‘I am not surprised at the prince’s recollection of the incident. His memory is excellent.’
‘Since then I have often thought the matter over, and always regretted my neglect to let M. de Talleyrand know the causes of my apparent lack of gratitude.’
‘Your story reminds me of one I heard recently in Rome in connection with the banker Torlonia, whose enormous fortune is, again, a consequence of one of those inspirations that decide the fate of a man.
‘Torlonia, who sprang from very humble people, began by a small traffic of jewellery between Paris and Rome. A short time afterwards he established himself as a banker, and then an unhoped-for and altogether unexpected circumstance brought him in contact in a very strange manner with Cardinal Chiaramonti. At the death of Pius VI. the conclave for the election of a new Pope was obliged to assemble at Venice. Chiaramonti positively had not the money to pay his travelling expenses, and Torlonia advanced him three or four hundred crowns without much thought as to the small risk involved, and certainly without foreseeing the consequences. Chiaramonti proceeded to Venice, where, in the church of St. George’s (?), he was elected to the papacy. As a proof of his gratitude, the new Sovereign Pontiff appointed him Court Banker, then made him a marquis and finally a duke. To-day, thanks to that small loan, Torlonia is one of the wealthiest capitalists of Europe.’
These last words had just been spoken when Ypsilanti, Tettenborn, and some other friends came to tell us that supper was being served. We followed them to the supper-room, where the conversation turned once more on the subject of M. de Talleyrand and his remarkable influence on the deliberations of the Congress. Everybody was agreed that this preponderance was not due either to mere chance or to the just appreciation of his political knowledge, but to his character, which had laid it down as a principle that the first and foremost essential of all diplomatic negotiations was an impenetrable discretion; and to the fact of his having imbued all those whom he employed with the same reserve. In connection with this, some one cited the recent reply of M. D—— in a gathering of friends where M. de Talleyrand and the particulars of his life were being discussed.
M. D——, who had been with M. de Talleyrand for twenty years, accompanied him to the Congress. People naturally concluded that this long intimacy had made M. D—— familiar with a number of particulars of the minister’s life, and bearing also upon the events with which he had been mixed up. Worried with questions, M. D—— invariably replied that he knew nothing; but the questioners would not be satisfied, and returned to the charge. ‘Very well,’ finally said M. D——, ‘I’ll tell you a peculiar and altogether unknown fact in connection with M. de Talleyrand. Since Louis XV. he’s the only man who can open a soft-boiled egg with one backward stroke of his knife without spilling a drop of the contents of the shell. That’s the only peculiarity I know in connection with him.’ Discretion had scored a decisive victory. From that moment the questions ceased.
The topic of M. de Talleyrand seemed really inexhaustible. More stories about him were told, and then the Prince de Reuss came up to our table, said a few words to M. Rouen, and once more left us.
‘It was his father, the reigning prince,’ said one of our friends, ‘who at the time of the Directory began an official despatch in the following terms: “The Prince de Reuss begs to acknowledge the existence of the French Republic.” M. de Talleyrand, who in his capacity of Minister of Foreign Affairs had to reply to the missive, began his document with: “The French Republic feels most flattered at making the acquaintance of the Prince de Reuss.”’
On leaving my friends, I could not help reflecting with regret upon my adventure at Raincy, the recollection of which had so unexpectedly cropped up a few hours previously. I kept thinking of the chance offered to me by M. de Talleyrand, which my lack of foresight had caused me to disdain.