard upon the -staircase, with loud laughter in a female voice, which seemed to give a -sort of nervous spasm to the poor Princesse de Guéménée, for she opened -and shut the huge fan which she carried, with a loud, impatient jerk, -each time that the echo of that excited laughter reached the little -_salon_ where we were seated. At length, the door opened, and the -cardinal entered, leading by the hand, or rather, as was the fashion -of the time, by the tips of the fingers, a lady whom he introduced to -the princess as the Comtesse de Valois de la Motte. The name excited my -curiosity, for I had heard her story but a short time before from the -lips of my mother, and had been much moved by her misfortunes. I looked -at the lady with the greatest interest, and with a predetermination to -discover traces of her royal descent in her person and demeanour. I was -moreover wounded by the coldness of the manner of the princess towards -her. I thought her conduct uncivil and inhospitable in the extreme. -She never rose from her chair on the introduction taking place, but -had preserved the same idol-like rigidity of posture, neither did she -even condescend to return a smile in acknowledgment of all the sweet -things with which the Comtesse de la Motte ceased not to overwhelm her -from the first moment of her entrance—assuring her that she had been -longing for this meeting for some time past—that there was no one in -the world whose acquaintance she had so much desired to make as that -of the Princesse de Guéménée—in short, all the common-place flatteries -with which little people are in the habit of soothing and allaying the -adverse tempers of the great. - -“‘It is a singular fact (and I do assure you the notion has not been -forced upon my imagination by subsequent events), but I was struck with -the extreme vulgarity of the tone of her address to the princess, even -in the few moments which preceded our summons to the supper-table; -and I had already a certain misgiving about the character of the lady -from this circumstance alone. But I reserved my definitive judgment of -her until we were ushered into the supper-room, for the _petit salon_ -was lighted with lamps of alabaster, and the light, thus beautifully -softened to the eye, was rendered too dim to enable one to distinguish -the play of the features, the changes of expression, all the little -tokens of character which are exhibited in the countenance when -under the influence of any one predominant passion. I waited then, -with patience, until we were comfortably seated at supper. By good -fortune, my place was opposite to the comtesse, and I was thus enabled -to contemplate her to my heart’s content. It was fortunate, too, that -she scarcely deigned to notice my presence, so absorbed was she in her -endeavours to win a smile from the princess. I was thus rendered a -mere spectator of a scene, which time and the subsequent events that -took place have rendered worthy of being registered among my own most -interesting _souvenirs_. - -“‘As to the cardinal, when once he had apologized to me for his late -return to the hôtel, and excused himself upon the plea of having -been detained at Versailles upon business connected with the affairs -of Madame la Comtesse, he scarcely seemed to remember that I was -in existence, so entirely engrossed was he with the efforts he was -compelled to make, in order to excite the princess to conversation on -the one hand, and to restrain the volubility of the Comtesse de la -Motte on the other. The contrast between the two female guests of the -cardinal was, indeed, striking, and one was led to wonder at seeing -them together at the same table. - -“‘You have already heard the description of Madame de Guéménée: now, -Madame de la Motte was, in all points of outward appearance and manner, -exactly the reverse of that mighty dame. She was a small, lively -person, full of fire, and talking with a strong accent and active -gesticulation. She was, without doubt, what, in the world, is called -a pretty woman, for she had a fine complexion, with sparkling black -eyes, and a superb range of ivory teeth, which she took every pains -to display, by an incessant twist of her lips, which I remember to -this day, as having produced the most unpleasant effect possible upon -my nerves. She had a remarkable profusion of really fine chestnut -hair, which was but half-powdered, and clustered in most bewitching -ringlets round her face. Her age might have been about seven or -eight-and-twenty—the very age most to be dreaded in woman; the mind, -possessing all the experience of maturity—the person yet retaining all -the bloom and charm of youth. Her attire was well chosen to set off -her complexion, but it shocked my taste to witness the profusion of -ornament and jewels with which she was adorned, even while speaking of -herself as a _pauvre solliciteuse_, to whom a miserly government would -only accord a beggarly pension of eight hundred livres. Her diamonds, -indeed, rivalled both in beauty and profusion those of the Princesse de -Guéménée herself, and her dress consisted of a robe of orange-coloured -_brocatelle_, shot with black, and flowered with gold. Her hands and -arms were hidden by long gloves of Spanish kid, and I could readily -imagine that there was coquetry in this precaution, as the hardships -in which her early years had been spent, must, of necessity, have left -their traces _there_. - -“‘I remember being struck with the reflection which forced itself -upon me at the time, and being lost in admiration as I gazed upon the -Comtesse de la Motte, at the extreme ease and facility with which she -had acquired the jargon and petty graces of high society. Her manners -certainly gave the lie direct to the old prejudice, that it requires -many years of apprenticeship to become an adept in the fashionable art. -Neither did she betray at first, by any one triviality or vulgarity -of expression or pronunciation, that she had not all her life been -accustomed to the society in which she then found herself. The only -peculiarity which might have excited suspicion in _very_ particular -persons, was the hurry and agitation in which she seemed to exist—a -perpetual restlessness—an over-desire to excite interest and to produce -effect. Mind you, I am speaking of the first hour or so, while yet she -was uncertain as to the opinion which the princess might have formed of -her. But after this restraint had a little worn off, and she had grown -a little less guarded in her conversation, I began to perceive many -incongruities in her behaviour. The effect was most extraordinary—she -appeared, at one and the same moment, two distinct characters; her very -voice altered, sometimes before she had concluded her sentence. - -“‘I must do the Princesse de Guéménée the justice to declare that, -throughout the whole evening, her conduct was perfect. She listened -in silence, but without any evidence of ill-humour or contempt, to -all the _agaceries_ and lively sallies with which the comtesse sought -so earnestly to divert her. She even condescended, now and then, to -applaud, but without favour, and from a distance, as she would have -done from her box at the Opera to the successful efforts of the actress -whose talent might for a moment have succeeded in charming her into -this demonstration of approval. But it was when, at the solicitation -of the cardinal, excited with the wine, of which she had partaken -unsparingly, and elevated by the hope of winning the good graces of the -company, Madame de la Motte launched forth into the eternal history of -her “_infortunes_,” which had been her great _moyen de succès_ with the -numberless dupes she had made, that to me all delusion ceased at once. -The imposture was easy to discover beneath the envelope of affected -high breeding with which she had at first concealed her determination -of charming the princess, and the _aventurière_ stood revealed without -disguise. - -“‘I know that you will suspect my judgment of being influenced by the -conclusion of her story; but I do assure you that even then I could not -help wondering that his Eminence should have admitted to his intimacy a -person like Madame de la Motte. It has since become matter of surprise -to all the world, that the cardinal, credulous and simple as it had -pleased Heaven to make him, could ever have been so beguiled as to give -the slightest degree of credit to her representations; but as for -me, after having passed that single evening in her company, I almost -feel inclined to believe in witchcraft. There _must_ have been some -evil power at work, when the Cardinal de Rohan was delivered up to the -possession (no other word can express this infatuation) of the Comtesse -de Valois de la Motte!’ - -“‘How I should have liked to be present!’ said I, ‘and to hear from her -own lips the recital of her adventures!’ - -“‘Bah!’ said the prince, laughing, ‘I can tell you the tale, and if it -prove as interesting to you as it did to me, you will not forget it -more than I have done. I believe it to be strictly true in all its main -points. It is a singular story, and but little known. She told it well, -too, and I leave you to judge of the effect which it must have produced -at the time. - -“‘She said that her father, who, there can be no doubt was, in reality, -the Count de Saint Remy de Valois, descended from Henry II., had -sold the whole of his estates to a rich _fermier-général_, in order -to satisfy the debts incurred by the inordinate love of splendour -and expense in which his wife had indulged since their marriage. -The family was, in consequence, reduced to the very lowest ebb of -destitution and poverty. The mother, who was the daughter of one of the -Count de Saint Remy’s vassals, had not strength of mind to bear the -poverty which her own extravagance had brought upon her family, and -fled, leaving her husband and three children to endure the privations -which she was so ill-disposed to share. There was an old Gothic ruin -in the park, belonging to what had once been the château of the Counts -de Saint Remy, and this the _fermier-général_ consented to give up to -the count and his young family. Hither, then, did the hapless little -band retire, with no hope but in Heaven. The count became a confirmed -misanthrope, and never stirred from the old ruin from the moment that -he had fixed his abode within it. He suffered his hair and beard to -grow, and refused to hold communication with any living being, save -with his young children. But he took little heed of their welfare, -notwithstanding his affection for them, nor seemed to care whether they -were provided with bread or left to starve; and, had it not been for -the kindness of the peasants of the neighbourhood, who, with native -delicacy and good feeling, fearing to wound his pride, would come in -secret and at night to deposit provisions upon the threshold of the -mouldering edifice wherein they had taken refuge, the whole family -would sometimes have been for days together without a morsel of food. - -“‘This, however, was far from being sufficient to satisfy their wants, -and the care of providing food devolved, of course, upon the eldest -child Jeanne (Madame de la Motte herself). She would wander along the -public road from sunrise to sunset, holding her little brother by the -hand, and carrying her sister, yet a helpless infant, on her back, and -thus the little trio, faint and weary, and covered with sordid rags, -would run by the side of every carriage that passed on the highway, -calling out in a piteous tone, “Charity, charity, for the love of God! -A morsel of bread for three poor starving orphans, descended from the -royal blood of the Valois!” This appeal failed not, of course, to -attract notice. - -“‘I was fair, and pretty,’ said the comtesse, as she told the tale, -‘and sometimes returned laden with silver, which I hastened to convert -into necessaries for our use, and comforts for my father, ere I sought -my home at night. This state of things lasted fur more than two years. -The old ruin had fallen into greater decay; the count had fallen into a -state of greater gloom and apathy, scarcely ever uttering a syllable to -the children, nor seeming to take the least notice of their departure -or return, nor of their efforts to procure for themselves and him the -nourishment which was needful to sustain existence. - -“‘One evening, poor Jeanne returned with her little companions, weary -and footsore, to the old tower. They had been out a longer time than -usual, the day had been wild and stormy, and but few travellers had -passed the road, so that but small profit had been made, and there was -a prospect of a supper even more scanty than usual. On entering the -tower, they were struck by the unwonted silence and darkness of the -place, for the count generally took upon himself the charge of feeding -the fire, and at nightfall lighted a torch to read over and over -again, for the millionth time, the genealogy of his family, and the -title-deeds proving his descent from the Valois, the only occupation in -which he now seemed to find amusement or consolation. - -“‘Upon this occasion, however, all was dark and silent as the grave, -and Jeanne, after having called her father without receiving any -answer, drew near to the hearth, and blew up the few remaining embers -into a sickly blaze, which just sufficed to light the interior of the -tower. Her father was seated, drooping and motionless, in his customary -seat in the chimney corner, leaning against the wall, with his head -bent low upon his bosom, and his hand upon his heart.’ - -“‘He is asleep,’ said Jeanne, to the little ones; ‘let us make no -noise, but hurry to bed as quickly as possible, that he may not be -disturbed.’ - -“‘So she gave each of the children a morsel of bread and a piece of the -curd-cheese eaten by the poor peasants in that part of the country, and -they all three sought in haste and silence the bundle of straw allotted -to their use. Here they slept soundly until the dawn. Jeanne was the -first to wake, and, on perceiving the sunbeams struggling through the -loop-hole in the wall, rose with the hope of having better luck than -on the preceding day, and hurriedly gathered on her rags, determined -to set forth at once upon her daily errand. She was just preparing to -rouse her little brother, when she was struck with terror, on turning -to bid adieu to her father, to perceive that he was still seated in -the chimney-nook, in the same attitude in which she had found him on -returning to the tower on the evening before. He had passed the whole -night seated thus without moving; his head still drooping on his -bosom—his hand still pressed upon his heart! There was something so -unnatural in this immobility, that the child, young as she was, felt -overcome with dread. She approached the count and listened, but she -heard not his breathing, nothing but the beating of her own heart. She -laid her hand upon his shoulder, and pushed him gently. - -“‘Father, it is time to rise!’ said she, in a low voice, and then the -loud shriek, which burst from her lips, echoed through the tower, and -roused from their slumber the two babes, who ran crying towards her. - -“‘The body of her father had yielded to her touch, and had sunk -forward into the fire-place, where it lay upon the hearth, among the -cold ashes. It was evident that he had been dead for many hours, and, -in her fright, poor Jeanne, scarcely knowing what to do, seized the -little Marguerite in her arms, and ran screaming from the tower, nor -paused until she reached the town, where instantly, with a prudence and -foresight beyond her years, she went to seek the curé. Great was the -excitement among the peasantry on the estate when they heard of the -death of the Count de St. Remy, and they assembled in great numbers -around the old tower, and bore away the body to the chapel of the -château. But the hard-hearted _fermier-général_, well aware that his -possession of the estate was illegal—for the count had not the power -to dispose of the land, which belonged of right to his children after -him—refused to receive the corpse, and it remained for two whole days -outside the chapel-door, whence it was carried to the burying-ground of -the village, where it was thrown without ceremony, still covered with -the rags in which he had died, into the common fosse,—the curé having -refused the prayers of the church to one who had died without its aid, -consequently in a state of _impénitence finale_. - -“‘After the death of her father, Jeanne, still, as usual, accompanied -by her little brother, and carrying her sister on her back, set off on -foot for Paris, with the papers which proved her descent from Henry -II., and which constituted her whole worldly store, all soiled and -ragged, sown up in her tattered _casaquin_. In this plight did she -traverse the whole of France, a distance of nearly two hundred leagues, -with no support by the way, but from the charity of travellers, until -she arrived at the last stage of her journey, within one league of -the capital. She declared that, on that memorable day, she had walked -more than twenty miles, with the determination of arriving at Paris -before nightfall; but here, just at the very moment of seeing her -hopes realized, she sank exhausted by the roadside, unable to move a -step farther. Her feet were torn and bleeding, and she was drenched -to the skin; the rain, which had fallen in torrents during the whole -afternoon, had rendered the roads so slippery, that her fatigue had -been doubled; added to which, she had scarcely tasted food since -morning, for she discovered that, as she drew nearer to the capital, -travellers were possessed of sterner feelings; they either turned a -deaf ear to her petition, or else laughed to scorn the terms in which -it was couched. - -“‘Night was coming on apace; it was impossible to remain till morning -on the wet and muddy bank. Her heart was pierced by the wailings of -her little sister, and the cries of her brother for food and warmth -were most piteous. Once more did she call her courage to her aid, and -essayed to walk, but she was too weak, and, staggering forward a few -paces, fell with her head against a door in the wall, which ran along -the footpath. The shock burst it open, and discovered to the astonished -gaze of the poor famished children, a scene which appeared to them -like fairy-land—a garden filled with blooming shrubs and flowers, and -lighted by myriads of coloured lamps. There was no one walking in -the garden—the ground was too wet for that—but a few paces from the -gate stood a Chinese pavilion, raised by a flight of steps from the -ground, all decorated with party-coloured streamers, and blazing with -light, within which was gathered a crowd of magnificently-attired -ladies and cavaliers, and whence issued sounds of mirth and laughter, -and strains of low soft music. It was like a dream of heaven! Jeanne -never could tell who among this gay company was the first to perceive -the three little miserable wanderers as they stood shivering at the -gate, for she stood entranced, until she was brought back to reality -by a loud voice shouting a coarse reprimand to a servant in rich -livery, who was standing at the door of the pavilion, for having left -the garden-gate unlocked. Presently the servant in rich livery came -hurriedly down the steps, and taking Jeanne by the arm, was proceeding -to turn her without ceremony into the road, when a sudden instinct -caused her to resist the attack, and springing forward with a desperate -effort, with outstretched arms, she darted towards the pavilion, and -called out in a piteous voice, in which the two younger children -joined, as soon as ever they heard the first note, so familiar was -the cry—“Charity—charity, for the love of Heaven! A morsel of bread -for three poor starving orphans, _descendants of the royal house of -Valois_!” - -“‘In an instant the whole company rushed to the balcony which -surrounded the pavilion, attracted by the piercing shriek of Jeanne -and the novelty of the appeal. She had sunk upon her knees at the foot -of the balustrade, awaiting in silence the success of her bold attack. -For a moment it was doubtful, for the lacquey in rich livery had again -got fast hold of the child’s arm, and in obedience to the same rough -command which had sentenced her to a dismissal before, was about to -push her again towards the gate, when suddenly a lady, one of the most -richly attired among the company, calling to him in an authoritative -tone to desist, and forcing her way through the crowd, came down the -steps to where poor Jeanne was still kneeling, pale and trembling, with -her little brother clinging to her skirts, and the baby-sister wailing -piteously at her back. The garden where this scene took place belonged -to the magnificent château of M. le Marquis de Boulainvilliers, at -Passy; the gentleman who had commanded the lacquey to turn the children -from the gate was M. de Boulainvilliers himself, and consequently the -lady who had desired him do so at his peril, could be no other than -Madame la Marquise de Boulainvilliers! - -“‘The fates had been kind indeed, when they led poor Jeanne into the -friendly domain of the marquise. I knew her well: she was, I believe, a -truly benevolent person, but had perverted her real, honest, charitable -disposition into a sickly sentimentality, by her intercourse with the -Neckers, and her admiration of all the _fade_ doctrines emanating from -the academic grove established at Coppet. She was, moreover “_folle de -ce cher Jean Jacques, l’homme de la Nature, et citoyen de Genève_,” -and raved about sentiment and presentiment, and the errors and vices -of civilization, and the far more preferable state of savage life, -and “the feelings implanted in our bosoms by the God of Nature,” &c.; -until she, being rather a portly person, and always overlaced, would -sometimes turn suddenly black in the face, and alarm her auditors by a -desperate fit of coughing, which she owed to her asthma, and which was -only quelled by the exertions of the two tall valets who stood behind -her chair; the one patted her most vigorously on the back, while the -other jerked cold water in her face from a glass ewer, which always -stood ready at hand for the purpose. This is the only remembrance _I_ -have preserved of Madame de Boulainvilliers; but, slight as it is, it -will be quite sufficient to show you all the extent of the good fortune -which had befallen “the descendants of the royal house of Valois.” - -“‘The marquise took the poor child by the hand and raised her from -the ground, without any apparent fear lest the contact of such dirty -rags should soil the coloured satin brocade in which she herself -was attired. She spoke to her kindly, and endeavoured to soothe her -agitation, and finally led the whole party into the very midst of the -assembly of dainty ladies and mincing cavaliers, and made them repeat -the extraordinary appeal which had attracted her attention. Jeanne -needed no pressing to induce her to comply with her request, and the -music was hushed and the tittering of the company silenced by the -whining cry, “_Charité! charité!_—a morsel of bread for the starving -orphans of the royal house of Valois!” - -“‘Curiosity was of course excited; the event had given variety to -the amusements of the evening. Madame de Boulainvilliers questioned -the child, who told her history in a plain and artless manner, and, -when she had concluded, drew from the lining of her _casaquin_ the -papers relating to her birth, which Madame la Marquise read aloud to -the astonished assembly. There was a universal movement in favour of -the orphans; a most liberal subscription was raised on the instant, -everybody present proposed assistance in some way or another to get a -_placet_ presented to the king, and so great was the interest excited, -that the worthy marquise hurried them away to bed, fearing lest some -one else might rob her of her _bonne œuvre_, by taking charge of -the children, concerning whom she had already formed a multitude of -projects in support of her favourite theory. Here was a fine occasion -for displaying the superiority of the philosophy of Jean Jacques! What -good fortune to have discovered these children, fresh from the hands of -nature, uncorrupted by intercourse with the world, and yet of noble, -nay more, of royal blood! How she would love to show to the incredulous -and scoffers at the new doctrines the wondrous effects to be produced -by the new system of education—the candour, the innocence, the absence -of all artifice, which characterise the human heart when untrammelled -by the hypocritical conventions of society! She really was alarmed lest -any of her friends should beg the children of her, and so ordered them -to be put to bed in the apartment adjoining her own. - -“‘Had they not better have a hot bath first?’ drily exclaimed the old -Chevalier de Meylau. - -“‘Fie, chevalier; there is no disgrace in their neglected state. In all -artificial communities like ours, it is the seal affixed to poverty!’ -exclaimed the marquise, indignantly. - -“‘Ay, or the _soil_,’ retorted the chevalier; but fortunately the -marquise did not hear him; she had been seized with one of her most -desperate fits of coughing. - -“‘Behold, meanwhile, the orphan mendicants, whose resting-place the -night before had been a heap of filthy straw, beneath the manger of -a cowshed, reclining on a bed of down, beneath a velvet canopy! But -Jeanne declared to us that she did not sleep a whit the sounder, so -tormented was she the whole of that night with the fear that Madame -de Boulainvilliers might keep and appropriate to her own use the -title-deeds which she had imprudently suffered to pass from her hands, -and which she had been used to regard as the means whereby she should -one day be raised to a level with royalty itself. So much for the -candour and innocence, and freedom from suspicion, upon which poor -Madame de Boulainvilliers had reckoned so blindly! - -“‘Once fairly established in the household of the Marquise de -Boulainvilliers, the fortune of the children of the Count de Saint -Remy changed from the lowest depths of misery to a state of ease and -affluence, of which they could not even have dreamed. It appears, -however, that the marquise, for some reason or other, very soon -abandoned her darling project of rearing her little protegées _à la -Jean Jacques_; for, after suffering them to run wild about her park at -Passy, well-dressed but barefoot, for some time, she procured the boy’s -admission into the Ecole de Marine, despatched the little Marguerite -to the care of a nurse in Burgundy, but retained among her dependents -the lively Jeanne, always with the promise that she would prosecute her -cause at court with the utmost vigour and perseverance, and declaring -that she had no doubt of the ultimate success of her undertaking, for -that Madame Elizabeth, with all the ardour and warmth of benevolence -which characterizes youth, had promised to second her application to -the king. It was in the midst of this good will, and Madame de la Motte -declared without any fault on her part, that, by a singular caprice, -for which she could not account, and which, by the bye, she slurred -over in rather an embarrassed tone, her protectress suddenly changed -her manner towards her, and one day, having declared to her that it -was considered in the society in which she moved, both imprudent -and derogatory to retain in her family a person in the position of -Mademoiselle de Saint Remy, announced to her that she had taken the -necessary measures to place her with Madame Leclercq, the most famous -_couturière_ of the day in Paris! - -“‘The astonishment and indignation of poor Jeanne, on hearing this -sentence, can well be imagined, but there was no appeal. What right -had she to complain, who had been taken from the streets but a short -time before by the kindness of the marquise? Besides, there was some -consolation still amid her trouble, for Madame de Boulainvilliers -promised not to neglect her suit at court, and I really believe did -continue to prosecute it with undiminished zeal. It appears that it was -Monsieur le Marquis who had insisted upon the dismissal of Jeanne—for -what offence remains a mystery—but there must have been a grievous -cause of displeasure, I judge, by the hatred which existed between the -pair, and which was not satisfied on the part of the marquis, even by -the imprisonment and disgrace of his victim.[B] - - [B] I have heard the circumstance of this dire offending variously - discussed, but I believe the true version of the tale to run - thus:—Poor Jeanne, who had been afflicted by nature with an - incurable curiosity, had discovered, in one of her barefooted - rambles in the park at Passy, the entrance to the secret still - which M. le Marquis de Boulainvilliers, in common with many - French noblemen of the time, worked illicitly, in defiance - of law or justice, and from which many of them derived the - principal source of the colossal fortunes which they possessed. - With primitive simplicity, Jeanne kept her discovery a profound - secret, but used to spend her time suspended by a branch above - the hole in the mound of earth, which concealed, by a clump - of brambles and wild barberries, the entrance to the passage - which served for the descent to the unlawful hiding-place. - Here she would remain for whole hours together, gazing down, - and watching with interest and amusement the whole process of - the conversion of good grain into liquor, never once betraying - herself by the slightest exclamation or gesture to the poor - fools who worked on below, little supposing they were thus - overlooked and noted. - - The day of reckoning arrived at last; the château—the park—the - gardens of Passy, were one morning filled with the emissaries - of the police; every closet and cellar underwent a thorough - scrutiny; the servants were strictly examined; but M. de - Boulainvilliers laughed to scorn every attempt at detection; - for he alone of all the household was in the secret of the - illicit still. Disappointed and confused, the officers were - retiring to report upon the fruitlessness of their errand, when - Jeanne came bursting into the apartment, exclaiming, ‘I know - where it is—I know it—this way, gentlemen—this way! To think - of all this trouble, when I knew it so well! How fortunate I - should have just been told what it was you were seeking! Come - along, _I_ will show you the still. How strange that Monsieur - le Marquis should not have known that it was in the park! but - I will show him the nearest way. Oh, come along quick! it is - in full glory at this very moment—the fire blazing—the sparks - flying splendidly; _two_ men were at the bellows when I left!’ - - The consternation, the rage, the terror which these words - produced, cannot be described. M. le Marquis was hurried off - to prison, amid the laughter of the officers and the sobs - and tears of the Marquise; while poor Jeanne received, with - astonishment, the furious kicks and cuffs of the marquis, - instead of the thanks and praises to which she deemed herself - entitled. From this hour the marquis, who had ever hated the - child, vowed most bitter vengeance against her, and, on his - leaving prison, commenced his system of persecution, which - ceased not until he had contributed to bring down his victim to - the lowest depths of desolation and infamy. - -“‘Jeanne remained with the _couturière_ for two long mortal years, -during which the marquise wearied every minister, every man in place, -with prayers and _placets_ on behalf of her _protégée_; and, at length, -one fine day, she sent for her to meet her brother, whom she had not -seen since his departure for Brest, and when she arrived, the lacquey -in waiting introduced them both into the _salon_, filled with the -highest company, as Monsieur le Baron de Valois, and Mademoiselle de -Valois! - -“‘Madame de Boulainvilliers had prepared the scene—she expected tears -of gratitude and _élans_ of sentiment—but she was disappointed: the boy -drew back, abashed at the novelty of his situation, and Jeanne uttered -not a single word, but fainted! From this hour did a change take place -in her character; her real nature, Stirring and ambitious, now began to -show itself without disguise; the years of rags and starvation were -forgotten, as likewise the humiliation of her days of toil and labour -with the _couturière_. She had but one drawback—the insufficiency of -the pension allotted by the government, until the estates in Dauphiné -and the châteaux in Brittany, and the forests in Maine, belonging to -the title, and upon which the crown had seized in former reigns, were -restored to her family,—when she might move with the splendour becoming -her rank, and take her place among the princesses of the blood royal, -as beseemed her name and descent. The pension was of eight hundred -livres only per annum—a pittance barely sufficient to enable her to -clothe herself with decency; but again did Madame de Boulainvilliers, -the tried friend, come to her assistance, and, proud of her work, of -having by her exertions caused the title to be recognised, now offered -to pay her board in some convent, which she had refused to do so long -as she was only poor Jeanne de Saint Remy. - -“‘She retired then to a convent at Bar-sur-Aube, her native place, -where she captivated the affections of the Count de la Motte, a -young man of excellent family but small fortune, and they were soon -afterwards married; and, with this auspicious event, _her_ romance, -like many others, might have been supposed to be concluded. But, -alas, for her! there was yet a second volume. When I saw her, as I -have described to you, at the Hôtel Cardinal, she had come to Paris -to prosecute her suit with the ministers for the restoration of her -estates. She was supported by the powerful interest of the Rohans. She -was of a bold, enterprising, ambitious nature, fearless and intriguing, -with friends at court devoted to her cause; and yet it will to this -day excite a certain suspicion in my mind whenever I think of all the -circumstances which followed—she never could gain access to the queen! - -“‘It is said that Marie Antoinette had, in reality, the greatest -desire to converse with her, but was prevented from receiving her -by the express command of his majesty, who had conceived the most -invincible dread of her presence near the throne, from having been -told of her extraordinary powers of fascination. He had a great horror -of this species of character about the queen; and Madame de la Motte -had already acquired (it seemed with great injustice _then_) the -reputation of a troublesome, ambitious _intrigante_. Like all persons -of indolent temperament, Louis Seize ever felt a mortal dread of -stirring, active people. Infirm of purpose himself, he disliked those -who were resolute and steady in the accomplishment of their designs; -therefore his aversion to Madame de la Motte would not have been -remarkable, had it not been for the very perseverance which it gave -him occasion to exercise—perhaps the only instance of tenacity he ever -displayed—for he resisted on this occasion the prayers and entreaties -of the queen, and the supplications of Madame Elizabeth. Nothing could -soften him, and, when pressed to give a reason for this steadiness of -hatred, he could not tell—_c’etait plus fort que lui_! - -“‘Of course, the enemies of royalty and the partisans of Madame de la -Motte did not fail, in after times, to lay this preconceived antipathy -on the part of the king to the score of avarice, and to the dread he -most naturally felt at the prospect of being compelled to resign the -magnificent estates and royal privileges of the Valois to the legal -claimants. If the suspicion had been just, he certainly would not have -admitted their claim to the title at all. He might have resorted to -delay, or have avoided the recognition altogether. As it was, however, -the affair certainly displayed want of tact, and great mismanagement, -in the allotment of the pension. Either the claim set forth by the -Saint Remys was an imposture, and should have been treated with -contempt, or it was just, and, when once recognised as such, should -have been met with the liberality and consideration which it deserved. -This first error was most bitterly expiated, and Louis Seize must often -have mourned most grievously over the want of consistency and false -economy of his ministers. - -“‘I cannot help thinking that a more liberal allowance, by rendering -unnecessary all the struggles for existence which Madame de la Motte -was compelled to make, might have deadened her ambition, and she -might have spent her days, satisfied to display her love of intrigue, -and exhibit her powers of fascination, on the restricted theatre of -Bar-sur-Aube, her husband’s birthplace and her own, to which she was -much attached, and which she herself declared she never would have -left, had not her presence been considered necessary in Paris, so -long as there was hope that the estates might be restored to her -family. Every one who knows the sequel of her history must remember -that (supposing her to be guilty) it was the affection she bore to her -native place, which was the ultimate cause of her ruin; for, had she -followed the advice of friends, and fled to England immediately, she -might have been saved. But no—how _could_ she leave the country without -taking one last farewell of her beloved Bar-sur-Aube?—one of the -ugliest places, by the bye, throughout the whole of France. - -“‘I have told you the story which I heard from the lips of Madame de -la Motte herself, at the Cardinal de Rohan’s table, and I again say -that I believe most of the particulars to be strictly true, although -they differ in some points from the tale she afterwards told in her -memoirs. But therein she might have been influenced by many motives in -the recital, whereas with us she was evidently governed but by one—that -of exciting as much interest as possible in the breast of the Princesse -de Guéménée; for, of course, the cardinal had already heard the story -many times before, and I was reckoned as nothing. In itself the history -is undoubtedly a most touching one; but when told as I then heard -it, by the heroine herself, with the most expressive action, the most -varied intonation, and _real_ tears, the effect was irresistible, -and I then understood, without further explanation, the fascination -in which she held the cardinal, and which had excited my wonder and -disgust but so short a time before. Even the princess herself, with -all her preconceived aversion, was subdued at length, and, before she -took her leave, graciously invited the countess to meet at supper on -the following evening a party of friends, among whom were some whose -acquaintance might facilitate the prosecution of her suit. Among others -I perfectly remember that she named M. de Crosne, _lieutenant de -police_. Little did the poor countess dream, when her eyes flashed such -proud triumph even on _me_, that the time would come when she would be -favoured with many and many an unsought interview with M. de Crosne, -in the Bastile, and that from his lips would she have to listen to the -repetition of the sentence which condemned her to the most ignominious -fate that could in our country befal a woman. - -“‘I know not by what chance, on my taking leave of the cardinal for the -night, his Eminence happened to mention the name of my mother; but -suddenly the whole demeanour of Madame de la Motte was changed towards -me, upon learning that I was the son of the Countess de Talleyrand, -dame du palais to the queen, and she began immediately to _agacer_ -me with her attentions, with as much determination as she had before -avoided even a glance in my direction. She turned, all smiles and -affability, to inquire if I had a carriage in waiting to convey me -to my residence, and, on my replying in the negative, insisted on my -taking the vacant seat in her own, to which I most willingly assented. -It was during the short drive from the Hôtel Cardinal to the Place -Dauphine, where she resided, that I was enabled to judge more fully of -her extraordinary vivacity and tact, and above all, of her wonderful -aptitude for business; for, before we parted, she had extorted from me -a promise to induce my mother to present her statement to the queen, -which promise I religiously kept, although I obtained nought but a flat -refusal for my pains, followed by many a bitter reproach for meddling -with the affairs ‘of this _aventurière_.’ I his was the first and -last time I ever beheld the countess; and, when she became a public -character through her participation in the affair of the necklace, I -had reason to rejoice that such was the case, for had she but imagined -that I was fit to serve her purpose, I feel that it is not unlikely I -might have lost the right of regarding with scorn the infatuation of -the cardinal prince. So great was the power of will possessed by this -woman, that there must have been inordinate self-conceit in the man who -would have dared to pretend to defy it.’” - -“What was the opinion of M. de Talleyrand concerning the affair of the -necklace? Did he believe Madame de la Motte really guilty of the theft?” - -“‘Much less than is supposed by the public, and certainly infinitely -less so than her condemnation purported. I once ventured to ask him -if he knew any of the particulars connected with this extraordinary -business, and his reply, although guarded, gave me a suspicion that, -although he did not believe her innocent, he felt convinced that her -guilt was shared by some whose birth and influence near the throne -shielded them from exposure. - -“‘There is a degree of mystery throughout the whole transaction,’ -replied he, in answer to my inquiries, ‘which is, perhaps, destined -never to be cleared up. Had Madame de la Motte possessed the cunning of -the arch-fiend himself, she _could_ not have been guilty of one-tenth -part of the baseness which was imputed to her in the act of accusation; -there were impediments both social and commercial to many of the -manœuvres, which were _proved_ against her on her trial. You can form -no conception of the excitement produced by this event. The whole -kingdom was divided for her sake into two sects, the unbelieving and -the credulous; those who believed her guilty, and those who _knew_ her -to be innocent. For myself, I have heard so much on both sides, that -my opinion is scarcely stable even now. It is a singular fact that all -the persons who visited her were fully convinced of her innocence, and -fought like lions in her defence. - -“‘The Abbé de Kel, the almoner of the Bastile, and confessor of -Madame de la Motte, told me himself, that his firm opinion in the -case was this: ‘That, had she not been unfortunate enough to have -already obtained the recognition of her title, she would not have been -condemned.’ Monsieur de Breteuil, the great enemy of the cardinal, -and favourite of the queen, was most active in procuring materials -to inculpate this unfortunate woman, and this circumstance having -got abroad, greatly contributed to excite suspicion against Marie -Antoinette. But the circumstance which in reality formed the basis of -her ruin, was the denial of the cardinal that he had ever furnished her -with money. _This must have been false_, for, long before her arrest, -she was living in splendour, had an hôtel in the Place Dauphine, with -servants and equipages, was richly attired, and covered with jewels, -and all this, forsooth, upon her husband’s limited income, and her -own pittance of eight hundred livres! I remember being told that the -furniture of her hôtel equalled in richness that of the palace at -Trianon. Mention was made of polished steel mirrors, set in gold, and -of a famous bed, the hangings of which were worked in seed pearl, which -was bought for an enormous sum by Madame du Barry, the late king’s -mistress. - -“‘Another mystery, which completely baffles all speculation, is the -total disappearance of the necklace itself, the object of all this -turmoil. It was a jewel so well known among the trade in Paris that -every single stone would have been recognised. There was scarcely -a person of any note in the capital who had not seen it, as it had -lain at Boehmer’s, the jeweller’s, for more than a year, open to the -inspection of any one who chose to ask for the sight of it. I recollect -having seen it not a long while before it created so much disturbance. -Boehmer had been employed to furnish the wedding jewels for one of my -relations, and the morning that he came to deliver them, he brought the -necklace for us to view, as a curiosity. Neither in the workmanship -nor the size of the stones did it give any notion of the immense value -which was set upon it. I believe, however, that this consisted in the -stones being all brilliants of the first water, and, as a collection, -the most perfect and free from blemish (so Boehmer told my aunt) in the -whole world. - -“‘There is one more story connected with the jewel, which greatly -complicates the mystery of the whole transaction, and which is known -but to few persons. During the time that I held the Portefeuille of -Foreign Affairs, I received a letter from our ambassador at one of the -northern courts, wherein he announced to me, with great excitement, -the arrival at his court of the Count de M——y and his wife. They had -been presented by himself to the sovereign; for, although they might, -strictly speaking, have been considered _emigrés_, not having returned -to France during the reign of Napoleon, yet, as the count was not at -that time the head of his family, and had never meddled in politics, he -had a right to claim the protection of the ambassador of his country. -The lady had chosen for her _début_ at court the occasion of a royal -birthday, and she had made her appearance laden with all her jewels, -and, “upon her neck,” wrote the baron, “she wore a necklace of the -exact pattern of that, concerning which all Europe had been roused -before the revolution—that is to say, the only difference being, that -the three scroll ornaments which are so remarkable, and to which I -could swear as being the same, are held by a chain of small rose -diamonds instead of the _rivière_, by which they were joined before.” - -“‘The letter gave us all great diversion at home, from the excitement -in which it was written; but the emperor, to whom I of course -communicated the fact, took it more gravely, and begged me to ask for a -drawing of the necklace, which the ambassador found means to obtain, -and which was found to correspond with that preserved among the _pièces -du procès_ in the Archives; moreover, on its being submitted to young -Boehmer, he declared his full and entire conviction that the jewel -was the same, from the remarkable circumstance of a mistake having -occurred in the execution of the middle ornament, one side of the -scroll containing two small diamonds more than the other, and which he -remembered had much distressed his father, but which could never have -been discovered save by a member of the trade. It was then remembered, -and by the emperor himself first of all, that the lady’s mother had -been attached to the person of Marie Antoinette, and that she had -retired from court and gone to reside abroad soon after the trial of -Madame de la Motte! - -“‘So you see there is another link in the chain of evidence which -historians, when writing any future history of the Diamond Necklace, -would do well to examine. - -“‘Louis Dixhuit was evidently aware of the history, for I remember -once being struck with a conversation reported to me by the Marquis -de F——. The young Count de B——, one of the most notorious _bêtes_ at -court, said one day in the presence of the king, “I wonder why the M——y -family do not come back to claim their hereditary charges at court? -What pleasure can they find in the horrid country they have chosen?—_I_ -could not live there for a single hour.” - -“‘Perhaps you could not,’ retorted Louis Dixhuit, in his penny-trumpet -voice, and with his childish titter, ‘but the Count de M——y _can_,—for -it is a woody country, and unlike France, _on y brûle la bûche et -jamais_ LA MOTTE.’ - -“‘The Marquis de F—— had applied to me to know the meaning of the pun. -The ambassador’s letter immediately flashed on my memory, but I did not -choose to have the affair discussed with my name, so held my peace.’ - -“This is all the information I could ever obtain from the prince,” -added C., in conclusion, “concerning the _fameux collier_; but this -last anecdote so excited my curiosity, that I immediately set to work -and procured every pamphlet of note which had been written on the -subject, and, by the help of this new light, was enabled to penetrate -much of the darkness by which the affair is enveloped to the generality -of the world. If you take any interest in the matter, it is really -worth your while to do the same. What is still further worthy of remark -is the fact that the family of the lady in question did not return to -France even after the Restoration, and have continued to dwell abroad -ever since. The name is one of the highest in France, and it excites -astonishment to find it enrolled in the service of a foreign country.” - -END OF VOL. I. - - -T. C. Savill, Printer, 4, Chandos-street, Covent-garden. - - - - - * * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber’s note: - -Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant -preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed. - -Simple typographical errors were corrected. - -Frequent missing or unpaired quotation marks were retained. - -Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained; occurrences of -inconsistent hyphenation have not been changed. - -Some French words may have missing or incorrect accents. The ones -found and corrected by Transcriber are noted below. The spelling of -non-English words was not systematically checked. - -Page 39: “the edge of the parapet” was missing the word “of”; added -here. - -Page 121: “écrit” was printed as “ecrit”; changed here. - -Page 145: “appétit” was printed as “appetit”; changed here. - -Page 171: “fâcheux” was printed as “facheux”; changed here. - -Page 250: “périr” was printed as “perir”; changed here. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REMINISCENCES OF PRINCE TALLEYRAND, -VOLUME I (OF 2)*** - - -******* This file should be named 55347-0.txt or 55347-0.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/5/3/4/55347 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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