Memoirs of the Duchesse de Dino (Afterwards Duchesse de Talleyrand et de Sagan), 1831-1835

During the month of June which I spent at Paris the King very graciously showed us Versailles, which should have impelled me to record here the profound impression made upon me by the first plan and the actual restoration. Fast as one forgets everything at Paris, Versailles remains dazzlingly clear in my recollection; all I feared was to have too much to say. I doubt if I could have revisited the Palace under more curious circumstances. On one side was M. de Talleyrand who reconstructed for us the Versailles of Louis XV., Louis XVI. and the Constituent Assembly, and on the other King Louis-Philippe. In the middle of the hall of 1792 the King was carried back to the earliest memories of his youth and made them live again by his words no less than by the fine portraits and interesting pictures he has collected. I had visited Versailles in April 1812 with the Emperor Napoleon who then dreamed of establishing his court there, and had gone to inspect the works which he had put in hand and which first extricated the palace from the ruin and disorder caused by the Revolution. The second visit I paid to Versailles might well recall the first! M. Fontaine, the clever architect, and I were the only people who could compare both restorations.

Berne, August 19, 1835.– The month of June which I spent in Paris was full of incident of all kinds. I am really ashamed that I have allowed the impressions of these to become so feeble that hardly a trace remains. I assisted at several conversations between the King and Madame Adélaïde. There were the little intrigues of the doctrinaires diffidently developing around me under the auspices of M. Guizot, in whom I have often remarked an easy hypocrisy which seems to me quite a new variety of charlatanism. All these, the alternations of exaltation and despondency through which M. Thiers kept passing, and a thousand other things which gave each day a character of its own, would have been well worthy of a few notes. I should have said something of a dinner at the Villa Orsini given by M. Thiers, where a motley collection of fifteen people gave the party a stamp of bad taste which embarrassed me and made M. de Talleyrand observe, "We have been to a Directoire dinner party."

Personal matters also have not been uninteresting. There was the death of young Marie Suchet and her mother's grief, the confirmation of my daughter Pauline on the occasion of which I met the Archbishop of Paris after five years of separation. All these events, so to speak, marked out one day from another and kept them from being confused one with another.

I was the more struck with my interview with M. de Quélen, as it was the occasion of a conversation which I do not wish to go unrecorded. The Archbishop returned to a subject which has always much concerned him, namely, the conversion of M. de Talleyrand, and spoke of it with the same vivacity as in the days of M. le Cardinal de Périgord. He repeated how eagerly he wished for this event, assured me that he had gladly accepted all the tribulations of his episcopal life in the hope that God would vouchsafe as a recompense for his own sufferings the return of M. de Talleyrand into the bosom of the Church. He exhorted me vehemently to co-operate by my own efforts in so meritorious a work, and added that, knowing how trustworthy I was, and, moreover, believing that it was well that I should know what he intended to do, he would confide to me that he had thought that in the last phrase of M. de Talleyrand's letter of resignation of November 13 last there was a return to serious thoughts, and that he had become convinced that the moment had come to act energetically. He had therefore written straight to the Pope at Rome to inquire what line the Holy Father thought he should follow. "The Holy Father's answer was not long in coming," said M. de Quélen; "it refers to M. de Talleyrand in kindly and affectionate terms. It gives me the right to absolve and reconcile him, and it extends my powers so far as to permit me to delegate them to the prelates of the various dioceses in which M. de Talleyrand might be attacked by his last illness, in particular to the Archbishops of Bourges and Tours. Finally, the Pope even showed a willingness to write personally to M. de Talleyrand." In my replies to M. de Quélen I necessarily temporised. I made it clear in the most precise terms that any direct overture would probably produce an effect the very opposite of that which was desired. For my own part I could never take other than a purely passive part in the matter. Assuredly I should be equally averse from any action contrary to the object desired by the Church, as from any which might disturb one for whose peace I am responsible, without securing the desired effect, which, if it ever is secured, will be due to a voice more mighty and more powerful than any human one.

The Archbishop also spoke to me of his own tribulations, of those he has experienced since 1830; they have been both strange and sad. I regret that latterly he has not been able to forget them a little more, and that when he returned to the Tuileries after the attempt of July 28,50 and reopened Notre Dame to the King, he did not accompany what he did with more frank and more definitely pacific words. He would then have avoided the reproach of speaking to two addresses, one at Prague, the other at Paris. The Archbishop's misfortune is that he has not quite the intellectual grasp which is necessary to play the difficult part which circumstances have imposed upon him. Neither has he the intense energy which redeems, and sometimes more than redeems, intellectual shortcomings. No doubt his sentiments are excellent, and his intentions admirable. He is kind, charitable, affectionate, grateful, sincerely attached to his duties, and always ready to face martyrdom, but he is too ready to receive impressions of every kind. It is easy to gain his confidence and to abuse it by pushing him into a path the end of which he does not perceive in time. He is afraid of criticism and is always provoking it by a hesitancy and a want of balance which arise from a vacillating intelligence, and the scruples of a conscience which is never certain whether what was good yesterday is good to-day. He would have been a good pastor in ordinary times; but in our day, in which no one seems suited to the place he occupies, the attitude he has taken up has made neither for his reputation with the public nor the peace of his private life. However, as he has many noble and good qualities, and as he has the deepest interest in all who bear the name of Talleyrand, which is much to his credit as it arises from gratitude to the Cardinal de Périgord, I wish with all my heart that his life may be made more tranquil than it has been in these recent years, and that his troubles may come to an end. Another man might have known how to turn them to his advantage; he can do nothing but succumb.

I have enjoyed the four weeks which I have lately been spending at Baden-Baden. I found many old acquaintances and had some agreeable meetings. There, too, I ought to have fixed my recollections by putting down a few lines about Madame la Princesse d'Orange, that pattern of all that education should make a Princess, about the King of Würtemberg and his daughters the Princesses Sophie and Marie, about the ill-concealed hostility of Mesdames de Lieven and de Nesselrode, about the genial philosophy of M. de Falk, about the fine talk of M. and Madame de Zea, in fact about everything good and bad which struck me in this gathering, of which each member had a distinction of his own.

They all group themselves more or less about Madame de Lieven, whose former glories and recent misfortune (the deaths of her two youngest sons in the same week), excited sympathy or imposed duties. I was very sorry for her, and her position seemed to me to contain a great lesson. She has lost her way and wanders at large. She is not resigned, and finds no pleasure in her regrets. She finds nothing but a cruel void in the distraction which she demands of every one. She finds no pleasure in occupation; she lives in the street, in public places, talks inconsequently, and never listens, laughs, cries and acts at a venture, asks questions without interest in the answers. This misery is the worse, as four months of sorrow have not taught her patience. She is already astonished that her regrets have lasted so long; but, as she will not submit herself to trouble, it will not wear itself out; she prolongs it by struggling against it. In the combat sorrow triumphs and the victim cries out, but the sound is discordant and awakes no sympathetic echo in the hearts of others. I have seen people, one after another, cease to pity her and care for her: she saw it too and was humiliated. She seemed grateful to me for continuing to be kind to her. She left me with the conviction that, if I had not been a consolation to her, I was at least a resource, and I am very glad of it.

It was a pleasure to me to see the lovely Lake of Constance again a few days ago. Three years ago I dreamed of taking a small château which was there. It has been burned down. I am now thinking of a cottage; I should be sorry not to have some shelter on this promontory from which the view is so rich, so varied, and so tranquil, and where it would be so pleasant to rest.

From Wolfsberg where I lived I several times went to Arenenberg to see the Duchesse de Saint-Leu; she seemed to me rather more tranquil than three years ago. Madame Campan's pretentious pupil, the Tragedy Queen, has given place to a good stout Swiss house-wife who talks with freedom, receives hospitably, and is pleased to see any one who comes to divert her in her solitude. Her little house is picturesque, but intended only for summer weather, though she lives there almost all the year round. The interior is small and narrow, and seems to have been made only for flowers, reeds, matting, and divans – it is in fact no more than a summer-house. The relics of imperial magnificence which are heaped together there are not altogether in keeping. Canova's marble statue of the Empress Josephine requires a larger setting. I should have liked with the stroke of an enchanter's wand to have transported to the Versailles Museum the portrait of the Emperor as General Bonaparte by Gros, which is certainly the finest modern portrait that I know. It ought to be the property of the nation, for the military and political history as well as all the glories and destinies of France are embodied in this perfect picture. In a little cabinet in a looking-glass case there are some precious relics mixed with a number of insignificant trifles. The cashmere scarf worn by General Bonaparte at the Battle of the Pyramids, the portrait of the Empress Marie-Louise and her son on which the dying eyes of the exile of St. Helena were fixed, and several other interesting relics lie there side by side with wretched little scarabs and a thousand trifling things without interest or value. Thus an eyeglass left by the Emperor Alexander at Malmaison, and a fan given by Citizen Talleyrand to Mlle. Hortense de Beauharnais, preserved in the midst of the memories of the Empire, show great freedom of thought and a certain amount of indifference, or else a remarkable facility of humour and character.

True I saw the Empress Josephine and Madame de Saint-Leu ask to be received by Louis XVIII. a fortnight after the fall of Napoleon. In London I saw Lucien Bonaparte make Lady Aldborough introduce him to the Duke of Wellington, and at the Congress of Vienna Eugène de Beauharnais sang to oblige the company. Ancient dynasties may be wanting in ability; new ones are always lacking in dignity.

Fribourg, August 20, 1835.– It would be, if not dignified, at any rate well bred, on Madame de Saint-Leu's part if she restored to the town of Aix-la-Chapelle the magnificent reliquary worn by Charlemagne, and found on his neck when his tomb was opened. This reliquary, which contains a piece of the True Cross under a great sapphire, was given to the Empress Josephine by the Chapter of the Cathedral in order to conciliate her favour. It must have been a painful sacrifice for them to part with this relic, to which it would have been a piece of delicacy and good breeding to put an end. What might be an appropriate possession for the successor of Charlemagne is a most unsuitable one for the mistress of the Arenenberg.

I have little to say of the journey which brought me here. Saint-Gall has a charming situation. The interior of the town is very ugly; the church and the adjoining buildings, which are now the seat of the Cantonal Government, have been restored too recently, and they missed their effect on me. Nothing recalls the strange glories of the ancient Prince Bishops of Saint-Gall. The nave of the church is fine, but there is none of the calmness of antiquity in it. The bridge, which you cross to reach the new road to Heinrichsbad, is a picturesque incident in a wooded country.

Heinrichsbad is quite a new establishment; and the Alpine situation of the isolated hotel affords opportunities for the goats'-milk cure. The part of Appenzell which we crossed on the way to Meynach reminded me more of the Pyrenees than any other part of Switzerland.

I was pleased to see the Lake of Zurich again; but the Lake of Zug, along which I passed the next day, being more shaded and retired, seemed to me even more lovely. There is a view of almost all of it from the Convent of the Nuns of S. Francis, whose house is high above the lake. I arrived as the ladies were saying Mass – not very well it must be confessed, but the organ and voices which come from invisible persons and an unseen place always affect me too deeply to allow me to be critical. The nuns are employed in the education of girls. Sister Seraphina, who showed me over the Convent, speaks French well, and her cell is extremely clean. The rule of the Convent did not seem to me very strict.

The chapel of Kussnach – on the very spot where Gessler was killed by William Tell, has some historic interest no doubt, but as regards situation it is far inferior to that on the Lake of Four Cantons, at the place where Tell leapt out of his persecutor's boat and pushed it back into the raging storm.

The position of Lucerne, which I knew, struck me again as very picturesque. The lion carved in the rock near Lucerne, after Thorwaldsen's design, is an imposing monument – a fine thought well rendered.

Berne, which I reached by way of the Immersthal, a pleasant valley covered with the most beautiful vegetation and ornamented with charming villages, has the aspect of a great city, thanks to its numerous fine streets and buildings. It is a melancholy place, however, and even in summer one feels how cold it must be in winter. The terrace, which is planted with trees and hangs high above the Aar, opposite to the mountains and the glaciers of the Oberland, is a splendid promenade, to which the Hôtel de la Monnaie on one side and the Cathedral on the other make a fine finish.

The road from Berne to this place has no remarkable features. The first view of Fribourg is striking and uncommon. The site is rough and wild; the towers thrown on the surrounding heights, the depth at which the river, or rather the torrent, flows at the foot of the rock on which the town is placed, and the hanging bridge above the houses, all make the scene exceedingly picturesque. The interior of the town, with its numerous convents and its population of Jesuits in long black robes and broad hats, is like a vast monastery, in which there is not wanting, on occasion, a faint flavour of the Inquisition. It is not in this mysterious and cloistered place that one feels oneself drinking in the classic atmosphere of Helvetian liberty. The new Jesuit College is so placed as to dominate the town, and the influence due to its importance is very great. To judge by the little which the traveller is permitted to see, this establishment is on the vastest scale and perfectly managed. There are three hundred and fifty children being educated there, most of them French; the buildings appear to me to be intended for an even larger number. Besides this great boarding-school the Jesuits have their own house adjoining, and in addition a country place about a league from the town.

I went to see the Cathedral, which would be quite unworthy of notice were it not for the organ which was playing as I entered and which seemed to me the most harmonious and the least harsh of any I have heard.

I am very glad to have seen Fribourg. I passed through eleven years ago without examining it. I now understand better the kind of part which this town plays in the religious history of the present time.

Lausanne, August 21, 1835.– The broad and easy road from Fribourg crosses a country partly wooded, partly cultivated, smiling and varied but not exactly picturesque, except at Lussan. The scenery does not become grand until the mountain chain which surrounds Lake Leman appears at the end of a pine wood, which for a long time conceals both the lake and the town of Lausanne.

Like all Swiss towns Lausanne is ugly inside. Its situation is picturesque; the variations of level are inconvenient for the inhabitants, but they provide several terraces from which the view is very fine. Those at the Cathedral and the Castle are the most thought of. I prefer the Montbadon promenade which is not so high, but from which one can see the country better. There are too many roofs in the other views.

Bex, August 23, 1835.– Less of wall and vineyard and a few more trees would make the road from Lausanne to Vevey charming. The country does not quite take my fancy until Vevey is reached. Chillon above all impressed me by its situation and its associations. I should like to have re-read Lord Byron's verses while I was going over the famous dungeons. His name alone which is scrawled in charcoal on one of the pillars of the prison (the same to which François de Bonnivard was chained for six years), is enough to make this dungeon poetic.

At Villeneuve the road leaves Lake Leman and plunges into a wild and narrow gorge. The sharp and curious indentations of the rocks which flank the road supply the only beauty which adorns the four long leagues to Bex. Quite near, on a spur of rock veined with many colours, and half hidden in a clump of trees, you can see the Castle of St. Triphon, which seemed to me very fine.

Bex itself is a village which bears no resemblance to the pretty villages of the Canton of Berne. Everything already suggests the neighbourhood of Piedmont. We are all at the Auberge de l'Union which is the only one in the place and is neither good nor bad. The sulphur baths established here did not succeed; neither did the goat's milk cure. In fact the place is bare of resources and very sombre and dull, though for me it is lighted up by the rosy cheeks of Pauline and the brightness of her blue eyes. I was delighted to get here.

I got a letter on my arrival which had been left for me by Admiral de Rigny on his way to Naples. He tells me that he has found everywhere on his way a definite belief that the Duchesse de Berry was at Chambéry on the 24th, and that on the 30th, Berryer who was going to take the waters at Aix-en-Savoie disappeared a few hours after the attempt on the King's life in Paris, and afterwards reappeared at Aix much upset. Like M. de Rigny I have found this version of the story current everywhere. The Swiss papers also describe Madame la Duchesse de Berry, but nothing is certain.

At Maintenon the Duc de Noailles has just been having a party of clever and intriguing people. M. de Chateaubriand, Madame Récamier, the Vicomtesse de Noailles, M. Ampère, in fact the whole morning congregation of the Abbaye-aux-Bois.51 I am sorry to hear it: the Duc de Noailles should not forsake the high road for such a byway.

From what I hear from Touraine I see that the atrocity at Paris of the 28th July,52 has aroused indignation there, an indignation, however, which feared to speak above its breath and which is perhaps even now forgotten. We live in a time when so many monstrosities are produced on the stage, when books are so full of them, and when they are so common in real life that the public have supped full with horrors and have become indifferent to them and quite familiarised with crime. The town of Tours, a place so essentially calm, has distinguished itself by refusing to send addresses from the Tribunal, the Conseil Municipal and the Conseil d'Arrondissement. Two rogues, glibly arguing about the letter of the law, were enough to set all the indifferent at their ease. It appears however that a creditable number of the Garde Nationale showed themselves the day of the funeral service and sent an address with some show of cordiality. When one sees the most violent and criminal passions on the one side and on the other an exhibition of laziness and indifference, one wonders whether the repressive laws asked for by the French Ministry will be enough. Perhaps they will only irritate!

This is an evil age of ours; good centuries are rare but there is no example of one that is worse than this. I pity with all my heart those who are called upon to govern it, M. Thiers, for example, whose weariness and anxiety appear in a letter which I received from him yesterday from which I give an extract. After speaking of the personal danger from which he escaped at the time of the attempt of July 28, he adds, "But my only trouble, and it is overwhelming, is the immense responsibility of my position. I am on my feet day and night. I go from the Prefecture of Police to the Tuileries, to the Chamber, without a moment's rest, and without being sure that I have foreseen everything, for the fertility of evil is infinite, as is the case in every disordered society in which every criminal has formed a hope that he may attain anything by setting the world on fire. There are some scoundrels who would blow up this planet if they were allowed. On the day after the horrible massacre all that occurred to them to say was 'we shall see:' these are the very words of the leader of the assassins. I know not when I shall have the rest which will be the reward of these troubles, nor what issue out of my affliction will be vouchsafed to me."

Immediately after the explosion of the infernal machine, when she learned that her husband and children had not perished, our good Queen said, "How did my sons behave?" an inquiry which I think was worthy of her. The young Princes behaved with touching devotion. They gathered closely round the King, and the next day, when traces of a bullet were discovered on the King's forehead, the Duc d'Orléans said, "And yet I made myself as tall as I could yesterday."

While Madame Récamier is at Maintenon with the Duchesse de Noailles, my sister-in-law, the Princesse de Poix, goes to the Duchesse d'Abrantès' Mondays where one meets Madame Victor Hugo! Wit and politics have strangely intermingled all society, good and bad!

M. le Duc de Nemours is going to London. He is nice-looking, dignified, serious and reserved, with a great air of youth and nobility. One would expect him to have a great success in England, but his excessive shyness so completely deprives him of all ease and grace in conversation that he will perhaps be rated at much less than his real value.

Of all the congratulatory letters written to the King of the French by foreign sovereigns on the occasion of the attempt of July 28, the most cordial was that of the King of the Netherlands. This seems to me very good taste on his part, and I am very glad of it. I have always thought that since his misfortunes the King of the Netherlands has shown ability, readiness, and a persistency which, whatever his ultimate success, will assure him a fine page in the history of our time in which there is so little that is good to say about anybody.

While the King of the French submits to escorts and measures of precaution, and is adopting a more Royal state, the President of his Council comes to diplomatic dinners at the Tuileries in coloured trousers and without decorations, and this Minister is the Duc de Broglie!

Jerome Bonaparte and all his family have left Florence and are now at Vevey; the cholera is driving every one out of Italy into Switzerland.

Bex, August 24, 1835.– The weather having cleared, we have been to see the salt mines near Bex, which are the only ones in Switzerland, and do not produce enough to supply the needs of the country. We did not go far into the mine because of the damp cold which we felt gaining on us, but we saw the refining plant in detail. The salt seemed to me very pure and white.