He spoke much of Rochecotte and of his desire to visit it again next summer.
Valençay, October 31, 1834.—M. le Comte de la Redorte is staying here. He is a man of undoubted erudition. He has studied a great deal, and travelled much. He remembers everything, but, unfortunately, instead of waiting till you knock at his door, as an Englishman would do, he throws it wide open and forces you to come in. Though his face is fine and his manners charming, and the sound of his voice delightful, he is simply a bore. He fills his conversation with facts, dates, and figures; he enters into the most minute details; he plunges head first into the heaviest economic topics, and wearies, extinguishes, and crushes his audience. His opinions, moreover, are cut and dried on every subject; his judgments are absolute; his expositions are all arranged beforehand. It is deadly dull! Our English party groaned under him! He left after luncheon, and as he was going M. de Talleyrand said: "There is a mind which stopped before it arrived." He said a rather sharp thing about Madame de Sainte-Aldegonde, who also left this morning. Speaking of her very dark eyebrows, which surmount rather expressionless eyes: "These," he said, "are bows without arrows."
Here is an extract from a letter from Paris, dated the 29th, which came yesterday: "The post-horses were waiting in M. de Rigny's courtyard on Sunday the 26th, and he was just about to leave with Bertin de Veaux, when the King sent for him and commanded him to put off his departure for a day. He never got another opportunity of getting away. Yesterday, at four, Marshal Gérard forced the King to accept his resignation. M. de Rigny has determined not to accept the Premiership which they wish to offer him. He thinks he has neither the talent nor the consistency necessary for the post. He cannot disguise from himself that the only reason for offering him the place is the difficulty of getting any one else; and if his refusal costs him his place he will console himself with the reflection that it is better to go out of office in this way than to go later on less honourably. And yet what will be the end of all this? What appears most probable is the addition of M. Molé to the Ministry. M. Thiers would much like to be Premier, but he does not yet dare to be openly a candidate. M. Molé would not remain long. His means, his character, his surroundings, will all combine to promote his speedy fall. This would be enough to enable M. Thiers to realise his ambition—at least he thinks so. He would, however, have been better pleased to see M. de Rigny undertake the part intended for M. Molé, but that even his eloquence could not achieve!"
Valençay, November 1, 1834.—I hear from Paris that an article in terms very insulting to M. de Talleyrand and myself has just appeared in a periodical review. For many years I have been afflicted with insults, libels, and gutter calumnies of all kinds, and I shall be so persecuted till the end of my days. Living as I have done in the house of M. de Talleyrand, and in his confidence, how could I escape the licence of the press and its attacks in the most libellous age of journalism? It was long before I got used to it. I used to be deeply wounded, very much upset, and very unhappy, and I shall never become quite indifferent. A woman never could be, and would, in my opinion, be the worse for becoming so. However, as it would be equally absurd to allow one's peace of mind to be at the mercy of people one despises, I have made up my mind to read nothing of this kind, and the more directly concerned I am the less I desire to know about it. I do not wish to know the evil people think or say or write about me, or about my friends. If they do wrong, or if I myself am not all I should be, I am quite aware of the fact, and want to forget it. As for calumny, it disgusts and enrages me, and I see no reason why I should acknowledge the dirt thrown at those nearest and dearest to me.
There are so many pains and mortifications in this life, and so many are inevitable, that my only thought is how to avoid as many as possible, for I am sure that enough remains to test my courage and resignation.
Another of my motives for not investigating these malevolent incidents is that I find it too hard to forgive them, for if gratitude is one of the most prominent characteristics of the good part of my nature, I am always afraid that I have a compensating amount of rancour. I have never forgotten a service or a friendly word, but I have perhaps too often remembered an insult or an unkind remark. Thank heaven, my rancour does not go the length of revenge, but I suffer for it all the same. I know nothing so miserable in the world as bearing malice, and, silent and inoffensive as I remain externally, the feeling rankles within and I am quite upset by it.
Unfortunately, I have had only too many occasions to scrutinise, analyse, and dissect my moral self. Who is there who has not a chronic moral malady, like a chronic physical one? And who is there who, having passed a certain age, is not or ought not to be well aware of the rules he should follow, for the good of his soul, no less than his body?
Valençay, November 4, 1834.—I have just returned from an expedition which we made to Blois and its neighbourhood with our English friends, who were going back to Paris. The day before yesterday, we visited Chambord which seemed, as it in fact is, bizarre, original, full of interest and rich in detail. It is situated in an ugly country, and is in a deplorable state. The window of the oratory of Diane de Poitiers, on which Francis I. wrote his impertinent couplet about women,[42] is still there, but the panes are broken. The verses were not creditable to a chivalrous monarch.
The place where the Bourgeois gentilhomme was first acted before Louis XIV. also exists, as well as the table on which the body of Marshal Saxe, who died at Chambord, was opened and embalmed. It is in fact the only piece of furniture left in the Château.
We got back to Blois rather late, and yesterday morning we visited the castle, which is now a barracks, and certainly one of the most interesting monuments of France. The four sides are in four separate styles of architecture. The oldest part dates from the time of Stephen of Blois, King of England of the Plantagenet stock. The second oldest dates from Louis XII. and bears his emblem, the hedgehog, with the motto: Qui s'y frotte s'y pique. Then comes the part built by Francis I. with its Renaissance elegance. It was here that the Duc de Guise was murdered, that Catherine de Medicis died, and here too is the hall where the celebrated States General of Blois assembled. You are shown the fireplace where the body of the Duc de Guise was consumed, and the dungeon where the Cardinal and the Archbishop of Lyons were imprisoned, the little niche where Henri III. placed the monks whom he ordered to pray for the success of the assassination, and the room where the widow of John Sobieski died. Lastly, the fourth side was built by Gaston d'Orléans in the style of the Tuileries, and was never finished. Near the castle is an old pavilion in which were the baths of Catherine de Medicis, and not far off is a shed which served as a retreat for the favourites of Henri III.