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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER IV

1840

The Duchesse de Sagan, eldest sister of the Duchesse de Talleyrand, had died in the winter of 1840. A number of business difficulties were involved by the disposal of her property, and the Duchesse de Talleyrand resolved upon a journey to Prussia, which she had not visited since her marriage. She was accompanied by her eldest son, M. de Valençay, while her correspondent, M. de Bacourt, who had been appointed French Minister to the United States, went to take up his new post at Washington, where he remained for several years.

Amiens, May 16, 1840.– I cannot say with what fear I think of my departure from Paris this morning and of the real trials upon which we are to enter. I am now on the way to Germany, while you are starting for America.101 But to return to my journey of to-day: the roads are heavy, the postillions brought us along rather badly, and we did not arrive here until nine o'clock in the evening. I have read a good deal of the life of Cardinal Ximenes. It is a sober and a serious book, correctly written, but cold, and progress in it is difficult. I do not, however, regret my trouble with it, for I know but little of this great character, and he is worth studying.

The country is beautifully green and fresh, with bushy vegetation. We had pleasant weather, in spite of a few showers, but twenty times I told myself that travelling was the most foolish of all professions; to be carried along these interminable roads, bumped upon their rough surface, delivered to the tender mercies of postillions, fleeing from all one loves, going as rapidly as possible towards things and people who are quite uninteresting; thus spending one's life as though it were eternal, and only realising its shortness when it is at an end.

Lille, May 17, 1840.– This morning before leaving Amiens we heard mass in the fine cathedral. The 17th of May is a date of special import to myself. I gave myself some credit for going to mass so far from the house of the rector of the Academy, M. Martin, with whom we put up; then it was raining hard, and the Picard streets are very dirty and the pavement detestable.

The cathedral is really magnificent; strength, grace, and boldness are combined; stained-glass windows alone are wanting, as the light is too bright. I prayed with all my heart for the dead and for the living, and for the travellers who are to entrust themselves to the sea or traverse unknown lands.

On the road from Amiens to this town I read the Diable boiteux, the merits of which do not attract me in the least. The stories are too monotonous and uninteresting, and the constant tone of mockery and satire, which is not supported by the fine verse of Boileau, quite disgusted me. However, I have read it, and am glad it is over. I now know the nature of this book, which has had a certain reputation.

We had a better journey than yesterday. Our servants have gone to the office to arrange for to-morrow's journey, which will be complicated by the Belgian railways. After the mediocrity of Amiens and Arras, where I had some broth this morning, Lille strikes one as a large if not a great town, but I must admit that at present my travelling curiosity is benumbed and my interest remarkably dull.

Liège, May 18, 1840.– We have been fourteen mortal hours on the journey from Lille to this town, notwithstanding the help of the railway. The fact is that to make use of the railway it is necessary to make a round of twenty leagues, which considerably diminishes the advantage of it. From Courtrai one must go up to Gand, touch Malines, and then to Liège by Louvain and Tirlemont. A vast amount of time is wasted in stoppages at the numerous stations. Moreover, if one takes one's own carriage time is required to put it on a truck and take it off again, while the expense for the freight of carriages is so heavy that nothing is saved by the railway. It is certainly a marvellous invention, and the machinery is interesting. All is worked with perfect punctuality and order, but at the same time it is an unpleasant way of travelling, to my taste. There is no time to see anything; for instance, we passed along the outer walls of several towns which I should have liked to examine; we did not even pass through villages, but went straight across country, with no other event than occasional tunnels, cold and damp, in which the smoke of the engine becomes thick enough to choke one. Even though the wind carries away the smoke, it and the rattling of the engine would make you imagine yourself upon a steamboat. Imagination was the easier in my case as sickness and a certain stupefaction never left me. In short, I arrived worn out and more and more displeased with the fatigues and weariness of my enterprise. At Menin we were told to get out in a bitter wind to be searched by the Custom House officials; only when the examination was half over did they ask for our passports; upon seeing our rank the Inspector of Customs checked the ardour of his subordinates and allowed us to go. The fortress of Menin is most carefully kept, and as clean and well restored as it can be; and yet, if I am not wrong, I think that our protocols had required its destruction.

I was struck with great admiration for the wealth and the good cultivation of all Belgium, and if I had been able to satisfy my taste for old buildings by visiting Ghent, Malines, and other places I should have been consoled.

Bergheim, May 19, 1840.– To travel from Liège to Cologne would have been too long a day, so we are sleeping here in a very clean little inn, though we have no means of warming ourselves, in spite of the fact that the wind is icy. It is something of a hardship to be forced to go without a fire or to be suffocated by a cast-iron stove. I am undoubtedly a very ungrateful daughter of Germany, as I find numberless material discomforts which I did not suspect in past years, but which now cause me considerable exasperation.

I was greatly struck by the delightful country through which we passed on the road from Liège to Aix-la-Chapelle by way of Verviers. Chaudfontaine especially is a charming spot. The direct road would have been through Battice, but this road is out of use and repair, and we were directed from Liège to Verviers. The richness and beauty of the countryside, the activity of the factories, and the river valleys made the scene entirely animated and agreeable.

I was struck by the changed appearance of Aix-la-Chapelle. Although the watering season had not yet commenced, the town was as animated as possible; there are plenty of fine shops and new houses. At the same time I should not care to take the waters there, as there is nothing countrified about the place, and the walks are all too distant. To-day I read a large part of a book by the Président de Brosses, Italy a Hundred Years Ago. It is written with vigour and cheerfulness, wit and fancy, but the spirit of the eighteenth century and the writer's peculiar cynicism are obvious at every page.

Cologne, May 20, 1840.– We have reached here so early that we have decided to travel another dozen leagues to-day, after seeing Frau von Binzer, changing our money, and buying some eau de Cologne. How cold it is here! The change of climate becomes more and more perceptible.

Elberfeld, May 20, 1840.– Frau von Binzer is an extremely ugly person, but cheerful, sensible, clever, and very loyal. She spent last year with my sister, the Duchesse de Sagan, and had only left her for six weeks when she was overtaken by death. She wept bitterly in speaking of my sister, and assured me that her death was a happy deliverance; that she was so sad, so wearied, irritated, and disgusted with everything that her temperament had visibly changed. She seems to have had fits of actual despair, to have suffered a great deal during the last weeks, and to have had several presentiments of her death. She made her will on the evening before her last journey to Italy, in the course of five minutes, while she had some friends in the house taking tea. She told Frau von Binzer what she was doing, to her great astonishment. She had intended to make another will, but death came upon her as a punishment for her dilatoriness. Frau von Binzer was so grieved at the rapidity of our departure from Cologne that I could not refuse to take lunch with her. She lives a long way from the hotel where I had put up, and I therefore had a considerable walk to her house and back. My walk was prolonged because she insisted upon taking me out of my way to show me the Stock Exchange, an old and curious house of the Templars, the Town Hall, with its curious tower and doorway, and the cathedral, which the Crown Prince of Prussia has taken under his patronage, and which is being rapidly restored; the results will be admirable. We stopped for a moment in front of the Church of St. Mary of the Capitol, where Alpaide, the mother of Charles Martel, is buried. We also looked at two houses belonging to old aristocratic families in the time of the Hansa, which are in Byzantine style. At the same time Cologne is a very ugly town, and the Rhine is by no means beautiful at the spot where we crossed it.

Here we are, twelve leagues from Cologne, in the prettiest town conceivable, which reminds one of Verviers; the country about it is also pretty, and somewhat Belgian in character. All is clean and well cared for. The Prussian roads are truly admirable, the postillions go much better, and the horses are kept in good condition. In this respect and in many others the country has undergone a remarkable change. At the same time the iron stoves, the beds, and the food cause me discomfort. The railway is progressing, and it is intended to continue the line to Berlin. The work is being pushed on with great rapidity, and from Liège nothing is to be seen but navvies, machinery, and other preparations for this transformation scene.

Mersheden, May 21, 1840.– We reached Arnberg at five o'clock. This seemed a little early to finish our stage, so we continued our journey for six leagues more. Now we are in a typical village inn, but fairly clean, and with very obliging people. We might have found better accommodation at the next stage, but I could not bring myself to expose the servants any longer to the frightful weather. I have rarely seen any more dreadful; hail, rain, blasts, and storms all came down upon us. None the less I noticed that we were passing through country almost as pretty as that which we saw yesterday. It reminded me at times of the valley of Baden and of the narrower valley of Wildbad. I am still reading the Italy of the President de Brosses, which is amusing, but not entirely attractive. I will copy two passages which seem to me fairly applicable to our present mode of life: "Generally speaking, the inconveniences and the causes of impatience during a long journey are so many that one should avoid the further vexation of economy in small matters. It is certainly hard to be cheated, but we should satisfy our self-esteem by telling ourselves that we are cheated willingly and because we are too lazy to be angry." That is a piece of advice which I am inclined to practise too often. Here is the other passage which also suits my case: "In foreign countries we should be on our guard against satisfaction of the sight and weariness of the heart. There is as much as you please to amuse your curiosity, but no social resources. You are living only with people who have no interest in you or you in them, and however kind they are, it is impossible for either party to go to the trouble of discovering interest in the other when each knows that they are ready to part and never to meet again."

Cassel, May 22, 1840.– The weather to-day was as bad as yesterday, and the country not so pretty. Cassel is quite as small a town as Carlsruhe, and looks even less like a residential city. The suburbs especially are very poor. I found nothing to admire but a hill covered with magnificent oak-trees, which took us a long time both to ascend and descend. I feel the cold most bitterly, and everything here is so late that the lilac is hardly in flower.

On arriving I sent for newspapers, in which I saw an account of the long-delayed visit of the Hereditary Grand Duke of Russia to Mannheim. Poor Grand Duchess Stephanie! A year ago such a visit would have been an event; to-day it is mere empty courtesy, and it must have cost her an effort to receive it graciously. The only matter of interest to me in the newspaper was the bad account given, with no attempt at concealment, of the King of Prussia's health. This slow illness must change all the habits of the royal family and of Berlin society. I shall certainly not regret the entertainments, but I shall be sorry to be unable to pay my respects to the King, who was very kind to me in my youth.

Nordhausen, May 23, 1840.– It did not rain to-day, but it is cold enough for frost. To-morrow we have forty-one leagues to travel if we are to reach Wittenberg, a severe task which seems to me impossible. Fortunately we have done with the roads and the postillions of Hesse, which have remained faithful to the old Germanic aberrations. In Prussia both the posting system and the roads are excellent, the villages and their inhabitants look greatly superior, but for the last twenty-four hours, though the country is not precisely ugly, it has lost the richness and attractiveness which struck me on the road from Lille to Arnberg.

Wittenberg, May 24, 1840.– Forty-two leagues in twenty-four hours in a country where no one knows what going ahead means, is really excellent progress.

This town is an old acquaintance of my youth. When we used to go from Berlin to Saxony and from Saxony to Berlin, Wittenberg was always the second halt, for at that time macadamised roads were unknown. Progress was made at a walking pace, ploughing through deep sand. To-morrow I expect to cover twenty-seven leagues in nine or ten hours, which occupied two days in those earlier times. From Nordhausen to this point the country is ugly, and the inevitable pine-tree forests have reappeared. The cradle of my youth was certainly far from beautiful.

My curiosity was aroused by Eisleben and Halle, through which we passed. The former of these towns was Luther's birthplace. His house is well preserved, and there is a small museum there of all kinds of things relating to him and to the Reformation. I only saw the outside of the house, which is of no special interest, but at the door I bought a small description of Eisleben and its curiosities, which has made me quite learned.

Halle is very ugly, in spite of a few Gothic exteriors, past which I drove. Moreover, these university towns have invariably a character of their own, which is provided by the crowd of wretched students, with their noise and want of manners, who loaf about the carriages, with long pipes in their mouths, and seem quite ready to cause a disturbance.

Berlin, May 25, 1840.– The rain has been coming down again all day, and my re-entry to my native town was made under no agreeable auspices. Fortunately I had no reason to regret that the countryside was not in sunshine, for the scenery from Wittenberg here is atrocious. I had forgotten to some extent my native land, and was surprised to find it so hideous. However, I must make an exception of the bridge of Potsdam, which is really pretty. The bank of the Havel is bright and graceful with the wooded slopes which surround it, covered as they are with pretty country houses. Even Potsdam, which is only a summer residence, looks more like a capital town than Cassel, Stuttgart, or Carlsruhe; but half a league further on everything is as dry and dismal as possible, until the suburbs of Berlin, which gave me a real surprise on the side from which we reached the town. This happened to be an English quarter, with iron gateways before the houses, and a number of gardens between the gateways and the houses, which are small, but very well kept.

Berlin itself is a handsome town, but thinly populated, while as regards carriages, cabs are the dominant feature, and sadness is therefore its chief characteristic. I am staying at the Russicher Hof. Opposite is the Castle; a pretty bridge and the museum on the left; on the right are the quays. It is a pleasant aspect, and my room on the first floor is almost too magnificent.

My man of business, Herr von Wolff, told me that the King's condition was regarded as desperate, and that yesterday he sent for his eldest son, and entrusted him with the business of government. The scene is said to have been very touching. The King's illness is intestinal catarrh, which seems incurable. It is also said that he has had the deplorable privilege of bad doctors in Berlin, where the doctors are excellent. He can take no food, and is visibly wasting away; but death is not thought to be imminent. The day before yesterday he walked as far as his window to see the troops march past, and those who saw him were horrified by the change in his appearance.

The whole town is in sadness, and the royal family in despair. The Princess of Liegnitz is quite as ill as the King, with severe gastritis, and is thought to be in great danger.

M. Bresson, who has just spent an hour with me, is in despair at the King's condition. He will see no one except the Princess of Liegnitz, his doctors, and the Prince of Wittgenstein. He has seen the Crown Prince for a moment, but none of his other children, and says he feels too weak to see any one else. A messenger has just been despatched to the Russian Empress, to stop her progress at Warsaw, where she is to arrive to-morrow. The King would be in no condition to bear this interview, much less the lamentable scenes which the Emperor Nicholas would certainly make. The Empress is also said to be in a very sad way. This approaching death will be a great blow, which will re-echo near and far.

Berlin, May 26, 1840.– I slept fairly well. My bed is not quite so narrow or so extraordinary as some that I have found on the journey from Cologne to Berlin. Unless one is prepared to sleep on nothing but feathers, nothing is to be found but thin, hard mattresses nailed on to deal boards. The bedclothes are of a remarkable character, while the sheets look like towels. I had several of them sewn together, and thus succeeded in covering my bed. As regards bedrooms, Germany is undoubtedly in a state of savagery, even more so than with regard to food, which is extraordinary enough at times, though in Berlin even M. de Valençay admits that it is good. The cleanliness is perfect, and the furniture tasteful. There are carpets everywhere, and the iron stoves are replaced by fine porcelain stoves, which give no smell and heat the room excellently, but it is disappointing to be forced to use them on the 26th of May. M. Bresson utters terrible groans about the climate.

Is it not strange that I should have felt no emotion whatever upon re-entering this town where I was born and where I was largely brought up? I examined it with the same curiosity as I felt towards Cologne and Cassel, and that was all. I have no feeling of that special patriotism which I have long felt for Germany. I am a complete stranger both to things and people, entirely unconnected with the place, speaking the language with some hesitation; in short, I am not at home, or rather ill at my ease, and ashamed at being so. I do not think it would be thus if I were to return to London. I do not think I should then be delighted; I should probably burst into tears; but at any rate I should feel some emotion, as I feel at Valençay. I am less afraid of that which stirs my feelings than of that which freezes them.