Reminiscences of Prince Talleyrand, Volume 1 (of 2)

by active 19th century M. Colmache

“‘The body of her father had yielded to her touch, and had sunk forward into the fire-place, where it lay upon the hearth, among the cold ashes. It was evident that he had been dead for many hours, and, in her fright, poor Jeanne, scarcely knowing what to do, seized the little Marguerite in her arms, and ran screaming from the tower, nor paused until she reached the town, where instantly, with a prudence and foresight beyond her years, she went to seek the curé. Great was the excitement among the peasantry on the estate when they heard of the death of the Count de St. Remy, and they assembled in great numbers around the old tower, and bore away the body to the chapel of the château. But the hard-hearted fermier-général, well aware that his possession of the estate was illegal—for the count had not the power to dispose of the land, which belonged of right to his children after him—refused to receive the corpse, and it remained for two whole days outside the chapel-door, whence it was carried to the burying-ground of the village, where it was thrown without ceremony, still covered with the rags in which he had died, into the common fosse,—the curé having refused the prayers of the church to one who had died without its aid, consequently in a state of impénitence finale.

“‘After the death of her father, Jeanne, still, as usual, accompanied by her little brother, and carrying her sister on her back, set off on foot for Paris, with the papers which proved her descent from Henry II., and which constituted her whole worldly store, all soiled and ragged, sown up in her tattered casaquin. In this plight did she traverse the whole of France, a distance of nearly two hundred leagues, with no support by the way, but from the charity of travellers, until she arrived at the last stage of her journey, within one league of the capital. She declared that, on that memorable day, she had walked more than twenty miles, with the determination of arriving at Paris before nightfall; but here, just at the very moment of seeing her hopes realized, she sank exhausted by the roadside, unable to move a step farther. Her feet were torn and bleeding, and she was drenched to the skin; the rain, which had fallen in torrents during the whole afternoon, had rendered the roads so slippery, that her fatigue had been doubled; added to which, she had scarcely tasted food since morning, for she discovered that, as she drew nearer to the capital, travellers were possessed of sterner feelings; they either turned a deaf ear to her petition, or else laughed to scorn the terms in which it was couched.

“‘Night was coming on apace; it was impossible to remain till morning on the wet and muddy bank. Her heart was pierced by the wailings of her little sister, and the cries of her brother for food and warmth were most piteous. Once more did she call her courage to her aid, and essayed to walk, but she was too weak, and, staggering forward a few paces, fell with her head against a door in the wall, which ran along the footpath. The shock burst it open, and discovered to the astonished gaze of the poor famished children, a scene which appeared to them like fairy-land—a garden filled with blooming shrubs and flowers, and lighted by myriads of coloured lamps. There was no one walking in the garden—the ground was too wet for that—but a few paces from the gate stood a Chinese pavilion, raised by a flight of steps from the ground, all decorated with party-coloured streamers, and blazing with light, within which was gathered a crowd of magnificently-attired ladies and cavaliers, and whence issued sounds of mirth and laughter, and strains of low soft music. It was like a dream of heaven! Jeanne never could tell who among this gay company was the first to perceive the three little miserable wanderers as they stood shivering at the gate, for she stood entranced, until she was brought back to reality by a loud voice shouting a coarse reprimand to a servant in rich livery, who was standing at the door of the pavilion, for having left the garden-gate unlocked. Presently the servant in rich livery came hurriedly down the steps, and taking Jeanne by the arm, was proceeding to turn her without ceremony into the road, when a sudden instinct caused her to resist the attack, and springing forward with a desperate effort, with outstretched arms, she darted towards the pavilion, and called out in a piteous voice, in which the two younger children joined, as soon as ever they heard the first note, so familiar was the cry—“Charity—charity, for the love of Heaven! A morsel of bread for three poor starving orphans, descendants of the royal house of Valois!”

“‘In an instant the whole company rushed to the balcony which surrounded the pavilion, attracted by the piercing shriek of Jeanne and the novelty of the appeal. She had sunk upon her knees at the foot of the balustrade, awaiting in silence the success of her bold attack. For a moment it was doubtful, for the lacquey in rich livery had again got fast hold of the child’s arm, and in obedience to the same rough command which had sentenced her to a dismissal before, was about to push her again towards the gate, when suddenly a lady, one of the most richly attired among the company, calling to him in an authoritative tone to desist, and forcing her way through the crowd, came down the steps to where poor Jeanne was still kneeling, pale and trembling, with her little brother clinging to her skirts, and the baby-sister wailing piteously at her back. The garden where this scene took place belonged to the magnificent château of M. le Marquis de Boulainvilliers, at Passy; the gentleman who had commanded the lacquey to turn the children from the gate was M. de Boulainvilliers himself, and consequently the lady who had desired him do so at his peril, could be no other than Madame la Marquise de Boulainvilliers!

“‘The fates had been kind indeed, when they led poor Jeanne into the friendly domain of the marquise. I knew her well: she was, I believe, a truly benevolent person, but had perverted her real, honest, charitable disposition into a sickly sentimentality, by her intercourse with the Neckers, and her admiration of all the fade doctrines emanating from the academic grove established at Coppet. She was, moreover “folle de ce cher Jean Jacques, l’homme de la Nature, et citoyen de Genève,” and raved about sentiment and presentiment, and the errors and vices of civilization, and the far more preferable state of savage life, and “the feelings implanted in our bosoms by the God of Nature,” &c.; until she, being rather a portly person, and always overlaced, would sometimes turn suddenly black in the face, and alarm her auditors by a desperate fit of coughing, which she owed to her asthma, and which was only quelled by the exertions of the two tall valets who stood behind her chair; the one patted her most vigorously on the back, while the other jerked cold water in her face from a glass ewer, which always stood ready at hand for the purpose. This is the only remembrance I have preserved of Madame de Boulainvilliers; but, slight as it is, it will be quite sufficient to show you all the extent of the good fortune which had befallen “the descendants of the royal house of Valois.”

“‘The marquise took the poor child by the hand and raised her from the ground, without any apparent fear lest the contact of such dirty rags should soil the coloured satin brocade in which she herself was attired. She spoke to her kindly, and endeavoured to soothe her agitation, and finally led the whole party into the very midst of the assembly of dainty ladies and mincing cavaliers, and made them repeat the extraordinary appeal which had attracted her attention. Jeanne needed no pressing to induce her to comply with her request, and the music was hushed and the tittering of the company silenced by the whining cry, “Charité! charité!—a morsel of bread for the starving orphans of the royal house of Valois!”

“‘Curiosity was of course excited; the event had given variety to the amusements of the evening. Madame de Boulainvilliers questioned the child, who told her history in a plain and artless manner, and, when she had concluded, drew from the lining of her casaquin the papers relating to her birth, which Madame la Marquise read aloud to the astonished assembly. There was a universal movement in favour of the orphans; a most liberal subscription was raised on the instant, everybody present proposed assistance in some way or another to get a placet presented to the king, and so great was the interest excited, that the worthy marquise hurried them away to bed, fearing lest some one else might rob her of her bonne œuvre, by taking charge of the children, concerning whom she had already formed a multitude of projects in support of her favourite theory. Here was a fine occasion for displaying the superiority of the philosophy of Jean Jacques! What good fortune to have discovered these children, fresh from the hands of nature, uncorrupted by intercourse with the world, and yet of noble, nay more, of royal blood! How she would love to show to the incredulous and scoffers at the new doctrines the wondrous effects to be produced by the new system of education—the candour, the innocence, the absence of all artifice, which characterise the human heart when untrammelled by the hypocritical conventions of society! She really was alarmed lest any of her friends should beg the children of her, and so ordered them to be put to bed in the apartment adjoining her own.

“‘Had they not better have a hot bath first?’ drily exclaimed the old Chevalier de Meylau.

“‘Fie, chevalier; there is no disgrace in their neglected state. In all artificial communities like ours, it is the seal affixed to poverty!’ exclaimed the marquise, indignantly.

“‘Ay, or the soil,’ retorted the chevalier; but fortunately the marquise did not hear him; she had been seized with one of her most desperate fits of coughing.