Читать книгу: «Memoirs of the Duchesse De Dino (Afterwards Duchesse de Talleyrand et de Sagan), 1841-1850», страница 7

M. de Salvandy tells me that he will come here on his way to Spain.

Rochecotte, November 6, 1841.– I hear that the Russian Ambassador at Paris has just received orders from his Sovereign to start for St. Petersburg in a week. Every one is attempting to conjecture the reason.

Rochecotte, November 11, 1841.– The Duchesse d'Albuféra writes to say that the real reason for the sudden recall of the Russian Ambassador, Count Pahlen, by the Emperor Nicholas in the midst of winter, is to secure that he shall not be the spokesman of the diplomatic body before the King on New Year's Day when congratulations are offered. It is even said that, in order that the Russian Ambassador may be the youngest ambassador at Paris, Pahlen's place will be taken by M. de Bouténieff, but this is only a rumour.

Rochecotte, November 16, 1841.– Yesterday when we were about to sit down to dinner I saw M. de Salvandy arriving. I thought that he was on his way to Madrid. Nothing of the kind. Exhausted by the continual questions concerning his reasons for delay and the time of departure, he resolved to pay a round of visits in the country to avoid inquisitive people: he then came from Pontchartrain and is going on from here to Madame Maillé and to others of his friends. He says that the session of the Chambers at Paris will be stormy and that the ministerial rivalry of MM. Dufaure and Passy will cause difficulty.

Rochecotte, November 18, 1841.– M. de Salvandy went away yesterday after lunch. The evening before he had had dreadful news from Spain where anarchist massacres are proceeding; Espartero seems to be at last anxious for the presence of the French Ambassador and M. de Salvandy assumes that he will soon be crossing the Pyrenees. Before he went away he related a somewhat amusing incident; a few days ago he met the Demidoffs at the house of the Duchesse Decazes; there were only three or four persons in the room and the conversation was almost general. They were speaking of a story which is now going round Paris, to the effect that Mlle. Rachel had sold herself to M. Véron for two hundred thousand francs; whereupon M. Demidoff, in a manner impossible to imitate cried, "See the power of money!" Those present, after an involuntary glance at Madame Demidoff, preserved a solemn silence, which was fortunately interrupted in a moment by another caller.

Yesterday I had a letter from Madame de Lieven. She says that the Queen of England was disappointed that she had not been confined of twins; she was hoping that the Prince of Wales would be accompanied by a Duke of York.⁴⁵ England has presented a Note requesting an explanation of the concentration of French troops near the Pyrenees, and announcing that she would not permit France to carry war into Spain. She has thus stopped a strongly marked inclination to support the friends of Queen Christina with cannon shot; and this Queen is in great despair that people should wish to use her as a pretext. Speaking of herself, she says that her chance is over and that no one should think of her as a possibility; that she would never return to Spain or she would certainly meet the fate of Marie Antoinette.

Yesterday evening in the drawing-room we read a eulogy upon Madame de Rumford, written by M. Guizot, who had sent it to me. I thought it rather dry and the sentences too long; in short it wants grace, though not thought.

Rochecotte, November 27, 1841.– I have had letters from my son-in-law from Carrara, dated the 17th. To-morrow they were to have reached Florence, but they encountered a storm for eighteen hours in the Gulf of Spezzia: the ship was damaged and they were in some danger. At length they fortunately came into harbour and are now in a pony trap, for it was impossible to disembark their carriage. He gives a dreadful account of their journey. Poor Pauline was exhausted and entirely worn out; she had a presentiment that the crossing would be a bad one, for she wrote to me from Genoa saying that she was very reluctant to take this route.

Rochecotte, November 28, 1841.– I have a letter from Pauline from Lucca which adds some serious details to those related by her husband. They nearly foundered and were themselves obliged to gain the coast in a small boat. My son-in-law was almost drowned; in short, it was a regular disaster. I long to hear that my dear Pauline is resting for a few weeks at Florence. During the terrible time that they spent at sea two ships were lost and all on board perished, off Livorno.

Rochecotte, December 2, 1841.– Yesterday I concluded my round of farewell visits in weather which really gave these attentions some value. After dinner M. de Salvandy came in; this time he was definitely on his way to Madrid and is starting this morning.

Yesterday I had letters from Pauline written at Florence and dated the 22nd. She is living on the kindness of friends, as she has not yet recovered either her trunks or her carriage. She reached the town like a heroine in a novel, with her jewel box under her arm and not a single garment in her possession.

Rochecotte, December 3, 1841.– Yesterday morning a huge flash of lightning and a clap of thunder followed by a waterspout bursting over Rochecotte, made us rush hurriedly out of our rooms; there were two inches of water in the dining-room and four in the kitchen. Madame de Podenas arrived shortly afterwards with her son from the house of her mother, the Duchesse des Cars, who has a country house on the other side of Tours. I had known Madame de Podenas very well in times past and am always glad to see her again. I had even intended, as I thought she was in Italy, to make a journey from Nice to Genoa to see her, as she has been settled for the last few years in a villa near that town. The villa which she has bought is called Il Paradiso and was built by Michael Angelo. She is greatly changed but is as cheerful and pleasant as ever. She boldly resumed her journey in the course of the evening. M. de Salvandy started yesterday morning for Madrid; Alava, who was here, went to Tours, Vestier to Chinon, and my son to Valençay, so that Fanny and myself will be alone until we shortly start for Nice.

Rochecotte, December 5, 1841.– Yesterday my time was entirely devoted to preparations for departure. My niece's health does not improve, I am not very well myself, and the weather is frightful.

Yesterday I had a very kind and obliging letter from the Duc d'Orléans; he writes to bid me farewell before my departure, and to offer me his congratulations on the escape of the Castellanes from the dangers of the sea; he had heard of their adventures from the Duchesse d'Albuféra. He seems very uneasy at the general state of public opinion, and by no means satisfied with the policy of the authorities.

Saint-Aignan, December 7, 1841.– I left my pleasant little Rochecotte yesterday morning to resume the monotonous life of high-road travel, which is the more unpleasant in consequence of the dreadful weather. We lunched at Tours with the Prefect, Alava and Vestier. As we passed by Chenonceaux I paid a half-hour's call, which I had been owing for years, upon Madame de Villeneuve. We then continued our journey here in a furious downpour of rain. When the road leaves the department of Indre-et-Loire and enters that of Loir-et-Cher it deteriorates; moreover the rain and the inundations from the Cher have spoilt the road, and we travelled through a kind of lake. I will not conceal the fact that I screamed several times. We were very kindly received by M. de Chalais, his brother and the Baron and Baronne de Montmorency: these are the only inhabitants of the residence apart from the architect who is working at it; a considerable amount of building is in progress, which is solid and even rich as far as construction goes, but unfortunately in a style which does not seem to me sufficiently akin to that of the original building; for instance, there is a heavy Saxon tower by the side of the pointed turrets of Louis XI. The castle is very cold: the hot-water pipes, the double windows, the hangings, the door curtains and the draperies at Rochecotte make any other home impossible to me, and everywhere else I am frozen.

Yesterday at Chenonceaux I saw a very pretty portrait of Queen Louise de Vaudémont and a large coloured window of modern construction which the King had just sent to the Villeneuves. The Duc de Montpensier came over to Chenonceaux from Amboise this summer and to his influence this attention is due. It is enough to show that the young Prince did not enter the bedroom of Madame de Villeneuve as I did, where the portrait of the Duc de Bordeaux, presented by Berryer, is hanging at her bedside, so that the mistress of the house can see it morning and evening.

Valençay, December 8, 1841.– I arrived here yesterday evening. I am going to hear mass with the Sisters at the tomb of our dear M. de Talleyrand. To-morrow morning we are to start again and to dine and sleep with Madame d'Arenberg at Menetou-Salon.

Menetou-Salon, December 10, 1841.– The Prince and Princesse d'Arenberg were so kind as to keep us a day longer, the weather being abominable. Fanny and my son Valençay, who joined us here yesterday, so strongly urged this additional delay, that I have resolved to remain here the whole of to-day. Yesterday it was impossible to go out of the house. We barely had the energy to go round the château which M. d'Arenberg has restored from a state of ruin to a vast and noble mansion. It has the characteristics of the hunting châteaux that I prefer, severe in style, simple and convenient, and placed in the middle of very fine forests. I much prefer Menetou to Arlay, their château in the Franche-Comté. My cousin's three children are well brought up, pleasant and cheerful. The whole of the household is very happy and everything is done upon a large scale.

The arrangements at the end of the house are not yet complete, but with handsome forests, plenty of space and money, all can easily be finished and of these three conditions the d'Arenbergs can avail themselves. The only point at Menetou that I can criticise is the horrible red, white and orange paint with which the outer walls are daubed. M. d'Arenberg says that it is in Flemish style, but I think it is hideous. The kennel is a perfect little jewel. Sporting influences are everywhere predominant and everything is done to the blast of horns and the barking of dogs; the children know the different blasts by heart and can instantly distinguish the blast which means the quarry is sighted from that which proclaims that it has broken cover and the blasts which denote an old or a young boar.

Lyons, December 14, 1841.– The day before yesterday, which was Sunday, we were escorted after mass by my son Valençay and M. d'Arenberg, to Bourges, where I visited the curious house of Cujas and the very interesting one of Jacques Coeur; then we saw the normal school which was formerly the house of Jacques Coeur's brother; after that we saw the old palace of Charles VII. which has now become a convent for the Blue Sisters and went to the cathedral. The funeral oration was being given for M. de Villèle, the last Archbishop of Bourges. Don Carlos,⁴⁶ his wife and his children were duly present at this honour paid to the prelate whose charity and whose care had alleviated their sad captivity. Don Carlos is less ugly and insignificant than I thought: his wife was so hidden by her hat that I could not make out her face; the hat and the shawl were those of a woman of poverty, which I was sorry to see. I passed by the sad little house which has been assigned to them and which was surrounded by soldiers on guard and policemen.

In order to change horses at Bourges infinite formalities are necessary, an authorisation from the Prefect and visas, which are invariably troublesome. After surviving these vexations, we had lunch and parted from M. de Valençay and M. d'Arenberg. We hoped to reach Moulins the same day but the weather became so frightful that we took refuge in a horrible little inn where the smoke was blinding. At daybreak yesterday we started off again and reached Lyons to-day at midday. Lyons impressed me as always, and it is the fifth time I have seen it, by its original and picturesque position; but I found it sadly changed, since I was here, fifteen years ago, in consequence of the enormous quantity of steam engines which have come into use, as the coal which they burn has blackened all the buildings. The fog common at this time of year is as black as that of London and from the general colour and the smell I could almost have thought myself in England. Lyons has greatly deteriorated in consequence and even the pretty square of Bellecour seems to me no longer to justify its reputation, since it has been coloured dark grey.

Aix-en-Provence, December 17, 1841.– Fortunately I have no accident to relate and unfortunately no interesting descriptions to give. The sky even of Provence is by no means beautiful at this moment; the ground as usual is dry and bare, the olives are wretched little trees, while we have not yet entered the zone of orange-trees. When I first visited the south my ideas of the country were very illusory and every later visit has confirmed me in the conviction that apart from the view over the Mediterranean when one has reached it and the colour of the sky when it happens not to be clouded as it now is, there is nothing beautiful to be expected from this district. We spent some time in visiting Avignon. I had known it long ago, but Fanny was curious and we had lunch there this morning. We explored the old castle of the popes which is now a barracks and the church of La Miséricorde.

Nice, December 20, 1841.– We have now reached the end of our journey which has lasted a whole fortnight. We left Aix the day before yesterday, after my niece had satisfied her archæological curiosity and started in sunshine which would have been delightful had it not been accompanied by the mistral. At nine o'clock in the evening we reached Brignoles, but were horrified by the dreadful filth of the inn and resolved to continue our journey. When we had fairly entered the mountains of the Esterel, which involve an ascent of four hours and a descent of three, the cold became cruel. At dawn the summits of the mountains showed themselves covered with snow. At the highest point, where the post house is situated, twenty mountaineers of wild appearance, all armed with guns were starting in pursuit of the wild boars and wolves which inhabit this rough district. This band of mountaineer hunters were accompanied by some policemen and customs' house officers and were firing trial shots which made the rocks re-echo; they formed a picture worthy of a painter, but we had no thoughts of the picturesque, so intense did the cold of the night seem. When we reached the valley the temperature suddenly changed; the sun was warm, the sea blue, the olive-trees tall and covered with fruit, the orange-trees laden with their golden balls and the hedges of rose-trees in flower. The town of Cannes overlooked by its old castle, stood out delightfully as a background to the landscape upon the rough mountains which we had just left; the island of St. Margaret floated peacefully upon an azure sea and was an excellent completion to a view which we badly needed to thaw our minds and recover our taste for the south, which we were much inclined to abuse. Before entering Cannes we saw on the right hand the villa Taylor and on the left the villa Brougham; these looked like country houses belonging to retired stockbrokers. Lord Brougham's villa is shut off from the road by a great iron railing, each point of which is surmounted by a large gilded fleur-de-lis.

From Cannes we had only nine leagues to cover to reach Nice and as it was only nine o'clock in the morning, we hoped we might be able to dine here yesterday, but misfortune came upon us. When we reached Antibes, the last station before Nice, at midday, there were no horses to be had and we were emphatically told none would be forthcoming before four o'clock, after which hour there is no driving to Nice because the bridge of the Var is broken down and the passage is impossible after nightfall. We were therefore obliged to remain at Antibes and sleep there; but where to sleep was a question. The inns in this town are indescribable and travellers never stop there; there are muleteer public-houses of the most disgusting appearance. A meal was served to us which revolted us so far that we ate nothing but dry bread, and instead of sleeping in beds which, after the previous night, would have been very pleasant, we returned to our carriages. Shut up in these boxes and bestowed in a stable which was half a barn, we watched for dawn which came very late. Cats were mewing all round us⁴⁷ and then a storm burst with as much fury as though we were in the midst of summer; thunder, lightning and rain threatened our miserable shelter. At last, at seven o'clock in the morning we were delivered from our prison and started to Saint Laurent du Var. There we were obliged to leave our carriage and embark in a little boat which brought us after much tossing to the Sardinian customs house, where two carbineers allowed us to warm ourselves at their fire. Our carriage went three-quarters of a league up stream and passed the river by a ford which was almost impracticable and very dangerous. Meanwhile we soaked a little dry bread in the very sour wine of the country and opposed our umbrellas to the gusts of wind and rain. At length we reached Nice at one o'clock, amid driving rain and by a furious sea. The hurricane continues and the waves are loudly roaring and rising so high that they almost reach the summit of the terrace on which stands the house where Fanny and myself occupy the second floor. Our windows look directly on the sea and before us to the right and to the left there is nothing else. On sunny days the reflection will be frightful and in times of rain a vast grey sheet is confused with the sky and forms the saddest possible outlook; the roar of the waves is also most dismal. We have an enormous room and though it has a fireplace, it is very cold. My room is small and might be warm but the chimney smokes; everything is very dirty, as the old houses in Nice generally are. I cannot describe the general impression of sadness and desolation which comes over us. The better side of the situation which consoles us for all the rest is to see Pauline, who is neither better nor worse than when I left her seven months ago, as she is still suffering from her throat; she is thin and looks feverish, but her illness has not been aggravated. She and her family are at one end of the quarter which is known here as La Terrasse, while I am at the other.

Nice, December 22, 1841.– Yesterday I called upon the Grand Duchess Stephanie between lunch and dinner; she is spending the winter here with her daughter. She took me for a drive in her carriage upon the jetty in weather which reminded me of the Chain Pier at Brighton. The Grand Duchess has excellent rooms at some distance from the sea in the midst of a charming garden, with a beautiful view of the mountains; the house is well furnished, cheerful and clean, exactly the contrary to mine and very little more expensive. The Grand Duchess is infinitely better since she took the waters of Wildbad, but her restlessness and the fidgety and flighty nature of her conversation which her disease had checked have reappeared with an emphasis really annoying.

I had no letters from Paris yesterday: a rise in the river has carried away the boats and made the ford impassable, so that was impossible to pass the Var two hours after the time when we crossed it.

Nice, December 24, 1841.– Yesterday I met a large number of acquaintances at the house of the Grand Duchess, but few worth mentioning apart from the de Maistre family. She puts on her cards, la comtesse Azelia de Maistre, née de Sieyès. The two names look strange side by side; however, she seems a very pleasant person, while he has the wit of that particular kind which his name implies.

Nice, December 25, 1841.– Yesterday after lunch I took my niece and the Castellanes to Saint Charles, in the most beautiful weather. The sun was almost too warm and the short walk threw one into a perspiration; the sky was magnificent and the view beautiful, and the smell of the roses, the violets and the orange flowers intoxicating. On returning to the town I left a few cards, and went home to rest, for the burning sun and the keen sea air were most fatiguing.

There is a strange custom here. On Christmas Eve and Christmas Day and throughout the intervening night, cannons are fired every half-hour; bands of sailors and country people go about the streets singing and howling and making the most horrible din; for twenty-four hours this uproar has never ceased for a moment and I should think no one has had a wink of sleep.

Nice, December 27, 1841.– I can remember the time when we went to Mannheim to pay our respects to the Grand Duchess Stephanie on Saint Stephen's Day. The same day here is being kept as a festival. At ten o'clock she went to hear mass at the College of the Jesuits: the Father Rector, who is kind and polite, had invited a dozen people who were intimate with the Grand Duchess, and my daughter and myself were included. The choral mass was very well given and we were then allowed to follow the Grand Duchess round the whole of the establishment, an exceptional privilege, and the ladies saw everything, even the cells of the Fathers. In each class one of the pupils made a little speech, simple and suitable to the occasion. We then found coffee, chocolate and sherbet with cakes and sweets in the rector's parlour. There he offered the Grand Duchess a reliquary containing a relic of Saint Etienne. As she professes a great admiration for Silvio Pellico, he added a copy of this writer's poetry, nicely bound with an autograph letter by Pellico. The Father Rector was the support and consoler of Pellico's mother while he was in prison, and afterwards strongly influenced him to lead a Christian life. He is now said to be living in unusual sanctity. This little attention which was most tastefully offered was entirely successful. Before leaving the college we went into the physical laboratory where we were shown some electrical experiments. When we went away all the Fathers and pupils drew up in line and the youngest offered the Grand Duchess a bouquet of the kind only procurable in this country where flowers are abundant and where their colour and perfume are incomparable. The whole morning's visit was admirably arranged; there was no pedantry, nothing was too long, the tactfulness and common sense of the Jesuits were quite obvious. The pupils looked very healthy and were polite and well mannered.

After dinner we went with Fanny and the Castellanes to the Grand Duchess. Princesse Marie had invited some fifty persons to take part in a game of proverbs given in rhyme, which had been specially arranged by several Russian and Italian society people and proved quite successful.

Nice, December 29, 1841.– Yesterday I called upon several people, including the Comtesse Louis de Narbonne, the widow of the friend of M. de Talleyrand and mother of Madame de Rambuteau. She is pleasant and cheerful, but it is obvious that she has lived a great deal in the provinces and very little with her husband. By birth she is Mlle. de Montholon, cousin of the first husband of Madame de Sémonville.

Nice, December 30, 1841.– Yesterday was Pauline's twenty-first birthday and to celebrate the double anniversary of her birth and her majority, she came to lunch with me with her husband and her little girl. She found some small presents and a German cake with as many candles as she had lived years. This little surprise pleased her. In the morning I went with Fanny and her former governess to visit a garden on the hillside protected by wooded slopes from the wind, with a view of the mountains and the sea which is reputed to be extremely pretty. The villa in the centre was closed, but the garden, which contained a large number of rare flowers and is more carefully tended than usual here, was open. We met the owner, a merchant of Nice, at the end of a walk where he was giving instructions to his workmen. He was very polite, loaded us with flowers and promised me some seeds for Rochecotte; his villa is called St. Helena. We returned very pleased with our walk, although the weather was by no means kind.

Nice, December 31, 1841.– The Grand Duchess called yesterday when I was finishing lunch and carried me off to see a country house near Nice which is very well situated and remarkable for the surrounding woods of pine-trees and holm oaks and arbutus. The shade of trees is not often to be found here, as the gardens are usually built in terraces looking southward and leading more or less towards the sea; any variety of style is therefore not to be despised. Moreover yesterday's walk reminded me of one which I had projected in the woods around Rochecotte and pleased me for this reason. The owner is a retired merchant and an old bachelor. He is very polite, and, according to the custom of the country, loaded us with flowers and gave us orangeade to drink. I thought this refreshment cold under the circumstances, for it was by no means hot and driving had certainly made us no warmer. I therefore walked home from the house of the Grand Duchess to restore the circulation; the distance is about that from the Louvre to the Arc de Triomphe in the Champs Elysées.

This is the last day of a year of which I am not sorry to see the end: it can count as two years in my life by reason of its length; however, it has not been entirely unfortunate; the months spent at Rochecotte were quiet and the time while I was in Germany was not without interest and satisfaction.

This is also the second anniversary of the death of Mgr. de Quélen. It could not pass unnoticed by me, for he was a great loss to me, and his regular and protecting kindness left one of those gaps which can never be filled, for nothing can take the place of that which has been consecrated by time.