Reminiscences of Prince Talleyrand, Volume 1 (of 2)

by active 19th century M. Colmache

“‘How I should have liked to be present!’ said I, ‘and to hear from her own lips the recital of her adventures!’

“‘Bah!’ said the prince, laughing, ‘I can tell you the tale, and if it prove as interesting to you as it did to me, you will not forget it more than I have done. I believe it to be strictly true in all its main points. It is a singular story, and but little known. She told it well, too, and I leave you to judge of the effect which it must have produced at the time.

“‘She said that her father, who, there can be no doubt was, in reality, the Count de Saint Remy de Valois, descended from Henry II., had sold the whole of his estates to a rich fermier-général, in order to satisfy the debts incurred by the inordinate love of splendour and expense in which his wife had indulged since their marriage. The family was, in consequence, reduced to the very lowest ebb of destitution and poverty. The mother, who was the daughter of one of the Count de Saint Remy’s vassals, had not strength of mind to bear the poverty which her own extravagance had brought upon her family, and fled, leaving her husband and three children to endure the privations which she was so ill-disposed to share. There was an old Gothic ruin in the park, belonging to what had once been the château of the Counts de Saint Remy, and this the fermier-général consented to give up to the count and his young family. Hither, then, did the hapless little band retire, with no hope but in Heaven. The count became a confirmed misanthrope, and never stirred from the old ruin from the moment that he had fixed his abode within it. He suffered his hair and beard to grow, and refused to hold communication with any living being, save with his young children. But he took little heed of their welfare, notwithstanding his affection for them, nor seemed to care whether they were provided with bread or left to starve; and, had it not been for the kindness of the peasants of the neighbourhood, who, with native delicacy and good feeling, fearing to wound his pride, would come in secret and at night to deposit provisions upon the threshold of the mouldering edifice wherein they had taken refuge, the whole family would sometimes have been for days together without a morsel of food.

“‘This, however, was far from being sufficient to satisfy their wants, and the care of providing food devolved, of course, upon the eldest child Jeanne (Madame de la Motte herself). She would wander along the public road from sunrise to sunset, holding her little brother by the hand, and carrying her sister, yet a helpless infant, on her back, and thus the little trio, faint and weary, and covered with sordid rags, would run by the side of every carriage that passed on the highway, calling out in a piteous tone, “Charity, charity, for the love of God! A morsel of bread for three poor starving orphans, descended from the royal blood of the Valois!” This appeal failed not, of course, to attract notice.

“‘I was fair, and pretty,’ said the comtesse, as she told the tale, ‘and sometimes returned laden with silver, which I hastened to convert into necessaries for our use, and comforts for my father, ere I sought my home at night. This state of things lasted fur more than two years. The old ruin had fallen into greater decay; the count had fallen into a state of greater gloom and apathy, scarcely ever uttering a syllable to the children, nor seeming to take the least notice of their departure or return, nor of their efforts to procure for themselves and him the nourishment which was needful to sustain existence.

“‘One evening, poor Jeanne returned with her little companions, weary and footsore, to the old tower. They had been out a longer time than usual, the day had been wild and stormy, and but few travellers had passed the road, so that but small profit had been made, and there was a prospect of a supper even more scanty than usual. On entering the tower, they were struck by the unwonted silence and darkness of the place, for the count generally took upon himself the charge of feeding the fire, and at nightfall lighted a torch to read over and over again, for the millionth time, the genealogy of his family, and the title-deeds proving his descent from the Valois, the only occupation in which he now seemed to find amusement or consolation.

“‘Upon this occasion, however, all was dark and silent as the grave, and Jeanne, after having called her father without receiving any answer, drew near to the hearth, and blew up the few remaining embers into a sickly blaze, which just sufficed to light the interior of the tower. Her father was seated, drooping and motionless, in his customary seat in the chimney corner, leaning against the wall, with his head bent low upon his bosom, and his hand upon his heart.’

“‘He is asleep,’ said Jeanne, to the little ones; ‘let us make no noise, but hurry to bed as quickly as possible, that he may not be disturbed.’

“‘So she gave each of the children a morsel of bread and a piece of the curd-cheese eaten by the poor peasants in that part of the country, and they all three sought in haste and silence the bundle of straw allotted to their use. Here they slept soundly until the dawn. Jeanne was the first to wake, and, on perceiving the sunbeams struggling through the loop-hole in the wall, rose with the hope of having better luck than on the preceding day, and hurriedly gathered on her rags, determined to set forth at once upon her daily errand. She was just preparing to rouse her little brother, when she was struck with terror, on turning to bid adieu to her father, to perceive that he was still seated in the chimney-nook, in the same attitude in which she had found him on returning to the tower on the evening before. He had passed the whole night seated thus without moving; his head still drooping on his bosom—his hand still pressed upon his heart! There was something so unnatural in this immobility, that the child, young as she was, felt overcome with dread. She approached the count and listened, but she heard not his breathing, nothing but the beating of her own heart. She laid her hand upon his shoulder, and pushed him gently.

“‘Father, it is time to rise!’ said she, in a low voice, and then the loud shriek, which burst from her lips, echoed through the tower, and roused from their slumber the two babes, who ran crying towards her.