Memoirs of the Duchesse de Dino (Afterwards Duchesse de Talleyrand et de Sagan), 1836-1840

Paris, April 8, 1838.– The general attention was occupied by the session in the Chamber of Peers yesterday. The speech of M. de Brigode which was delivered the evening before had made every one alert, and the active part taken by the Duc de Broglie in this discussion seems to be an event, and is connected with the hostile movement and the impious alliance in the Chamber of Deputies. The Ministry made an excellent reply to the attacks of MM. de Broglie and Villemain. M. Pasquier, who is angry at an attempt to limit his powers, made a very bad President. The Ministry is anxious concerning Easter week.

The Duc de Talleyrand, younger brother of the Prince de Talleyrand, died on April 28, 1838. The Duc and Duchesse de Dino then inherited his title, which they afterwards bore. The following 17th of May the Prince de Talleyrand died in his turn, after four days' illness.

The following letter was written on May 10, 1838, but was placed at this point of the Memoirs by the author herself.

A letter addressed by the Duchesse de Talleyrand to the Abbé Dupanloup with reference to the latter's account of the last moments of the Prince de Talleyrand

"I have read with profound emotion, M. l'Abbé, as you may be sure, the valuable manuscript which I now beg to return to you.90

"Everything is related with a truth and simplicity which must, I think, touch the hearts of the most indifferent and convince the most sceptical. I have nothing to add to your account, which perfectly describes all the incidents of the sad event unfortunately accomplished before our eyes. But perhaps I alone am able to point out the course of mental development which for some years had certainly begun to modify M. de Talleyrand's feelings. It was a gradual process, and there is a certain interest in following its slow but sincere growth, as it eventually led him in so consoling a manner to his goal.

"I will therefore try to retrace my recollections of this matter, and I think I shall not go back too far if I begin with my daughter's first communion, which took place at London on March 31, 1834. On that day she came to ask for the blessing of M. de Talleyrand, whom she called her good uncle. He gave it her tenderly, and then said to me: 'How touching is the piety of a young girl, and how unnatural is unbelief, especially in women.' However, a short time after our return to France M. de Talleyrand was alarmed by the strength of my daughter's feelings. He was afraid that she might be taught to mistrust him, or to form unfavourable opinions of him, and even asked me to find out from what point of view Pauline's confessor treated the subject. I put the question directly to my daughter, who replied with that candour which you yourself know, that as her uncle did not involve her in any sin she never spoke of him to her confessor, who only mentioned him in advising her to pray to God earnestly for him. M. de Talleyrand was touched by this answer, and said to me: 'Such conduct is that of an intelligent and deserving man.'

"From that time he was anxious that Pauline should have more opportunities for attending church, and even go some distance from home to receive the benefit of your wise direction; he used to offer her the use of his carriage, and I have sometimes seen him go to personal inconvenience for the advantage of his 'little girl.'

"Eventually he derived a certain self-esteem on account of Pauline's religious earnestness, and seemed to be flattered that she should have been so well brought up under his own eyes; he would often say, in speaking of Pauline, 'She is the angel of the house.' He took great pleasure, as all good minds do, in declaring the merits of others. No one could give praise more gracefully, with greater moderation, advantage, and propriety; any one who was mentioned or criticised by him received all the credit that could be his due. Upon occasions he would certainly utter words of blame, but only at rare intervals, and never with such direct force as when he praised. He was especially lenient towards ecclesiastics, and if he disapproved of them it was only for political reasons, and never on account of their religious ministrations, while he always expressed himself with great moderation. He both respected and admired the ancient Church of France, of which he spoke as a great, a fine, and a magnificent institution. In his house I have seen cardinals, bishops, and simple village pastors; all were received with infinite respect, and became the objects of tactful attention. An inappropriate word was never uttered before them; M. de Talleyrand would never have allowed anything of the kind. I have seen the Bishop of Rennes (the Abbé Mannay) spend months at Valençay and the Bishop of Evreux (the Abbé Bourlier) stay at M. de Talleyrand's residence in Paris with the same purity and freedom of conduct and enjoying the same respect as in their dioceses. Towards his uncle, the late Cardinal of Périgord, M. de Talleyrand was a tender, attentive, and deferential nephew. He was often to be seen at the Archbishop's house, where he was especially fond of a talk with the Abbé Desjardins, whom he liked for the gentleness and the wide range and tact of his conversation.

"I have often been astonished at the unconstraint of my uncle's bearing in the society of ecclesiastics, which I can only explain by supposing that he was under a delusion, strange, but real and long-lasting, concerning his actual position with reference to the Church. He was quite aware that he had dealt the Church a blow, but he thought that the process of secularisation which he had unduly stimulated had been one of simplification rather than of destruction.91 As his position thus seemed to him pretty clearly defined, he regarded it as easy. This mistake lasted as long as his political life, and only after his retirement did he think of defining more exactly his relations with the Papacy. But before this time a vague instinct made him feel that if, in his opinion, he did not exactly owe any reparation, he owed at least some consolation to those whom he had saddened. He therefore was ready to support the interests of the clergy upon every occasion, and never refused an alms either to a priest in distress or to a beggar, but tacitly recognised the claims of both upon him. His charity was great, and I gave him much pleasure by repeating to him a remark made by a most estimable person, which was as follows: 'You may set your mind at rest; M. de Talleyrand will come to a good end, for he is charitable.' I was able to remind him of this saying at the most solemn hour of his life, as you, M. l'Abbé, may remember, and remember, also, what consolation he derived from it. He was always deeply grateful to those in retirement from the world and in convents who prayed for him. He never forgot it, and used to say: 'I have some friends among the good souls.' His heart was touched because he was a good man, a very good man indeed; he felt this himself when he used to ask me: 'Am I not really better than I am thought to be?' Certainly he was better than he was thought; only his neighbours, his friends, and his servants could appreciate the extent of his simple kindness, his attention, his love, and his loyalty. You have seen our tears. The good-hearted alone are thus lamented.

"After his return from England he was twice strongly impressed with salutary effect by the Christian death of the Duc de Dalberg and by the religious habits which characterised the latter part of the life of Dr. Bourdois, his contemporary, his friend, and his doctor. He was grateful to Dr. Bourdois for entrusting him to the clever hands of M. Cruveilhier; he had confidence in his skill, and felt himself honoured to be so well attended by so religious a man. The earnestness of his doctor seemed to be regarded by him as an additional guarantee.

"Pope Pius VII. was always the object of his veneration; he devoted several pages of his memoirs to the struggle between this Pope and the Emperor Napoleon, and his view of the matter was entirely to the advantage of the Pope. He had a strong admiration for the policy of the Papacy as clever, quiet, gentle, and always uniform, which qualities he regarded as of first-rate importance in the conduct of business.

"Throughout the pontificate of Pius VII. my uncle thought himself in fairly good odour at Rome. In support of this conviction he often quoted to me a remark by the holy Father with reference to himself. The Pope was then at Fontainebleau, and was speaking to the Marquise de Brignole, a friend of M. de Talleyrand, and said, referring to my uncle: 'May God rest his soul; for my part, I have a great affection for him.'

"M. de Talleyrand was well aware that I often had the honour of seeing the Archbishop of Paris, and he had guessed that our intercourse was actuated by one principal idea as far as M. de Quélen was concerned – the desire to preserve his relations with my uncle. M. de Talleyrand was never worried by him; on the contrary; and though several letters addressed by the Archbishop of Paris to M. de Talleyrand at different times failed to achieve their object, he was none the less touched by the enduring interest he had inspired in a prelate whose character he honoured and whose sincere zeal and open-mindedness he appreciated. He also showed much interest in M. de Quélen and his political position, which he would like to have been able to render easier. Upon several occasions I have seen him attempt to do him some service, by advice which he thought useful, or by speaking warmly in his favour at any other time. This he did not merely from love of truth, but also as a testimony to the memory of the late Cardinal Périgord. He often said: 'I look upon M. de Quélen as a legacy from my uncle, the Cardinal. He likes us and our name and everything connected with the Cardinal.' On New Year's Day he used to instruct me to leave his card at the Archbishop's house, saying, 'We should always treat him as a grandparent.' He never saw me start upon a visit to Saint-Michel or to the Sacré Cœur92 without asking me to give his respects to the Archbishop. When I came back he used to ask me for news of him and whether his own name had been mentioned, and what M. de Quélen had said of him. He would listen attentively to my answers, smile, and say at length: 'Yes, yes, I know that he is very anxious to win my soul and to offer it to the Cardinal.' Up to his last year these remarks were never uttered very seriously, but with great kindliness.

"On December 10, 1838, I received very early notice of the death of the Princesse de Talleyrand. I was obliged to announce the news to my uncle, and I was most reluctant to do so, for it was just at this time that he was attacked by violent palpitations which made us fear a sudden death. Excitement above all was to be avoided, and I was afraid that this news might cause him some agitation. But it was not so, and he immediately replied calmly in words which much surprised me: 'That greatly simplifies my position.' At the same moment from the pocket of his dressing-jacket he drew out some letters and told me to read them. The first was written by a religious lady at the Sacré Cœur; M. de Talleyrand had known her well in past years, had done her some service, and always called her his old friend; she was Madame de Marbœuf. In this letter she spoke to him of God, and sent him a medal, which he always used to wear, and which to-day becomes yours.

"The second letter was sent to him by a clergyman near Gap, who was entirely unknown to him, and who spoke of God with admirable and touching simplicity.

"Finally, the third letter, inspired by the warmest faith, open-mindedness, reason, and sincere interest, boldly touched upon my uncle's religious position. He wrote a few lines to the Duchesse Mathieu de Montmorency to thank her for it, and constantly carried this letter about with him in a little pocket-book, where I found it after his death. He often spoke of it, and of the noble and unfortunate lady who had written it, and always with warmth and respect.

"He also knew that one of my cousins, Madame de Chabannes, a nun of the Grandes Carmélites at Paris, constantly prayed for him; he was touched by the fact, and would say to me, when speaking of these pious people: 'The good souls will not despair of me.' I know nothing so gentle or so loving as this saying of his, which showed that he had no fear that God would abandon him.

"In the case of any one who knew him as well as I did, attempts to urge him too rapidly along this path would have been tactless. It was, indeed, necessary to give these various impressions time to develop, and with him nothing was done quickly; his trust in time was infinite, and it was faithful to him unto death.

"Whenever I spoke to my uncle of his marriage, as I often did, I was not afraid so show him my surprise at a mistake as inexplicable as it was fatal in the eyes of God. He then replied: 'The truth is that I cannot give you a satisfactory explanation of it; it was done at a time of general disturbance, when people attached no great importance to anything, to themselves, or to others; there was no society and no family, and every one acted with complete carelessness in the midst of wars and the fall of empires. You do not know how far astray men may wander in periods of great social upheaval.' The same idea may be found in his proposed declaration to the Pope, the original of which is in my hands, when he wrote: 'This revolution which has swept everything away and has continued for the last fifty years.'

"Thus you may see that not only did he make no attempt to justify his marriage, but that he did not even try to explain it. His domestic life had been very unhappy under the Empire and the Restoration, and since that time I have always seen him embarrassed and ashamed of this strange bond which he no longer wished to bear, but the painful chain of which he could not entirely break; and when death broke it for him he realised his deliverance to the full.

"Some time afterwards, in March 1836, one of his servants was attacked by an illness which was soon declared mortal. My daughter induced the man to see a priest and to receive the sacraments. M. de Talleyrand knew of it, and expressed his satisfaction. On this occasion he said to me: 'Any other procedure in our house would have been a scandal which would certainly have caused unpleasant talk; I am delighted that Pauline should have prevented it.' The same evening he related the incident to Madame de Laval, and enlarged with satisfaction upon the influence which Pauline exerted upon the whole house by her firm and modest earnestness.

"In the spring of 1837 my uncle desired to leave Fontainebleau, whither he had come for the marriage of the Duc d'Orléans, before the Court had finished its stay. He told me to remain and to be present at the great festival which the King gave at Versailles a few days later. I rejoined him afterwards at Berry, where he had been anxious to go in time to meet the Archbishop of Bourges at Valençay, who was passing that way while making a tour of his diocese. I heard from Pauline that M. de Talleyrand had shown special attention to the prelate, even to the point of changing his personal customs. On Friday and Saturday he had declined to have meat upon his table, and all the meals were served as for a fast day.

"During the summer of the same year, 1837, the superior of the Sisters of Saint-André, who were established at Valençay by the care of M. de Talleyrand, came to inspect this community. He called at the Castle, where he was asked to dinner. As we left the table M. de Talleyrand said to me: 'I have an idea that the Abbé Taury is a member of the community of Saint-Sulpice; go and ask him.' I brought back a reply in the affirmative. 'I was sure of it,' he returned with satisfaction; 'there is a gentleness and reserve and a sense of propriety in the members of that community which is quite unmistakable.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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