TALLEYRAND’S DESIRE FOR AMITY BETWEEN ENGLAND AND FRANCE—LOUIS
DIXHUIT—THE ARCHBISHOP DE M.—MADAME DE KRUDENER—ALEXANDER OF
RUSSIA.
Just as my friend had ceased speaking, the door was opened, and the
two valets-de-chambre of the prince, armed with shaving-pot and
powder-puff, with the same solemn look as at the toilet of Louis
Quatorze, described with such humour by Saint Simon, entered and
took their station one on each side the doorway; but when the prince
himself entered likewise, in dressing-gown and slippers, leaning on
his cane, and bowing low, with a courteous “good morrow,” the picture
was complete. Le grand monarque in his old age, Fagon and Bréville,
seemed to arise before me. I have heard it said that one great test
of the temper of a man is the mood in which he awakes from slumber.
This certainly was true as applied to Prince Talleyrand, for perhaps
at no other moment in the day was he more lively, more free from care,
than at the hour of his toilet. It seemed as if the dreams of the past
night had brought with them calm and pleasant recollections, for he
was always more disposed to narrate at that moment than during the
rest of the four-and-twenty hours. He had soon despatched the business
upon which he had summoned me; but he bade me remain, and I was in no
hurry to depart; for one by one the favoured few dropped in, and the
conversation became interesting enough to make me behold without regret
the hurrying off to the wood of a joyous caravan which issued from
beneath the gateway with echoes of merriment.
C. had busied himself in turning over the journals, translating from
the various English papers the leading article of each, and pausing
here and there to extract speeches and opinions most worthy of notice.
I shall never forget that morning—it was the last opportunity which was
afforded me of judging of the never-failing faculty of that _conteur
intarissable_. The conversation had turned upon England, and it was
in reference to some observation made in one of the articles which C.
had just been reading that the prince expressed himself towards this
country with an admiration and gratitude which I shall never forget.
“It has ever been my dream,” said he, “to behold a firm and stable
alliance between England and France. I cannot live to behold what I
have yearned for all my life long; but _you_ may yet be witness to
the result to which the events of Europe have all tended for the last
three centuries. There are many countries, many climes in Europe; there
will soon be but two nations—the English and the French. Before many
generations have passed away, they will even stand face to face alone
upon the globe. They must become, not only allies, but friends. Already
you will perceive that their mutual hatred has become tradition.
The wars between these two great nations have often partaken of the
chivalrous character of the ancient duel, in which the combat was
carried on less from antipathy or thirst of vengeance, than from a
boyish valour and love of glory. Believe me, where genius and courage
are equal, peace becomes indispensable—two countries cannot make
war upon each other until both fall dead upon the field of battle;
destruction is not triumph. The good which has sprung up, even amidst
their mutual jealousies, has been immense; much more has been sown than
has yet been gathered, but the seed which has thus been buried will
bring forth fruit, in its own good time, to benefit the whole human
race.
“You will find, by the study of history, that they have proceeded in
the goodly work together, as though by a tacit agreement, working with
the same perseverance and the same success, to promote the progress
of reason and the advancement of prosperity throughout the world. It
was at the very same instant that the cry of horror at the tyranny and
oppression of the people arose from the heart of each, and hand in hand
did their philosophers and men of genius sound the first alarm at the
encroachments of despotism. They are destined to regenerate the world.”
I may be forgiven if I listened to this eloquent and soothing speech
as to a hallowed prophecy. The theme was one upon which I could have
loved to hear him expatiate yet further; but other matters soon pressed
upon his attention, and drove the subject from his mind. I observed,
however, during my stay at Valençay, that the prince took every
opportunity of exalting and approving England, and of putting forth
his favourite theory of an _exclusive_ alliance between the French and
English.
Meanwhile, the toilet was proceeding rapidly under the skilful hands
of the two veteran valets; and while I was contemplating with infinite
satisfaction a scene to me so novel in its details, the prince, who was
in excellent spirits, kept up with even more than his wonted share of
vivacity the ball of conversation. Many of the stories which he told
that morning were exceeding curious and worthy of record. I was much
struck with some observations which he made with regard to the policy
and conduct of Louis the Eighteenth, a sovereign whom he disliked
most particularly. To one who carried the principle of forgiveness of
injuries to the extent to which the Prince de Talleyrand displayed
throughout his career, the cold, vindictive nature of Louis must have
been singularly obnoxious, while the sense of obligation must have
pressed heavily enough upon the small soul of the monarch. Besides
which, a rivality of wit had sprung up between them, which served to
increase their mutual dislike and distrust of each other. Louis Dixhuit
could not bear the _succès_ which some of the bon-mots of the Prince
had obtained, and sought to humiliate and embarrass him by direct
attacks, as if to put to the proof before the courtiers the well-earned
reputation for repartee which the prince had acquired. But the prince
always came out of the affray with honour, his self-possession giving
him an immense advantage over the irritable temper of the king.
On the day when Madame de Talleyrand (who had been sent to England with
a pension) re-appeared in Paris, the king, who seized every opportunity
to annoy M. de Talleyrand before the court, exclaimed, on perceiving
him, “_Ah, monsieur, que je vous plains!_ Is it true that Madame is
arrived in France?” “Alas, it is, sire. I also was doomed to have _mon
vingt Mars!_” The king did not reply, but walked before the line of
courtiers, biting his lip, as was his wont when vexed. Presently he
returned, and again stood before the recreant wit, who alone looked all
unmoved and unconscious amidst the general hilarity.
“Prince de Talleyrand,” said he, in a severe tone, “is it not time
for you to seek the country? Paris is growing hot. I have been told
that the shades of Valençay are the coolest and most delightful in all
France.”
“Sire, they have lost that reputation since Ferdinand VII. cut down my
lime trees to make bonfires at the Emperor’s fête!”
Once more was the king reduced to silence, and this time more
effectually, for he did not return again to the charge; but he said to
M. Decazes that evening, “Talleyrand answers as though he were _afraid_
of an encounter; in short, he always seems as if he considered himself
attacked.”
I had often felt a desire to know the real opinion of M. de Talleyrand
concerning the character of Louis Dixhuit, and I considered myself
particularly fortunate that the conversation should have turned upon
the subject. It was evident that he held in small esteem the principles
of the Bourbon, whose crooked policy and cowardly revenge once drew
from him an approval of the memorable words of Fox—“Of all revolutions,
the worst is a restoration!” The indignation must have been great which
could have caused this bitter criticism upon his own work, for he it
was who, by the avowal of the king himself, had planned and executed
his great principle of legitimacy, and restored the Bourbons to the
throne.
“Louis Dixhuit was the veriest liar that ever trode the earth,” said
the prince. “His love of falsehood was so great, that those admitted
to his intimacy had grown to dread the expression from his lips of any
kindness, feeling sure that disgrace was nigh. He was the greatest
hater I ever met with; cold and calculating in his vengeance, and
meanly taunting in its gratification. I cannot describe to you my
disappointment when I first beheld him in 1814, after the events which
had changed him from a miserable exile into the sovereign of the
greatest European country. He received me in the palace at Compiègne.
I could judge the character of the man by the manner of his greeting.
He was in the great gallery of the château, surrounded by his friends
and many of the foreign diplomates, who were all eager and _empressé_
in their congratulations—all full of hope and bright anticipations of
the future. I may, without being suspected of _fatuité_, declare that a
murmur of welcome ran through the assembly when my name was announced,
and the king advanced a few steps to meet me with a warm and friendly
welcome. He pressed my hand with great kindness, and drawing forward
a chair which stood beside him, exclaimed, ‘Prince de Benevent, be
seated—and believe me, I do not forget that had it not been for your
assistance in the late events, they might have turned in a different
chance, and _you_ might have said to _me_, “Count de Lille, be seated.”’
“The phrase appeared to me so artificial, so stiff and embarrassed,
that I involuntarily looked his majesty full in the face for an
explanation. By that single glance I could tell that I was not destined
to remain a minister of Louis Dixhuit, and my anticipations proved
true, although he knew well that had it not been for my exertions, he
would not have regained his throne until much later—perhaps, indeed,
never!
“The dinner which succeeded the grand reception I shall never forget.
Everyone had expected that the conversation would have been most
interesting; that the most important topic of the day would have been
duly discussed and commented upon. Each guest had come prepared with
his own peculiar suggestion concerning the most effective entry into
Paris. Each one had his bon-mot for approval, some appropriate phrase
to be printed in the journals. I myself am forced to plead guilty
to the like ambition, and obtained the honour of preference over
many which, in my opinion, were far better and more piquant than my
‘_Français de plus_,’ although its subsequent popularity justified in
some measure its adoption. Whatever might have been our anticipations,
it soon became evident that the monarch had learned one great
accomplishment during his exile, and he ate in silence of every dish
which was presented to him. The court, principally composed of men who
had been accustomed to the rapid and noisy dinners of the Emperor, soon
began to grow weary of the tedious deglutition of the king, and became
ere long reduced to be the mere spectators of his enjoyment.
“Not one single word had been spoken during the whole of the first
course. It would be impossible to describe the extraordinary effect of
that silence, undisturbed save by the timid rattle of the knives and
forks, and the hesitating steps of the servants. We gazed at each other
with embarrassment. No one dared to speak even to his neighbour save in
a whisper; when, just about the middle of the second course, an event
occurred which served to arouse us from the stupor into which we had
fallen. The king was about to help himself from the dish of spinach
which had been handed to him by the servant, when the intention was
suddenly arrested by a loud exclamation from the Duke de Duras, who,
rising from his chair, and leaning forward with an earnest and stricken
look, exclaimed, ‘For the love of Heaven, your Majesty, touch not
that spinach!’ The king let fall the spoon which was already half way
towards his plate, and raised his eyes in alarm—he was pale as death.
There were few, indeed, at the table who did not change countenance at
this unexpected exclamation. Suspicions of foul treason—of premeditated
crime, immediately filled every eye, and we looked aghast towards the
duke for an explanation. Even I myself, although prepared by experience
for every exaggeration of court flattery, could not resist the dread of
some terrible disclosure.
“‘_Pourquoi pas?_’ faltered out the king, his nasal twang rendered even
more tremulous than usual by the terror under which he laboured.
“‘Oh, sire, I warn you—be advised by me; eat not of that spinach—it is
drest with most villanous butter!’
“The etiquette of the royal table, of course, prevented the explosion
of the roar of laughter with which the speech would have been greeted
had it not been for the mighty presence; and even as it was, an
irrepressible titter ran round the room. The king, however, did not
laugh; the subject was of too much importance to be trifled with; he
looked first at the Duc de Duras with an expression of doubt, then
raised the dish to his nose, pushed it from him with a sigh, and
exclaiming, ‘_C’est pourtant vrai!_’ sank back in his chair to brood
upon his disappointment.
“After this event, the silence certainly continued still, but not the
embarrassment, for, during the rest of the entertainment, we were
all convulsed with suppressed laughter, and although of course good
breeding and the rules of etiquette prevented its explosion, the
conviction that we mutually understood the joke made us feel its relish
the more keenly. The dinner concluded while this ludicrous impression
lasted, and we retired to the drawing-room, glad to be emancipated
from the restraint which sitting thus face to face with royalty always
occasions.
“After a moment’s consultation amongst ourselves, we decided that
it would be advisable to proceed at once to business, as many of us
wished to return to Paris as soon as possible, to forward the measures
concerning the public entrance of his majesty into the capital. I was
spokesman upon the occasion, and ventured to suggest the propriety of
at once opening the discussion at which we were all come prepared to be
amicable wranglers. To our great surprise, his only answer was, ‘_Let
us digest first_; we will speak of business another time.’
“I leave you to imagine the effect produced by these words. The action
which accompanied them was even more expressive of his earnestness in
the pursuit which he recommended, for he sank calmly down among the
cushions of the sofa, and in another moment, before our astonishment
had subsided, was lost in the sweetest and most quiet slumber I ever
witnessed. It was a source of the greatest amusement to us all, as we
moved noiselessly about the room, and spoke to each other by signs or
in low whispers in order to avoid interrupting the important slumbers
of the sovereign, to behold from the windows of the palace the eager
expectation of the crowd assembled in the court below, whose anxious
countenances, lighted up by the glare of the illuminations which
decorated the frontage of the building, gave token of the intense
interest with which they were regarding the moving shadows of those
within.
“No doubt they deemed that the proceedings there taking place were
big with the fate of the empire—the destiny of thousands of their
fellow-countrymen. Each time that any form of more than ordinary
dimensions happened to pass before the windows, it was immediately
taken for that of the king, and was greeted with loud shouting and
applause, which, however, failed to reach the ear of him for whom it
was intended, and who still slumbered on, all unconscious either of the
disappointment of those within or the expectation of those without.
“This apparently insipid and eventless dinner was to me one of the most
extraordinary and interesting I ever remember, and it has remained a
_souvenir_, when others, more remarkable for the wit and spirit of
the guests or the generosity of the entertainer, have long ago been
forgotten. It placed me at once _au courant_ as to the views and habits
of our ‘restored sovereign.’ In no one of the anticipations formed
from this interview was I deceived. Selfish, insensible, luxurious,
ungrateful, did I ever find him. This dinner at Compiègne was the very
picture of his whole reign, and he fully justified the words of my
honest friend Dunoyer—‘Among the millions of human lives confided to
his charge, there is but _one_ of value in his eyes; and that one the
most valueless of all to the whole world besides.’”
“This repast must have equalled in its interest the famous dinner of
the Consulte, eh? you remember, prince?” said the Count de Montrond,
who had been listening attentively.
“Indeed, I do remember, and more’s the pity,” returned the prince, with
a gentle laugh, “and I often wish that I could forget the circumstances
attendant on that dinner. People talk of the _sublime_ and ridiculous;
but the _horrible_ and ridiculous which were mingled in that scene
rendered it altogether one of the most powerful and extraordinary of
any I have ever witnessed, either mimicked on the stage or played in
real life. I must tell you that I had considered myself extremely
fortunate in my transactions with the representatives of the different
Italian States who had assembled at Lyons to negotiate for the
protection of their liberties by France. There remained but one clause
of our treaty to be disputed—the most knotty point of all, and the one
which I felt would exercise my utmost powers of persuasion when it
came to be discussed in council. In order to conciliate as much as
possible the opposing belligerents, I had been obliged to have recourse
to the bait which seldom fails, if well ordered and well executed, that
of a _dîner diplomatique_, trusting to my worthy ally, Carême, who, in
cookery, had talent enough in his own person to finish what our united
talents in diplomacy had so well begun.
“The dinner, then, was decided on; the day had arrived; and I was alone
in my study, composing myself for the great struggle which was about
to take place, when M. de la Bernardière came hurrying in, pale and
breathless. ‘Well, we have committed a pretty blunder,’ said he; ‘only
see; with all the “very clever men” by whom we are surrounded, what
great fools we must be.’ He placed upon my desk an open letter which
he had just received. It was from the secretary of the Archbishop of
M—— to M. de la Bernardière, who was then supposed to be acting as
_my_ secretary. A letter purporting to be written in the strictest
confidence, from ‘one gentleman to another,’ from a secretary to a
man of honour, holding the same important office, having the same
ministerial functions to fulfil, &c.; containing a sort of mysterious
warning; a kind of covert denunciation against the whole proceedings
of the Consulte; a threat of failure in all our schemes; an assurance
that all the ambitious views of France were perfectly understood; and
the letter concluded by declaring that they would be unmasked if the
Archbishop of M—— were not invited to the dinner! I must own that this
announcement took us rather by surprise; we had reckoned upon the
Archbishop of M—— as one of the firmest allies of France, and it was,
indeed, by a most inconceivable _bévue_ that he had been left out. It
must have occurred, no doubt, through some awkward mismanagement on
the part of the servants; but, whatever the cause, and it was then too
late to enter into any examination, it became evident that the remedy
must be applied at once, and that the company of the archbishop must be
secured without delay.
“It was M. de la Bernardière, then, who was commissioned to be the
bearer of our humble excuses for the neglect of which the servants had
been guilty, and our humble request that his Grandeur would overlook
the awkwardness of our domestics, and accord us the advantage of
his presence at the dinner, which certainly would not be complete
without his company. I must confess that I awaited the return of La
Bernardière with the greatest anxiety, as I was quite as fully aware
of the necessity of securing the good-will of the Archbishop as the
officious secretary himself could possibly be. La Bernardière, however,
returned triumphant, and the description which he gave us of his
visit added to the amusement caused by our groundless fears. He had
found the archbishop attired in flowered dressing-robe and broidered
slippers, reclining on an ottoman of curious workmanship, which had
been presented to him on that very morning by a deputation of the
manufacturers of the good city of Lyons, and the scene altogether had
reminded him of an episode of the middle ages. His Grandeur the Lord
Archbishop was a singular-looking personage; the melancholy expression
of his countenance contrasting with ludicrous effect with the fat,
rubicund jollity of his form and features. He was a large, heavy man,
with a look of absolute despair, and perpetual groans issued from his
brawny chest, like the angry bellowings of Mount Vesuvius. At his feet
were seated, on a low stool, two young boys, who were chanting from
the same book, and whose rare false notes were now and then punished by
a smart kick behind, from his grandeur’s peaked slipper.
“He sighed sorrowfully when La Bernardière was announced, and received
him with many a lugubrious lamentation on the miserable weather, which,
by-the-bye, was beautiful; then he groaned deeply at the badness of
the music of the mass at the cathedral on the day before, which, being
of the very best order, and under the superintendence of the maëstro
di capello of the Emperor of Austria, had been by every one else
considered excellent; then he moaned at having been induced to leave
his own country to come to such a place as Lyons, where it was evident
his presence was neither sought nor needed, and finally pronounced a
most bitter archiepiscopal curse upon the miserable fare of the hotel
where he was staying, regretting, with most sublime energy, that he
should ever have been induced to travel without his own cook, and
vowing before the Virgin that he never would do the like again.
“This was the opportunity for La Bernardière to press his suit and to
pray forgiveness for neglect, and to urge his presence at our table
with many an assurance of the utter discomfiture and despair which
his refusal would occasion. The countenance of the worthy archbishop
lighted up at the mention of the dinner. He was evidently a _bon
vivant_ of the first class, and it was doubtless to this quality that
he owed both the rotundity of his person and the mournful discontent
under which he laboured. He apparently deemed, however, that a little
hesitation was necessary to preserve his dignity in the eyes of La
Bernardière, and he summoned his secretary to learn from him if it were
possible to accept an invitation upon so short a notice—if there were
no other engagement to interfere with his desire to prove his respect
and consideration for M. de Talleyrand by accepting both the invitation
and the excuses so courteously conveyed. Of course the secretary was
too well schooled to decide precipitately; he had to consult his
registers, his list of invitations for the week, &c.; however, La
Bernardière soon perceived that there was little danger of refusal.
The prospect of a real French dinner, Carême and Minguet, was too
much for the philosophy of the archbishop; and as La Bernardière had
anticipated, he ended by not only accepting the invitation, but almost
excusing himself for having hesitated.
“It was a real satisfaction to learn the acquiescal of his grandeur,
for we had waited in fear and trembling the return of La Bernardière.
It was immediately resolved among the little knot of gentlemen gathered
in the salon that it would be necessary to display even more courtesy
towards him at the dinner-table in consequence of this involuntary
neglect; and thus, much to my subsequent discomfiture, it was agreed
that the poor archbishop was to be placed at my right hand. I was
exceedingly diverted at the extreme self-complacency with which he
received all our demonstrations of respect, all our contrivances to
do him honour—a mixture of embarrassment and haughtiness which I have
never seen equalled. But at sight of the dinner all stiffness and
formality were banished. His heavy countenance brightened, and he
exhibited the most lively interest in every arrangement, tormenting
me terribly to know the name of every dish which was handed to him,
then questioning the servant who presented it upon the nature of the
ingredients employed in its composition, and finally calling, in a
shrill tone, for ‘Nino,’ the short fat man who stood behind his chair,
dressed in a livery which, I believe, is called heraldic, and which is
all striped and cross-barred with every colour in the rainbow—red,
yellow, blue, white, as many, in short, as there may be quarterings
in the escutcheon, producing an effect more resembling that of the
pictures on playing cards than anything else that can be imagined.
“This ‘Nino’ would stoop forward and lean his chin upon the shoulder
of his grandeur, and his grandeur would point with a fat, white,
stumpy finger to some particular dish upon the table, and after a few
moments whispered conversation between the pair, Nino would disappear
for a short time, and then return all in a heat and blaze. He had
evidently been despatched to the kitchen for information respecting
the origin and composition of the approved _morceau_, in order that
it might be reproduced at some future time upon the archiepiscopal
table. His delight at every new discovery of this nature was perfectly
uncontrollable, and he would chuckle and clap his hands like a child
whenever a fresh dish, wearing a tempting exterior, was placed before
him.
“To me his grandeur was unfolding a new chapter in the eternal history
of human eccentricity, and I watched every motion with the most intense
interest. Towards the end of the repast, the ecstasies with which he
had greeted the endeavours of our French _artistes_, and, perhaps,
also the enormous efforts which he had used to prove his admiration of
their talents, had produced a state of excitement which rather began
to alarm me, the more so as even La Bernardière had not been able
to win a moment’s attention, so absorbed had his grandeur been with
the culinary excellence of our political system. Every dish had been
discussed by the archbishop; neither _entremets_ nor _hors d’œuvre_,
however insignificant, had escaped investigation, until, at last, I
grew perfectly amazed at the quantity which had been absorbed, and
perceived, with an indescribable feeling of terror and dismay, the
hue of dark purple, which, beginning with his ears, had gradually
overspread his whole physiognomy, and more particularly the look of
stolid dulness with which he now eyed the table.
“‘Your grandeur is ill,’ said I, in a whisper; ‘allow me to order yon
window to be opened above your head, or would you prefer to retire for
a moment to breathe the air upon the staircase?’
“‘No, no,’ returned the archbishop, ‘I have not finished dinner
yet,’ and immediately helped himself most copiously from a dish of
_artichauts à la Barigoul_, (a dish for which, by-the-bye, my cook was
famous,) and fell to eating once again, as if refreshed by the pause he
had been compelled to make. I was verily astounded! His grandeur seemed
to have reserved all his energies for the _artichauts à la Barigoul_,
and devoured them with as much gusto as though he had eaten nothing
since morning.
“It was during the mastication of this most approved morsel that La
Bernardière at last succeeded in making the little request in favour of
our country which had been hovering on his tongue during the whole of
dinner. His grandeur hesitated not; he was ready to grant everything;
he could refuse nothing to any one in this hour of plenitude and
satisfaction, and I, in my turn, plied him with propositions and
demonstrations, to all of which he assented by a dignified inclination
of the head. Emboldened by the view of my unexpected success, La
Bernardière took up the burden of my discourse, with an increase of
vigour and an increase of presumption, as is invariably the case with
solicitors when undisturbed by opposition. Question after question
was proposed to the archbishop, who assented to all our demands in
the same quiet manner, until I advanced _le point culminant_ of our
requests, which really did seem to stagger him, for he raised his head
suddenly, and remained an instant gazing on me with a vacant stare,
then bent forward, as I thought, to whisper his objections more closely
into my ear, and to my terror, as I looked up to listen for his answer,
fell forward with his face upon my bosom, without sense and without
motion, the dull, gurgling sound in his throat alone giving assurance
that life still remained!
“I cannot describe to you the alarm and horror of that moment. I
could not shake him off. I had not strength to move the weighty mass.
I dreaded, of all things, making a scene and disturbing the whole
company, and called as loudly as the immense weight pressing upon my
throat and bosom would allow me to do, for ‘Nino!’ But, alas! Nino
had been deputed to the kitchen a few minutes before in search of the
receipt for the _artichauts à la Barigoul_, and I was, therefore,
compelled to support this ponderous mass unheeded, unobserved. In spite
of the alarm and the personal inconvenience which I felt, for the big
drops of perspiration were rolling down my face, and every muscle was
strained to the utmost, yet was there something so ridiculous in the
whole scene, that had it not been for that livid countenance so close
to my own, those goggling, protruding eyeballs so close to mine, it
would almost have created laughter; but it was too horrible! I shall
never forget the expression of that face; it will haunt me to my dying
day.
“How long I might have remained in this ludicrous position I know
not, for every one was busy and boisterous, chatting and laughing
with his neighbour; even the traitor La Bernardière had turned away
and was now in full heat of a good story, which he was recounting to
his companion on the other side, leaving me, as he imagined, fully
occupied with the seduction of the archbishop. At length my deliverance
was accomplished, the ever-watchful Nino, all breathless and panting
hot from the kitchen, perceived my danger even from the door of the
banqueting-hall, and, bounding across the floor, seized his master by
the collar and pulled him backwards with violence into his chair, where
he lay, motionless. By a simultaneous movement, as if attracted by
some magic spell, the whole company turned at once towards us;—a cry
of horror burst from the guests at the contemplation of that ghastly
countenance. The confusion, of course, became general, every seat was
abandoned, and the guests crowded round us with recommendations and
offers of assistance; but the screaming voice of the piebald ‘Nino’ was
heard loud above the hubbub and confusion. ‘Leave him to me; I know
him of old. Stand back. Lord, as if this were the first time! You see
he only wants to breathe, and he can’t, because his teeth are closed.’
With these words he seized upon the poor archbishop, and after looking
round the table in vain for an instrument, he drew from his pocket a
huge iron door-key, and attempted, with the effort of a Hercules, to
force it between the set, clenched jaws of the archbishop. But alas!
they were already set and clenched in death, and no human power could
now avail.
“His grandeur was dead; the melancholy fact was too visible to all
present, excepting, indeed, to the obtuse perceptions of ‘Nino,’ who,
in spite of remonstrance and opposition, would insist on repeating his
experiment, until at last, with a horrible crash, the strong front
teeth of the archbishop gave way; and roused by the certitude of
his misfortune, the unhappy Nino burst into a yell of despair which
echoed to the very roof of the apartment. I leave you to judge of the
effect of the whole scene, and of the extent of the appetite with
which we returned to the table when the ugly sight was removed; and
yet, no sooner had the ghastly corpse, borne upon men’s shoulders, and
followed by the howling Nino, passed through the yawning door, than the
conversation was resumed, perhaps even with more energy than before:
the jingling of glasses, the clatter of knives were renewed with even
more noisy glee, and soon, to all appearance, the very memory of the
awful circumstance to which we had all borne witness seemed to have
been forgotten, for the laughter and the shouting, the eager gesture
and the noisy discussion were resumed, as if nought had happened to
disturb the harmony of the meeting.
“The due meed of lying toasts were likewise bawled forth; vows for
the ‘_Fraternity of Europe_,’ and ‘_Universal Union_,’ &c., with some
few favourite names, were also shouted with much riot and applause.
Disputes of the most animated kind, concerning the rival merits of
divers of our public men, were also started and quelled, but never once
was the subject with which every heart must have needs been full made
the topic of a single observation. I observed that many, while loudest
and most clamorous in their discourse, would cast a shuddering glance
towards the chair which had so lately been filled with the violet robes
and portly dignity of the Lord Archbishop, and which stood now empty
and reproachful by my side; then, by a sudden effort turn away and grow
more clamorous and noisy than before; but, as I have already said,
not once was the subject of his miserable death alluded to in any one
of the numberless speeches which were subsequently uttered. One would
have thought that he had been forgotten on the instant, although his
cover still remained upon the board, and his jewelled snuff-box still
sparkled beside it. While yet the very presence of the man hovered
round us, he was, to outward seeming, as much unthought of as though he
had never been.”
This story gave rise to others of the same nature, and many were the
anecdotes related of sudden death, the summons which startles men
in the midst of revelry and festival, at council-board or in the
judgment-seat. Some of these are well known, others would have but
small interest for the general reader, but one of the most curious
was told by the prince himself with the piquant raciness in which
he so much excelled, and which has graven the history in my memory.
It happened during a time, too, which possessed a peculiar interest
to me—a time which, in spite of its importance, has found but few
chroniclers—the period of the occupation of Paris by the allied armies,
and the visit of the sovereigns of Europe, in 1815. Men’s minds were
so agitated by the crowding of events the one upon the other, by dread
anticipations of what would come next, that public feeling was taken by
surprise, and scarcely had time to set up its own standard, or leisure
to record its own impressions; this I take to be the reason why so few
of the memoirs of our day contain any special description of the state
of society at that time.
“I had been dining with a circle of wary, ever-watchful diplomates
of the lesser kind, Russians, Austrians, and Prussians,” began the
prince; “every word had been weighed in the balance of prudence and
_prévoyance_ before I had ventured to give it utterance. Not a syllable
of the conversation of others had been permitted to fall unheeded on
my ear, and the extreme tension of intellect which it had required,
both in weighing my own words and in watching those of others, had,
at last, so wearied my mind, that I experienced a feeling of vacancy,
an exhaustion of moral power, which might be compared to nothing but
inebriation. When the repast was over, I strolled forth on foot to
seek my old friend and comforter, Bergasse. I knew by experience that
an hour spent with him would restore my spirit to its equilibrium, and
soothe, by the counter-irritation of his fund of whimsical argument,
the agitation of my nervous system. He was not at home, however, and
I was turning away, disappointed, from his lodgings, when his valet,
an old confidential servant, followed me with the information, that,
if I needed Monsieur very much, he had left word where he was to be
found; he had gone to the _soirée_ at Madame de Krudener’s; it was to
be a grand gala night at her house, and the Emperor Alexander was to be
among the guests!
“This information of course roused me at once from the fatigue and
lethargy of my diplomatic dinner, and I determined to do that night
what I had never done before, in spite of the frequent solicitations
of the fair _philosophe_ herself, go to ‘the _soirée_ at Madame de
Krudener’s;’ nay, there was something in the very project which seemed
to revive my flagging spirits, and I set forth on my expedition,
determined to be amused; this object being already more than half
attained by the very determination alone.
“When I arrived in the Rue de Cléry, where Madame de Krudener then
resided, I found the street impassable—a crowd of carriages of every
description filling it from one end to the other. I immediately
perceived among the number admitted into the courtyard the plain green
carriage and unpretending liveries of the Emperor Alexander. It is
an extraordinary thing how time and place will suddenly tend to the
development of certain sentiments, which, even if they have existed
before, have, perhaps, been rather repulsed than encouraged. Thus
it was with me on the night in question. No sooner had I beheld the
pressure of the crowd, the difficulty of obtaining admittance into the
sanctum of Madame de Krudener, than I was seized with an indescribable
longing to press forward, and a regret that I had never been to her
receptions before. It was some time before I could force my way through
the dense mass of visitors which obstructed the staircase. However, in
all matters, great or small, everything happens, to those who know how
to wait with patience, and my turn did come in due course, and I also
found myself ushered into the mighty presence. How different did I find
this _huitaine_ from those I had witnessed at her former residence!
“The whole scene of former days flashed upon me, as I made my way
through the rooms towards the sanctorum wherein the divinity of the
place sat enshrined in mysterious and hallowed seclusion. When I had
last beheld her, before her departure for Riga, she was in the bloom
of youth and beauty; her complexion, of exquisite fairness, bespoke
her northern origin, while the delicate and graceful form bore all the
softness of the south. The long ringlets of golden hair which shaded
her face in such rich luxuriance had been the theme of many an ode and
sonnet, while her grace in the dance had made many an unhappy ‘Gustave’
among the sad _incroyables_ of the day.
“I now found her, after a lapse of years, the same in all things, and
yet, how strangely altered! Her youth was gone; and her beauty, of
which she still possessed some little share, no longer satisfied that
ardent thirst of admiration, that morbid, eager craving for popularity,
which had possessed her soul from her childhood upwards. She had
been greeted with divine honours, and divinity she would insist upon
remaining, in spite of the change which had taken place both in herself
and in her worshippers. She had exchanged her pedestal of alabaster,
wreathed with roses, for one of mere painted paste-board, and only
maintained her _àplomb_ upon its narrow surface by the strangest
efforts and contortions. It was a curious scene; such a one as I should
have thought it impossible to see enacted in the nineteenth century.
“The rooms were crowded; and, with an admirable comprehension of
theatrical display, the fair hostess remained in the furthermost of
all from the entrance. A space of the width of the doorways through
which you had to pass was kept vacant for the approach of strangers.
It was thus that, through a long lane of curious gazers, I was e’en
forced to wend my way towards the place where Madame de Krudener
sat, in her hallowed and almost solitary glory. In the midst of all
that was singular in this extraordinary reception, what struck me
most was the unearthly silence which reigned in the assembly. Not a
word was uttered above a whisper, and the few greetings of friendly
recognition with which I was hailed as I passed through the _seven_
chambers, all crowded to excess, were scarcely audible from the low
tone in which they were uttered. The room which Madame had honoured
with her preference was a very small boudoir at the extreme end of the
apartment. I observed in a moment that those which I had traversed were
dimly and poorly lighted, although there was animation enough imparted
to the assembly by the gay _parure_ of the ladies, and the glittering
uniforms of all nations, which were gathered there; but the effect was
so artistically managed, that, as you looked forward down a narrow,
shaded vista, the single point brilliantly lighted—the white dress of
the lady became the immediate centre of attraction.
“Madame received me most graciously, and I will confess that it was not
without some emotion that I bent low to kiss her hand. She courteously
reminded me of former times, and, in the sweetest tones which ever
fell upon the human ear, reproached me gently for my tardy compliance
with her oft-repeated invitation. There certainly was something
irresistible in her voice and manner; for I, who had come prepared to
resist, yielded to the charm without a struggle, and gazed at her with
an interest which I had little expected to feel. She was at that time
fast verging towards the dreaded forty, and it was even said that it
was merely owing to the disagreement in the two calendars that she
had not already passed that fatal boundary, and she defended herself,
with most amusing earnestness, against the charge brought forward by
the evil-disposed persons who accused her of being both ‘visionary
and quadragenary.’ However, time had dealt kindly with her, having
left traces of his passage more upon her figure than her face. Both
had increased and spread; the bloom and freshness had departed, but
wrinkles and suffusion had not yet arrived.
“She was attired in a robe of her own invention, made of some kind
of woollen stuff of the purest white, long, full, and flowing, with
sleeves which reached to the very ground; the whole was edged with
silver, and the robe was confined at the waist by a silver girdle.
Her hair, which was still beautiful as ever, although not quite of so
bright a golden hue as I remembered it, hung loose down her back and
over her bosom, reaching to the waist in the most beautiful ringlets,
which, whether the effect of nature or of art, were well calculated to
enhance the expression of her inspired attitudes. There was exquisite
coquetry in the manner in which, by a gentle movement, she shook the
ringlets from her brow, in order to clear her vision, when any new
visitor drew near, and in the peculiarly graceful motion with which
she would draw her hand now and then across her eyes, as if to shade
the light for an instant, during which the snowy fingers, laden with
gems, glistened through the drooping curls with an effect perfectly
bewildering.
“She was reclining upon a low divan which ran along the wall, supported
by cushions of crimson velvet, which set off her fair complexion and
the dazzling whiteness of her dress to the greatest advantage. On one
side stood the Emperor Alexander, attired in a suit of black, with
no mark of his high rank save the glittering star of brilliants on
his bosom. If he had come prepared to heighten the effect of Madame
de Krudener’s _tableau_, he could not have adopted a costume and
bearing more in harmony with her intentions. On the other side, leaning
backward in his chair, with the most perfect nonchalance imaginable,
sat the King of Prussia _en personne_. Before I had recovered from the
surprise which the latter discovery had occasioned, my hand was seized
in a friendly grasp by my old friend and ally, Bergasse, who, together
with a sombre, wild-looking individual, was seated on a low stool at
the feet of the prophetess, both having, apparently, been occupied in
transcribing the words which fell from her lips, for each was armed
with a _calpin_ and pencil-case.
“When I had paid my respects to the lady, I was about to retire, as I
supposed was the etiquette for casual visitors, but I was destined to
feel the advantage of possessing a ‘friend at court,’ for Bergasse drew
me gently back, and led me to a seat in the corner of the room, where
I remained an observer, unobserved, of all that was going on around
me. Bergasse endeavoured for a moment to satisfy my curiosity by a few
brief answers to my whispered questions, but he had no time to waste
upon a poor, uninitiated novice like myself, and he soon left me, and
resumed his seat by the side of his necromantic-looking companion.
However, from the few short words he had found time to utter, he
informed me that I was in great good luck that evening, for Madame
de Krudener was in one of her most ecstatic moods, and had already
three times experienced the state of _extase_, and, while under this
influence, had given utterance to some of the most powerful and most
beautiful prophecies and denunciations, which himself and his friend
had most righteously transcribed, word for word, and in the order of
their utterance.
“‘Who is your companion?’ said I, pointing to the long, thin figure in
black which remained gathered up at the feet of the lady.
“‘That is our new _illuminé_,’ returned Bergasse, triumphantly. ‘It
is Jüng Stilling, who has left home, family, and friends, to follow
our inspired mistress. I have attached myself to Madame de Krudener
from admiration and conviction; he has done so from the sympathy of
mystic science, the strongest of all ties. How I regret, my friend,
that I began not life as I now am ending it, in communion with the
lofty-minded, the inspired. How I grieve now over the time lost,
the unambitious aims of my youth! Why come you not with us? In our
existence is true happiness only to be found.’
“‘What further he would have added I know not, for, just then, the
dull, sepulchral voice of Jüng Stilling called him by his name, and he
slunk back to his side, leaving me to contemplate the scene before me.
“There was a moment of deadly silence after Bergasse had regained his
seat. Madame de Krudener sat motionless, staring with fixed, unmeaning
gaze upon the vacant space before her. The Emperor Alexander stood in
passive expectation, not a muscle of his features disturbed, while the
King of Prussia, who at that time never left his side and never turned
his gaze from the autocratical countenance, looked at it now with
more intent and searching earnestness. Presently the seeress started
from her dream, and slowly arose from the divan where she had been
reclining. She waved her arm aloft, while yet her fixed gaze wavered
not, and moved a step or two forward. Nothing could exceed the grandeur
of her appearance at that moment. The long robe in which she was
enveloped, drooped in graceful folds about her person, and the loose
sleeve fell back from the extended arm, and displayed its rounded
form and snowy whiteness with most bewitching effect. She spoke—her
voice was deep and solemn, and its accents fell with slow and measured
cadence on the ear.
“‘Let us pray,’ said she; then paused; while I could hear from the
rooms beyond, and which I had traversed on my entrance, that peculiar
agitation and bustle which precedes the change of position in churches.
‘Let us pray; all sinners that ye are, sink upon your knees, and
beg forgiveness from the God of heaven!’ exclaimed she, in a louder
tone; and in a moment, while yet she stood with arms uplifted, and
with her head thrown back, every person present, from Alexander, the
autocrat of all the Russias, to the very waiters who had been handing
the refreshments to the company, sank down upon their knees, and
bowed their foreheads to the very ground! She herself knelt not, but
remained standing, while she poured forth a prayer, spoken in earnest
and burning language; words of which I have not been able to recall
a syllable to memory, so absorbed was I in contemplation of all that
was passing. I verily believe that of all that multitude—for I think
there must have been at least five hundred persons present—there was
not a soul save myself who had dared to remain seated; and with me it
was neither mockery nor bravado which had caused me to disobey the
injunction, but at the moment I was so taken by surprise, so absorbed
with the novelty of the scene, that I was scarcely conscious of the
impropriety of which I was guilty. To speak truth, I was busy comparing
the circumstances now passing before me, with those under which I had
last beheld Madame de Krudener; Garat, the opera singer, and Bernardin
de St. Pierre were then her supporters. Sounds of mirth and festivity,
the light _fiorituri_ of Garat, the mildly-caustic declamation of
Bernardin, had given place to the solemn tones of the prophetess, the
language of love and gallantry to the language of prayer.
“She continued, for the space of at least an hour, in a state of
inspiration, never ceasing, during all that time, to hold on her
discourse with the same unhesitating eloquence. She spoke of Alexander,
‘the white angel of the north,’ predicting for him and his descendants,
glory, happiness, and honour, unlimited sway from the rising of the sun
to the setting of the same. Then did she revert to the black angel of
the south, foretelling that he ‘would escape from his second cage like
a chained lion.’
“The prophecies were uttered with a self-confidence, an implicit
belief, which I could not but admire; it was so well calculated
to inspire the same feeling in others. The only drawback was the
reflection that none of them had as yet come true.
“This state of _extase_ lasted for some time after the prayer was
ended, during which the whole assembly remained kneeling. I bent
forward and looked through the open door; not a single gesture of
impatience, not a single wandering glance could I detect among the
crowd. Every head was bent low. Some even kissed the very floor;
and it really was a curious sight to behold those dainty ladies,
those gaily-dressed courtiers, whose costume of white kerseymere
knee-breeches and silk stockings was anything but favourable to the
kneeling posture, remain thus without a murmur, so long as it pleased
the fair preacher to hold them in expectation that she would resume her
discourse.
“The prayer was ended at length, and every one arose, gently, without
confusion and without noise, and sank again into their seats in
silent meditation, which continued undisturbed by a single sound for
several minutes. The prophetess had fallen back upon her ottoman, and
her golden locks completely buried her face beneath their shadow.
I would have given much to have been sure of the expression of her
countenance, for once I became aware that her eye sought mine, and then
I observed that she turned aside to avoid my scrutiny. Bergasse sprang
to my side in delight and triumph. ‘Is she not splendid?’ inquired he,
with a naïveté of tone and manner at which I was highly amused. ‘You
have heard her in her glory to-night,’ he whispered in my ear, with
an air of the greatest mystery, while his countenance changed from
the expression of childish admiration, which it had worn when he had
addressed me, to that of awe and wonder—‘She has had a _pressentiment_,
and is under its influence still.’ He took my arm, and walked with me
through the crowd into the adjoining room.
“As I left the sacred boudoir, I beheld the ‘white angel of the north’
in busy conversation with the prophetess, and the unhappy King of
Prussia bending forward, eager to catch the slightest syllable which
fell from the lips of the speakers; but the effort was vain; his neck
was too short, and his eye wandered from the one to the other with the
restless, unquiet look of a person afflicted with deafness.
“Bergasse turned to me as soon as we were alone. ‘There is something
dreadful about to happen,’ said he, in a solemn whisper. ‘She has
had her _pressentiment_ to-night, and she has never deceived us yet.
Something awful is about to occur here; in this very apartment,
perhaps—in this very room, upon the very spot where we now are
standing!’ He seized my arm and drew me nearer to his side, then
added—‘My dearest friend, some one is about to DIE beneath this very
roof!’ I drew back aghast; but Bergasse seemed too much _exalté_ by
his subject to care if even he himself were the victim, provided the
prophecy of his divinity came true. ‘Yes,’ added he, with a grim smile,
‘_she_ has felt that death is walking amongst us; he is now, at this
moment, choosing his victim. She has insisted on my sending home my
nephew. She wished me to depart also, but I must not leave her. Even
while I am dallying with you, I am losing the precious words which fall
with such sweet unction from her tongue.’
“He left me abruptly, and hurried back to the boudoir of Madame de
Krudener, while I remained lost in astonishment, to think that the
man, who had once dealt terror into the heart of the boldest satirist
that ever existed—he who had for awhile, by his energy and sarcastic
bitterness alone, arrested the headlong progress of Beaumarchais,
and turned the popular tide of ridicule against him who had so long
ridiculed all things with impunity, should have thus become, in his old
age, the puling slave of a self-deluded impostor, who was prompted in
the comedy she was playing by the wild vagaries of the ex-tailor, Jüng
Stilling. I left the soirée with feelings of mingled pity and disgust,
to which was added, a strange suspicion concerning the motive which
actuated the ‘white angel of the north’ in thus making this public
display of his admiration of the prophetess, and consenting to be made
one of the _coryphées_ in the theatrical representations she was thus
in the habit of giving.
“I was scarcely awake the next morning, when Bergasse rushed into my
room, exclaiming, in a tone of triumph, ‘She did not deceive—it was
true—the _pressentiment_ was justified! Why did you not stay till
later?—you would have _seen_ the truth with your own eyes, and have
been an unbeliever no longer.’ With the artful tact of a professed
marvel-monger, he allowed me time for reflection after he had
pronounced these words, and then resumed, as soon as he perceived that
I had collected my wandering senses.
“‘You were no sooner gone, my friend, than her inspired prophecy of
last evening was fulfilled. I was seated where you had left me, at her
feet, when a young man of the Neapolitan embassy, who had been hovering
around the door, gathered sufficient courage to enter the boudoir and
make his bow to Madame de Krudener. His name was Carascola; he had
arrived but a few days since from Naples. Madame de Krudener had known
his mother, and in courtesy and kindness felt in duty bound to ask him
some few questions concerning the prospects and intentions which had
led him to Paris. He had answered her questions with that embarrassed
timidity with which young men are used to reply to their superiors, and
Madame de Krudener had already dismissed him, and turned again to the
“white angel of the north,” whose conversation had been interrupted by
the young man’s entrance, when suddenly she started from the sofa as
though a pistol-shot had been fired through her brain, and darting on
me a look of terror, she exclaimed, faintly, “Bergasse, the hour is
come—nought can save us from the approach of our Sovereign Lord and
Master. He is here—his choice is made.” At that very instant, I give
you my honour as a gentleman, I beheld Carascola, who was leaving us,
full of youthful spirit, to gain the outer room, fall forward upon the
floor, without stumbling, without resistance, without convulsion, but
rather as it were sink down softly as though seeking repose, and there
lie stretched his full length, without sense and without motion. A
crowd soon gathered round him, and they raised him up; his countenance
was pale and his features frightfully swollen, even in that minute; a
doctor who was present opened a vein upon the forehead, but it was all
of no avail. She had spoken truth. Death had chosen his victim, and
that victim was Carascola.’
“Such was the tale which Bergasse had come so early to my bedside
to tell me. I ascertained, that very day, that it was true in every
particular, and was certainly an extraordinary proof of the possibility
of an almost supernatural coincidence. I doubt not that Madame de
Krudener had often experienced these _pressentiments_ before, but
I much doubt whether any one of them ever came true so rapidly, so
_àpropos,_ as in this case. The young man had evidently been in a bad
state of health, perhaps subject to fits, from his childhood, and on
this occasion the excitement of meeting with the august personage he
had come to visit, the heat of the room, the emotion of the prayer
and prophecies, must have caused a congestion of the brain. I can,
however, vouch for the entire truth of the fact I have related; you
must yourselves arrange the causes, according to your own scepticism or
powers of belief.”
The prince arose as he concluded his story; his toilet was completed,
and he was released from his tormentors. I was sorry to behold the
morning conference thus breaking up, for I could have listened on until
sunset. I dared, however, to hazard one single question. “Did you ever
see Madame de Krudener after this?”
The prince bit his lip slily. “Never so close as on that night,”
returned he; “but from a distance, as such great luminaries should only
be gazed at by vulgar mortals like ourselves. It was at the review of
Alexander’s troops in the _plaine des Vertus_, a ceremony of which
she has left us such a flaming description. But alas! already was she
no longer the object of exclusive adoration to the ‘white angel of the
north,’ for I observed that his head was often close under the pink
bonnet of Madame du C——, while the yellow ringlets and broad straw hat
of Madame de Krudener were left to float unheeded in the wind. The
purpose for which he had been playing the comedy of such assiduous
attendance at her prayer-meetings was evidently answered, and he cared
no longer to expose himself to ridicule for her sake. Soon after this,
she left Paris for ever, and I beheld her no more. But my niece, who,
like many of her sex, was infatuated with the eloquence and talents of
Madame de Krudener, followed her to the Greuzacher Horn, whither she
had retired. Here she sank lower in the scale, and no longer preached
to kings and emperors, but to an immense army of ragged proselytes,
whom her generosity in alms-giving, more than her pious exhortations,
had drawn around her. This same army followed her, I believe, in all
her wanderings, and I am told that at her death the little colony
established itself at Karasoubazar, where it is flourishing still, and
where almost divine honours are paid to her remains; pilgrimages are
performed to her tomb to this very day, and miracles are wrought as
freely as at many other shrines.
“It is certain that the game which Alexander deemed it worth his while
to play was a deep one, for its object has not been discovered to this
very day. I know, from the best authority, that for a long time he
counterfeited entire obedience to her commands, fasted, prayed, and
wept, beat his bosom and tore his hair when she so ordered it—took
the whole responsibility of the absurd and childish project of the
Holy Alliance upon his own shoulders—and, in short, gave himself up to
the guidance of one whom he feigned to consider as Heaven-inspired.
And when the allied sovereigns—who had all, at first, been blinded
by the tinsel of the framework of that famous treaty—turned round
and laughed it to scorn, shamed by the blunt good sense of England,
who had pronounced the document _unintelligible_ and refused to
sign, Alexander—whether from misplaced _amour propre_, or from real
conviction, still remains a mystery—would never consent to withdraw his
signature. Whatever may be the merits of the conception of that mighty
work, it certainly sprang from the brain of Madame de Krudener alone;
but when complimented upon the stupendous, though ‘unintelligible,’
design, it was her wont to reply with great modesty, while she flung
back her ringlets and looked towards Heaven, ‘The Holy Alliance is
the immediate work of God. It is He who has chosen me for his weak,
uncertain instrument, and it is He who has inspired me with the idea of
uniting the sovereigns of Europe in the holy bonds of brotherly love,
for the good of the great human family under their charge.’”
The prince had moved towards the door even before his words were
quite concluded, and, to my regret, he turned and bowed to us on the
threshold, and then passed out. It was the hour for business, and he
retired to his own study until the carriage was announced for his
morning drive.
* * * * *
That very evening, the courier from Paris brought me the summons to
repair to my station, which I dared not disobey; that official summons,
sealed with the official seal, and stamped with the official _griffe_,
which strikes such terror into the hearts of youthful aspirants to
diplomatic fame. I have grown older and wiser since that time, and
have in my turn despatched many an official summons to strike terror
into the heart of some diplomatic tyro. I have lived to satisfy even my
mother’s ambitious hopes, and have had my full share both of diplomatic
toils and their glittering reward; but I can never look back without
an overwhelming gratitude and regret towards the time when, unknown
and obscure, I passed those pleasant hours in the society of the great
and illustrious Prince de Talleyrand, during that short vacation at
Valençay.