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

Nothing can be more free from slander than the real Memoirs. I do not say that there are not occasional sallies of that gay and subtle malice which is so characteristic of M. de Talleyrand's wit. But there is nothing unkind, nothing insulting and less scandal than in any work of this kind. M. de Talleyrand treats women with respect or at least with politeness, restraint and indulgence though they have occupied so large a place in his social existence. It is clear that he is grateful for the charm which they have imparted to his life, and if some day serious persons find the Memoirs incomplete as history, and curious ones do not find all the revelations they expect, they may perhaps blame M. de Talleyrand's careless indolence; women at least will always be grateful to him for the good manners which inspired his reticence and deprived the cynical publicists of to-day of new weapons for calumny and evil speaking.

London, June 22, 1834. Sir Robert Peel with whom I dined yesterday pointed out to me that M. Dupin, who was also present, was much more like an American than a Frenchman. This is nearly the worst compliment which could be paid any one by an Englishman of good breeding. Sir Robert seemed to me to be in quite particularly good spirits. His careful questions about the members of the French Ministry, his insistence on his affection and admiration for M. de Talleyrand made me think that he had some idea in his mind that he would soon be in a position in which he would have direct dealings with them. I asked him whether he thought that Parliamentary manners and the tone of debate had changed since the Reform Bill was passed. He said they had up to a certain point, but that what had particularly struck him was the complete absence of any new talent, notwithstanding the accession of new members to the House of Commons.

I thought him at least as much pleased as surprised by this. He has certainly excellent reasons for not wishing that the old parliamentary celebrities should be effaced.

His house is one of the prettiest, best arranged, and best situated in London. It is full of fine pictures and valuable furniture, yet there is nothing pompous or ostentatious about it. Everything is in the best taste and nothing shows a trace of Sir Robert's humble origin. Lady Peel's modest but distinguished countenance, her quiet and amiable manner, the intelligent faces of the children, the wealth of flowers which shed their perfume through the house, the great balcony opening on the Thames, from which you can see both Westminster and St. Paul's – everything combines to make the general effect both complete and charming. Yesterday evening was fine and really hot, and the combined brilliance of a lovely moon and of the gaslight on so many bridges and buildings made one feel one's self anywhere rather than in foggy England.

London, June 23, 1834.– Lord Clanricarde, Mr. Canning's son-in-law has resigned his place in the Household because he is angry at not getting the Post Office which was given to Lord Conyngham.

The great Conservative dinner in the City the day before yesterday was signalised by the presence of the Duke of Richmond, and by his Grace's reply to the Lord Mayor when he proposed the toast of the Duke of Wellington and the Peers who were present. The Duke of Richmond made a sort of public profession of his attachment to Church and State, and when the Lord Mayor proposed the health of the Earl of Surrey, the eldest son of the Duke of Norfolk, who is a member of the House of Commons, but who is not a Conservative and who is a Catholic, the Earl replied that he was convinced that the House of Commons would not be behind the Upper Chamber in maintaining the Church, yes, the Church and the ancient constitution of the realm. The cheering was immense.

Everything, it seems, tends to bring Mr. Stanley and Sir Robert Peel closer and closer together. It is hoped that this alliance, already far advanced, will bring about the fall of the present Cabinet, but a sharp transition is not desired, for that might frighten John Bull who doesn't like Coalition Cabinets.

London, June 25, 1834.– In the large provincial towns of England there are every year what are called "Musical festivals." At these as a rule the great oratorios are given, and celebrated artists from all countries are engaged at great expense. These festivals last for several days; all the smart people from the various parts of the county come into the town where the music is performed in the churches in the mornings, the evenings being given up to diversions of a more worldly character. Next to horse racing these functions draw the greatest crowds.

In London a festival takes place only every fifty years, and yesterday was one of these anniversaries. The whole Court was present in state and will be on the three remaining days. Westminster Abbey was full, and, though less imposing than at the King's coronation, the spectacle was even more brilliant. The arrangements were excellent; there was no crowding or embarrassment; everything went very well. The number of musicians, vocal and instrumental, was enormous – seven hundred in all. Unfortunately the Abbey is so high, and constructed on principles so detrimental to all musical effect, that the prodigious numbers of voices and instruments which, it was said, was enough to bring down the building, hardly filled it. One felt this particularly during the first part of Haydn's Creation. Handel's Samson, a broader and more powerful composition, was more suited to the circumstances of the occasion. The Funeral March made a deep impression on me and the final air sung by Miss Stevens with a trumpet obbligato was very fine. But the general effect was marred by the great mistake of placing the singers so low that their voices were lost before they could rise to the roof, there to find the point from which they could re-echo. I think the organ is the only instrument which can sufficiently fill a great cathedral. In such a place all the orchestras in the world sound thin and incongruous, and I was sorry yesterday that the organ was not used in the concerted pieces as it would have made the effect richer and more impressive. I even felt that this concert music was out of place in a church. It was like the effect of an academic panegyric, however beautiful and noble, being pronounced in a pulpit instead of a funeral sermon.

London, June 26, 1834.—A propos of certain of our countrymen M. de Talleyrand remarked yesterday: "It is extraordinary how much talent vanity consumes." Nothing can be truer, especially as he applied it.

It is announced that the Greek Order of the Saviour and the Portuguese Order of Christ have been conferred on M. de Talleyrand. On the occasion of his receiving the latter he told me that under the Empire, when Orders were raining upon him from every side, the Comte de Ségur, Grand Master of the Ceremonies, seemed rather cast down because he had not got any. M. de Talleyrand begged the Emperor to allow him to give M. de Ségur the Order of Christ which he had just received. This was done to M. de Ségur's great satisfaction, and he never afterwards appeared without his broad ribbon.

London, June 27, 1834.– The late Lord Castlereagh had a curious way of speaking French. He said to Madame de Lieven that what gave him most pleasure in her conversation was that his mind became "liquide" when in her company, and one day, speaking of the union which prevailed among the Great Powers, he said to her that he was delighted to say that they were all dans le même potage, a rather too literal translation of the English idiom "in the same mess."

Yesterday I had a long conversation with my cousin Paul Medem. He understands very well the difficulties of his position, which begin with the keen regret with which M. and Madame de Lieven are yielding him the place. These difficulties will be removed in part by the very wise advice of the Czar, that he should remain altogether outside the internal politics of England, and become neither Whig nor Tory. He told me that the real reason why he had been preferred to Matuczewicz, was the marked and uncompromising character of the opinions which the latter had adopted in England, where he went in for politics with the vigour of John Bull himself.

June 28, 1834.– The King of England is ill and his haste to see the Queen depart has suddenly changed into keen regret that she is going. She did everything she could to persuade him to allow her to stay, but the King replied that it was too late to change his mind, that all was ready and that she must go. To stay now would give rise to all sorts of unfortunate conjectures which should be avoided. "Besides," he added, "if a change in the Ministry comes soon it is better that you should be absent so that they cannot say, as they did some years ago, that you influenced me." The same day, speaking of his Ministers, the King said, "I am tired to death of these people," and when some one observed that if so, it was very curious that he did not dismiss them, he replied very sensibly, "But two years ago when I sent for the Tories they left me stranded at the end of twenty-four hours and abandoned me to the Whigs. This must not happen a second time. I shall therefore do nothing one way or the other, but let them fight it out as best they can among themselves." Things will not, however, turn out as before, for it was the refusal of Sir Robert Peel to take office which wrecked the plan on the former occasion. Now he is willing to take up the succession, and public opinion is prepared to see him do so.

I hear much of internal dissensions in the Cabinet. It appears that Lord Lansdowne will not remain with Mr. Ellice, especially since the declaration of the latter in favour of the principles of Mr. O'Connell. It is also said that Lord Grey doesn't get on with Mr. Abercromby. Finally the disunion of the Cabinet is obvious, even to the public, and is being, I think, rather cleverly exploited by the Conservative Party.

The Prince de Lieven yesterday introduced Paul Medem to Lord Grey, who appeared much embarrassed, and, after a long silence, found nothing to talk about but France, M. de Broglie, M. de Rigny, the elections, &c., just as he might have done with a French chargé d'affaires. For a Russian one, just come from St. Petersburg, this was very curious – Lord Grey's praises of Broglie were excessive; his questions about Rigny cold and distrustful.

London, June 29, 1834.– It is very strange that, as things are, Lady Holland, who has always professed to be a friend of Lord Aberdeen in spite of the difference of their political opinions, should have asked M. de Talleyrand to meet him at dinner at her house!

Yesterday I took leave of the Queen; everything seemed definitely arranged for her departure.

Don Carlos and his suite are established at Gloucester Lodge, a pretty house in one of the suburbs, which is called Old Brompton. This house, whose present owner is unknown to me, was built by the mother of the present Duke of Gloucester who gave it its name. Don Carlos's close proximity to London much embarrasses all the members of the diplomatic corps, whose courts have left their relations with Spain conveniently vague. The signatories of the Quadruple Alliance are of course out of the game.

London, June 30, 1834.– The Marquis de Miraflorès makes no progress in the difficult art of behaving tactfully in society. The other day he made another curious lapse. It was at the house of Lord Brougham the Chancellor, where he had been talking to M. de Talleyrand. The latter, turning to go, found himself face to face with Lucien Bonaparte. They greeted each other and exchanged inquiries, coldly but politely, and M. de Talleyrand was about to take his leave when he was stopped by the Spanish Minister, who in a loud voice asked the French Ambassador to present him to Lucien Bonaparte! It was a perfect example of tact!

The Duke of Wellington, whom I saw yesterday at a concert in honour of Madame Malibran, told me that he had been with Don Carlos that morning, and had had a very curious conversation with him. He could not give me an account of it then because of the crowd which surrounded us listening to everything we said, but he told me that nothing could exceed the squalour, poverty and untidiness of this King and Queen of Spain and the Indies. The Duke was the more astonished at this, as they have found money here, and might easily have bought a little soap and clean linen. All that the Duke told me of the conversation was as follows. First he told them the truth as he always does, and, seeing a priest, then observed, "God doubtless does much for those who invoke His help, but He does even more for those who do something for themselves." The priest only said that there was a Spanish proverb to the same effect.

London, July 1, 1834.– Yesterday we received the news of the death of Madame Sosthène de la Rochefoucault, an event which proves that I am right in maintaining that there is no such thing as a malade imaginaire. Nothing, in fact, can be so tedious and wearisome as to be constantly watching, dieting and pitying one's self. How could any one keep up such a pretence unless some serious and painful symptom condemned one to it? But there are two things which the world never will believe in – the troubles and the sufferings of others. Every one is so afraid of being asked for sympathy and help, that it is found more convenient to deny the facts than to sacrifice one's self. All my life I have heard Madame Sosthène abused; she was described as a lazy, complaining creature who had in reality the constitution of a Turk. When one does not look delicate, and even sometimes when one does, nothing short of dying will convince people that one is really ill. The world is only too ready to give exhibitions of its curiosity, its indiscretion, and its calumny, but its compassion, like its indulgence, only comes after the event, when you have no longer any need of it.

M. de Montrond talks of returning to Louèche to put his poor body in a bath. It would be a good thing if it were possible to put his soul in also. His visit here was an even worse failure than that of last year. When you have survived yourself, your fortune, your health, your wit, and your manners, and when there does not even remain the faintest reflection of your past glories to give you a little consideration in the world, the spectacle which you present is deplorable. I said one day to M. de Talleyrand that in my opinion nothing was left to M. de Montrond except to blow out his brains. He replied that he would do nothing of the sort, because he had never been able to put up with the smallest deprivation, and he would not willingly accept the deprivation of life any more than any other.

Madame de Montrond, who was divorced from her first husband19 in order to marry M. de Montrond, told me that one day, after she had been divorced for the second time and had resumed her maiden name Aimée de Coigny, she was being driven in a phaeton with M. de Montrond, who himself took the reins. She was admiring the fine pair of English horses and praised the view, the equipage, and the driver. "It is not much of a pleasure," he replied; "what would be worth doing would be to harness two young tigers, lash them to fury, to tame them, and then to kill them." This is, indeed, the language of an insatiable soul.

London, July 2, 1834.– The Queen is definitely going on the 5th. She will cross in the yacht Royal George, which people are going to visit out of curiosity, as well as two splendid steamboats, which will act as tugs when necessary. The whole Yacht Club will escort her, and the North Sea will be covered with a charming little fleet. The Queen is to land at Rotterdam some time on the 6th, and will proceed the same evening incognita to her sister, the Duchess of Weimar, who lives in the suburbs of The Hague. The Prince of Orange, I understand, is to be there as if by chance. The Princess of Orange is in Germany with her sister.

London, July 3, 1834.– Lord Grey has become extremely nervous and irritable. Yesterday, while dining with Lord Sefton, he was, as they say here, quite cross because dinner was later than usual; because Lady Cowley, a witty and animated woman but a great Tory, was there; and, finally, because every one was in full dress for the Duke of Wellington's ball. It is really curious that a man in Lord Grey's exalted position and of such a noble nature as he, should be so sensitive to small matters, and should have nerves so childishly susceptible.

The Duke of Wellington gave a splendid ball, very magnificent, brilliant, and well-arranged. All the guests did their best not to dim the lustre of the proceedings, and I think they were successful.

M. Royer-Collard writes to me: "The aspect of the elections is deceptive; they are much less ministerial than they seem. Next Session will be very heavy, and the Ministry is prepared for trouble. The great number of coalitions is a very serious symptom. What must be the violence of the hatreds which have formed such an alliance!" Further on he adds, "When one knows a person one is usually able to predict with fair accuracy what he will say or do in given circumstances, but M. Dupin defies all calculation. The rashness of his speech is such as cannot be foreseen; it is the same here as in London, and it makes it impossible that he should ever come into power."

London, July 4, 1834.– The other day the Queen said something which seemed very ridiculous to the person to whom she said it, but which seems to me quite intelligible, probably owing to what M. de Talleyrand would call my allemanderie. She said that "during the sixteen hours which she spent last week in Westminster Abbey during the performance of the great oratorios, she had had more time and leisure to reflect on her position, and for self-examination than she usually had." This has led to her making discoveries, for instance that she was more attached to the King than she was perhaps aware, that she was more necessary to her husband than she had thought, and, in a word, that henceforth England was her only true country. All this makes her departure particularly painful, but she has one consolation. This is the thought that when she is away the King will be more disposed to assist in bringing about a change of Ministry, and that it cannot be supposed that in doing so he is yielding to her influence. There is much, perhaps too much, frankness in such pieces of self-revelation, but I think that all these ideas are perfectly natural, and I understand perfectly how they were inspired in the places and circumstances above described.

The King for his part gives the most curious explanations of his regret at the Queen's leaving him, which grows keener day by day. Thus he said to Madame de Lieven yesterday. "I could never explain to you, Madame, the innumerable ways in which the Queen is of use to me." This is a strange and rather ridiculous way of putting it. The King has gout in his hands which makes it difficult to use them, prevents him from riding, and often from writing. This causes him much pain when he has many papers to sign, and makes him depend on his valet in the smallest matters. All his fine plans of resuming his bachelor existence and of amusing himself as suits his fancy are abandoned. So much so that his Majesty concluded his confidences to Madame de Lieven by saying that once the Queen is gone he would go to Windsor and live there like a hermit, never leaving the place till she came back.

The departure of her Majesty, which takes place to-morrow, will be a really splendid spectacle. Besides her own vessel the two great steam-boats and all the Yacht Club, the Lord Mayor, and all the City Companies will escort the Queen in their State barges as a mark of respect up to the point on the river at which their jurisdiction ends. It is said, too, that a Dutch fleet is to be sent to meet her.

Almack's, the celebrated Almack's,20 which for twenty years has been the despair of the middle classes, the object of the emulation and the desire of so many young ladies in the provinces, Almack's, which gives or withholds the stamp of fashion, Almack's, the despotism par excellence, ruled with a rod of iron by six of the most exclusive ladies in London; Almack's, like all modern institutions, carries in its bosom the seeds of its own destruction! Following on a relaxation of internal regulations came a violation of its privileges, for the Duke of Wellington dared to give a ball on Wednesday, the day devoted and consecrated exclusively to Almack's. Finally, there has been disunion and a conflict of jurisdiction in the Council of Six, and like the constitution of Church and State, so much shaken at present, Almack's also threatens to fall to pieces, and we fear for the safety of an institution where young ladies find husbands, women of position an exercising ground for their pretentions, novelists the most brilliant scenes in their stories, foreigners their introduction to society, and everybody a more or less legitimate interest to occupy them in the height of the season.

Lady Jersey is accused of being the subversive spirit. The counts in the indictment against her are numerous. She would not allow the appointment of younger patronesses, who being livelier than their elders might have revived the fading interest people took in the place. She had been much to blame in giving tickets carelessly to people who were anything but elegant, and had refused to submit her lists to the inspection of her colleagues. Further, having herself introduced an undesirable element at the balls, she had decried them, and in spite of the fact that she was a patroness had ceased to go herself, and had persuaded the Duke of Wellington to give a ball on Wednesday. She had tried to force the other patronesses to change the day, and finally, not content with having set at naught in this way all the most sacred traditions of the institution, she had written an arrogant and preposterous letter, or rather manifesto, to Lady Cowper, complaining that, as her advice had been disregarded, Almack's had clashed with the Duke of Wellington's Ball, and threatening that, as she was very angry at this, she would resign her position as a member of the Committee. It is expected that at the next meeting there will be a great row. I confess that if the public were admitted I should certainly be present.

It must be admitted that Lady Jersey carries blind vanity to a degree which is beyond all bounds. She is absolutely stupid, and her origin is bourgeois.21 Her husband is too indulgent, and she is beautiful with a beauty which is imperfect but very well preserved. Her health is robust, her energy untiring, and the possession of all these advantages has convinced her that she has enough money to excuse all her caprices, enough beauty to be the despair or the rapture of all the men about her, enough wit to rule the world, and enough authority to be always paramount without question in the favour of princes, in the confidence of statesmen, in the hearts of the young men, and even in the opinion of her rivals. She thinks her superiority so incontestable that modesty is unnecessary and would be merely hypocritical, so she does without it perfectly. She speaks of her beauty, which she exhibits with all the complacency of Helen of Troy, of her wit, her virtue, and her sensibility each in its turn. Piety arrives punctually on Sunday and departs on Monday. She has neither restraint nor ability, nor generosity, nor kindness, nor honesty nor dignity. She is either mocked or hated, either avoided or feared. In my opinion her heart is bad, her head empty, her character dangerous, her society tedious, but when all is said and done she is as they say, "the best creature in the world."

London, July 6, 1834.– The rather violent altercation in the House of Commons between Mr. Littelton, Chief Secretary for Ireland, and Mr. O'Connell has not been well received, and has brought out in a strong light both the indiscretion of the former and the want of principle of the latter. After such a scene it was expected that the two champions would have a mutual explanation not without arms, and that Mr. Littelton would resign or be dismissed. But the political epidermis is neither very fine nor very sensitive; the manners and customs of Parliament make people callous very quickly, and ambition and intrigue promptly dethrone every sentiment of delicacy, and sometimes every sentiment of honour.