“I think his memoirs were concluded some years ago,” replied C., in answer to my question, “and that they have been deposited in safety, out of the pale of his own country, comme de raison, where they will remain until the time fixed by himself for their publication shall have expired. Many competent judges are of opinion that, even at that distant period, the interest of their promulgation to the world will be but little diminished. There is yet so much mystery, so much which has been withheld from public scrutiny, in all the great political changes which have taken place, that there will be as much novelty in the plain, straight-forward narrative of the causes which led to their occurrence, as though they were events of yesterday. From the very first years of the reign of Louis Seize, when the tone and manners of society yet smacked of the wild and dissolute freedom of the Regency, to the restraint and affectation of the Restoration, has M. de Talleyrand always borne a part in public affairs. Always floating on the tide of circumstance, he has kept himself in full view of the wondering crowd of beholders, while many of those who had set forth with better chances of success, by opposing the current, have been overwhelmed by its resistless rush.
“There cannot exist a greater proof of his cleverness and good taste, than his steady avoidance of anything like public condemnation. He has been accused of every crime of which humanity can be guilty, according to the caprice or fury of his enemies, but not even a misdemeanour has ever been proved against him. Even so long ago as when he was as yet, according to his own expression, ‘un assez mince particulier,’ long before the revolution, he had tact and sense enough to steer clear of intrigue, and to avoid the society of those who were suspected of dabbling in obscure political manœuvre. Indeed, had he not been wise beyond his years, he could not have escaped intimacy with the Prince-Cardinal, Louis de Rohan, he who has become famous in history for his credulity in the affair of the diamond necklace, and who, fool as he was, has yet been by many historians quoted as the origin, the first great cause, of the Revolution. This prelate, who at the time when M. de Talleyrand was a simple abbé, waiting for preferment, was already at the very acmé of dignity and power, spared no pains to conciliate the young ecclesiastic. But the Abbé de Perigord was already possessed of too much discernment not to be fully aware that these advances were less owing to any merit of his own, than to the circumstance of his mother being at the time Dame du Palais to Marie Antoinette, whose good graces it had become a kind of monomania with the unfortunate cardinal to gain. The prince, to this very day, however, blesses the good fortune which sent him from Paris upon business connected with his office as Agent du Clergé, just at the very moment when the poor befooled cardinal, and his wily accomplice, were in the very thickest of their plot; so that his name was never mentioned throughout the whole course of the proceedings, neither as frequenter of the cardinal’s hôtel, nor even as an acquaintance of his.”
“Did he ever chance to meet with Madame de la Motte?”
“But once, and that was on the very occasion of his going to take leave of the cardinal, before he left Paris. He had been invited to sup with his Eminence, en petit comité, and had come, prepared to undergo long and ennuyeux discourses upon the various duties of his new office—the necessity of vigilance in detecting fraud—of conciliation to prevent discord; in short, he almost dreaded the interview, fully anticipating the mauvais quart d’heure which is usually spent by a young, inexperienced priest, when delivered up defenceless to the torrent of recommendations and warning, of advice and moral instances, which invariably fall to his share when alone with his superior. Great, therefore, was the astonishment of the Abbé de Perigord, when, in spite of the terms in which the invitation had been couched in the cardinal’s own hand-writing—‘Venez souper tête-à-tête avec moi’—to find the apartment into which he was ushered blazing with light, and signs of ceremony and festivity evident in all the arrangements which had been made for his reception.
“‘I found,’ said the prince, in whose words I will tell you the history of this adventure, ‘on entering the petit salon, which was already lighted with perfumed tapers, and redolent of the fragrant essences which the cardinal loved so much, seated by the blazing fire, which was, according to the custom of the Hôtel Cardinal, composed of scented woods, a lady, whom I instantly recognised as the Princesse de Guéménée, ex-governess to the royal children, but who had some time before been compelled to resign office, in consequence of the disgraceful bankruptcy of her husband, which had not a little contributed to lower the noblesse in the eyes of the people, and formed one of the most astounding events by which that turbulent era was marked. The princess was alone; which circumstance rather astonished me, for I had come prepared with an apology for being late, and I wondered at the absence of the cardinal, as it was already considerably past the time at which he had requested me to be present. The princess herself seemed annoyed as I entered. She had evidently been waiting for some time, for she was in no very pleasant humour, and scarcely deigned to return a civil acknowledgment to my humble salutations and inquiries. However, I was easily consoled for any mortification I might have experienced at this apparent indifference, for the poor princess had but few ideas to dispense, and I therefore considered that it might be as a matter of prudence that she hesitated about wasting them on so humble an individual as myself.
“‘Upon this occasion, I was contented with warming my hands at the scented blaze, and gazing on the portly form of the princess, reclining in ample majesty on the green satin fauteuil before me. Perhaps there never existed a type of ridicule and exaggeration more strongly defined than the Princesse de Guéménée, particularly at this period of her life, when, having lost, by extravagance and folly, the position to which she was entitled by birth and fortune, she appeared as though seeking to gain distinction in another way, by exaggerating the follies of the times, and affording in her person a complete epitome of all the extravagance and bad taste for which the court had become, even then, proverbial. At the very hour of which I am speaking, even when under the ban of dismissal from the court, of reproval from the sovereign, and of the condemnation of all persons of credit and character throughout the kingdom—when it was a notorious fact that her husband and herself were paying loans upon the estates which yet remained to them at the rate of fifty and seventy per cent.—was she attired in all the absurd and costly frippery which a depraved fashion might have excused some years before, when she was yet in possession of the stupendous fortune which so long had caused the Rohans to rival in splendour the sovereign himself, but which would only excite pity and disgust in the minds of those aware of the desperate state of her affairs.
“‘She was attired in a robe of I know not what kind of rich stuff, which stood on end, and completely filled the immense arm-chair in which she was seated. This again was entirely covered with the richest lace, which, looped with ornaments in brilliants, representing scorpions, fell over either elbow of the chair, completely disguising its form, thus leaving the princess to represent to the beholder the richly-decorated joss of some Chinese temple, that scorns, in virtue of its divinity, the support which mortals need when seated. Altogether I scarcely ever remember to have seen a more ridiculous figure than that of the Princesse de Guéménée as she sat thus before me, the light of the fire dancing upon the diamonds with which she was covered from head to foot, now resting upon the thick rouge upon her cheeks, then flying off to some absurd and comical ornament with which she had thought fit to load the towering fabric of her powdered hair, and making her countenance take all kinds of fantastic expressions, as though she had been the sport of some merry demon.
“‘I endeavoured, as in duty bound, to divert the ennui under which the princess was labouring, by trying to recount some of the latest news of the court. I had just returned from Versailles, where I had spent the day bidding adieu to my friends, and thought that it might be agreeable to her to hear the newest gossip. But I could gain no attention. She suffered me to talk on until I was weary, and I could see that she was not paying the slightest heed to my endeavours to amuse her. Suddenly, and in the midst of one of my most diverting anecdotes, she roused herself by a strong effort from the fit of abstraction into which she had been plunged, and turned sharply round towards me.
“‘You say you have just returned from Versailles?’
“‘As I have had the honour to tell you, princess.’