“‘On the other side, (the truth may be told now without mischief,) avoided by the rest, as though they bore the seeds of pestilence within them, the members of the tiers état conversed in busy, whispering knots; no merry laughter was heard from them, no pleasant trifling or mirthful jesting was seen lighting up their discourse. All was dark and gloomy, care sat on every brow, and that their converse was of weighty matters, was evident, by the tone of mystery in which it was carried on, and the sudden silence which took place among them whenever any stray member of the noblesse happened to pass by to join the glittering throng on the other side. Their very costume contrasted strongly with that of their contemptuous superiors; they all wore, and contrary to anticipation, were proud to wear the dress to which they had been condemned—the black hose and surtout, and short black cloak, which, by the antique sumptuary law, denoted the vile, base-born roturier.
“‘It was altogether a scene such as I shall never forget while memory has power to act. I never remember in my whole life to have been inspired with so profound a sentiment of melancholy as at that hour. I could scarcely refrain from shedding tears, at perceiving, by what was already taking place, what must of necessity come to pass before long. As we drew near to the palace, the long windows of the suite of apartments looking towards the Pièce d’Apollon, and then known as the Appartements du Dauphin, were thrown open, and out rushed, like a flight of butterflies, the whole bevy of court beauties, all in high glee, in towering spirits, elated at the prospect of the morrow’s pageant, which they evidently looked upon but as a show wherein they were to see much that would amuse, and wherein they should be seen to the very best advantage, as, fortunately, the Salle des Menus was lighted from above, which was so much more favourable to the effect of rouge and mouches than the broad, glaring, side light of the grande galerie.
I cannot tell you how the sound of that joyous laughter grated on my ear, as it caused both Sièyes and myself to pause while we watched those light forms, as they playfully chased each other on the terrace among the flowers. The queen was with them there; and I think I see her now, as she stood leaning for support against the pedestal of the statue of Silenus, opposite to the marble staircase, so greatly was she overcome by the fit of laughter into which she had been thrown by some absurd mistake on the part of the Countess de Provence, for her ringing voice and childlike accent reached our ears as we stood close below the balustrade, as she exclaimed, pointing to her sister-in-law, “Cette chère Sœur will never learn to speak French!” That radiant face and beaming eye could not at such a moment be seen without exciting a feeling of pity, and this I know was shared by Sièyes, for, without uttering a word, he pressed my arm significantly, and led me from the spot towards a group of the tiers-état who were standing at the entrance of the bosquets. As we drew near, I descried the Abbé Maury, who was, as usual, declaiming with all his might, although in a low tone, to an eager crowd of listeners. Just as we came up, he concluded some section of his discourse with this question, ‘Eh bien, Messieurs, if the noblesse treat us so, what are we to do?’
“‘Why, trust to Providence!’ was the answer, from one of those standing near. The voice made me start, so little was I prepared to hear it in such a place. I turned to the speaker—it was indeed my own dear D——!
“‘Of course my inquiries and his replies followed each other in rapid succession, and I was almost led to believe that his philosophy was the best that had ever been devised, when he informed me that he had come to Versailles as representative of the clergy, deputed by his commune, the electors being of course in this, as in every other case, compelled to disburden him of his debts before he could leave the canton. ‘It was quite unexpected,’ said the good man, ‘almost a miracle; for how could I dream even a short month ago of deputies, and notables, and gatherings at Versailles. You see I was right in trusting to Heaven for relief. However, it did astonish the worthy bourgeois a little, when they discovered how dearly they would have to pay for their choice; and they might perhaps have cancelled it had such a proceeding been allowed. Mais, c’est égal!—summer is coming on, harvest time will soon draw near, and the poor of my parish have, meanwhile, been clothed and fed!’
“‘It would perhaps be difficult to meet with a more beautiful realization of the spirit of Scripture than is to be found in this anecdote. He has met with his reward, for “mes pauvres,” as he always called his little flock, protected him through the dangers and persecutions which he subsequently had to undergo; and, at the Restoration, he was appointed to the cure of St. Thomas, one of the best bénéfices of Paris, which he still holds, and where, until these very few years, when, from old age, he has become incapacitated for preaching, he was wont to deliver many and many a pithy sermon upon the wonderful “bounty of Providence.”’
“There is scarcely a visitor at the Hotel Talleyrand,” resumed C., “who does not, as in the case of the curé of St. Thomas, elicit some quaint history, some piquant anecdote of days gone by, on the part of the prince. His memory is so wonderful, that he can scarcely relate the simplest trait of his own life without being led into many other stories illustrative of the times in which the incidents happened, and to which he knows better than any living being how to give a charm, an interest, which will sometimes render the smallest circumstance of value, and which is a gift so highly esteemed by our nation, that l’art de raconter has ever been placed far above any other accomplishment in the qualifications requisite to form an agreeable member of society. You will in general find the prince indulgent when relating anecdotes even of persons from whom it may be a well-known fact that he has differed all his life. I have often heard him say that ‘experience teaches us indulgence,’ and that ‘the wisest man is he who doubts his own judgment with regard to the motives which actuate his fellow-men.’ I have sometimes heard him entertain his intimate circle, during a long evening, with a vast number of amusing traits and anecdotes relating to his ‘fellow-labourers in the vineyard,’ without once having recourse to scandal or ridicule; which I consider the very perfection of the story-teller’s science. The only person with whose name he likes, even now, sometimes, to disport himself in his moments de malice is Madame Necker, whom he never could tolerate, and with whom, even in her most palmy days, he scrupled not to declare himself openly at war. He really felt with regard to her what he so happily expressed, ‘She has every virtue and but one fault, and that is, she is insupportable!’ The good lady never forgave his comparing her to a ‘frigate riding at anchor, and receiving a salute from a friendly power,’ when she stood upon her own hearth-rug at the Hôtel Necker, upon the occasion of her weekly receptions; her ample proportions obscuring the light of the fire, as, with pinched-up features and prudish smile, she listened to the compliments of the Academicians, whom she assembled but for this purpose. The ‘strait-laced Genevese,’ as he calls her, has furnished him, I verily believe, with more witty bon mots, with more stinging epigrams, than even his most bitter enemy.
“His feeling towards her daughter, Madame de Staël, has much of the same nature. To this hour, his amour propre is wounded by the obligation he owes her for having obtained, through her credit with Barras, his recall from exile, and thus, in reality, laid the foundation of his fortune. This unwillingness to own a debt may savour somewhat of ingratitude; but the prince will be excused when it is remembered that Madame de Staël possessed, in common with all persons of a nervous, irritable temperament, an excess of that susceptibility which phrenologists have denominated ‘approbativeness,’ which made her over-value her success, and never cease bringing it to the memory of the person obliged. This, to a proud, sarcastic temper like that of the prince, must have been peculiarly annoying, the more so as Napoleon, with the gross, soldier-like want of tact which he would sometimes display, loved to remind him both of the immensity of the service, and by whom it had been rendered, and then would laugh coarsely to see him wince under the reproach, which all his wonted philosophy did not enable him to bear with calmness.
“He had never the same high opinion of Madame de Staël which the world professed. He thought her style pedantic and guindé, and would complain, when any of her compositions were read to him, of their total want of nature and coloris. I have often heard him say, that those who read the writings might fairly boast of knowing the writer, for that nothing could more resemble Madame de Staël herself than the false, exaggerated sentiments and superficial erudition of her compositions. I have seldom seen him enjoy more keenly a story than the one he will sometimes tell of an adventure which befel Madame de Staël at a party where he himself was present. I think it was at a fête champêtre given by Madame Helvetius at her pretty little château at Auteuil. The garden was full of all the talent of Europe and America combined, for it was just at the height of the American mania, and the fête, indeed, was given to the great champion of liberty, the regenerator of his race—l’homme de la nature—the immortal Franklin. I could tell you, by the bye, some curious circumstances connected with the great patriot, which you, as an Englishman, would be glad to hear, and which I am sure the prince would be equally glad to communicate, for he has but small esteem for the faux bonhomme, as he called him.
“Madame Helvetius was one of the most charming women that the world ever produced. The style and type of such beings seem lost ever since the revolution. Without being strictly handsome, she always succeeded, without effort, in obtaining more admiration than the professed beauties who might be in the same company with her. There was a charm, a grace in every action, in every word she uttered, which has never been surpassed. Although she herself possessed no literary talent, there was not a celebrity in Europe who was not proud of her notice; and her assemblies in Paris, and her fêtes at Auteuil are not forgotten to this day. Upon the occasion to which I refer, Madame de Staël was making her début in the Parisian literary world, and calculating upon even more success than she obtained, although, had she been a person of moderate pretensions, she would have been more than satisfied. She had just arrived in Paris; she herself and all those connected with her, had been bright particular stars in the somewhat dim and cloudy horizon of Geneva.