M. Raullin, from his little corner, also thinks it necessary to swell the chorus. He says that Madame de Broglie's doctrinaires are of the same opinion, but all this coterie, like the Bourse and the Boulevards, are very much agitated by the news from England. He tells me some amusing things about the Duc de Bassano and M. Humann. The courier sent after the latter found him at Bar, and he said he would not answer till he got to Strasbourg. I like this Alsatian phlegm.
It is also said that Admiral Duperré is very coy about accepting the Ministry of Marine. Till yesterday morning there were ministers only in petto. M. de Bassano was imperturbably signing things and working with great ardour at the Ministry of the Interior.
M. de Talleyrand has also received a great many letters. M. Pasquier, in reply to a letter of excuses for not being able to be present at the case,[47] insinuates a phrase about the immense services he is still called upon to render. Madame de Jaucourt writes a few lines, at the dictation of M. de Rigny saying, "Come, we can't do without you, and save us." Finally M. de Montrond, who has said nothing for a long time, writes that the news from England has fallen on every one like a flood of boiling-water. Every one is distracted, and Lord Granville takes the change in his country much amiss. He also says he is commanded by the King to make us understand the necessity of our return to England, and that MM. Thiers and de Rigny look upon it as their one hope of salvation.
Valençay, November 24, 1834.—M. de Talleyrand fortunately refuses to withdraw his resignation, but such is the singular prestige which he enjoys that stocks go up and down at Paris according to the greater or less probability of his departure for London. Letters from all parts call on him to come to the rescue, and any number of people whom we do not even know by name, write to beg him not to abandon France. The reason is twofold. The French public will never regard the Duke of Wellington as anything else but an ogre, or M. de Talleyrand as anything but a person whom the Devil will carry off some day, but who in the meantime, owing to an unholy bargain with the Prince of Darkness, has the power of bewitching the Universe. How idiotic it all is! The public is so credulous in its beliefs, so cruel in its revenge and its injustice!
Valençay, November 27, 1834.—A letter from the King came yesterday, in reply to that in which M. de Talleyrand persisted in his resignation, and among other things contained the following: "My dear Prince, I have never seen anything more perfect, more honourable, or better expressed than the letter which I have just received from you. It has deeply touched me. No doubt it costs me much to recognise the justice of most of the reasons which make you refuse to return to London, but I am too sincere, and too much the friend of my friends not to say that you are right."[48]
This exordium is followed by a new invitation to come to Paris with all speed to talk over everything. M. Bresson writes to M. de Talleyrand a very witty and clever letter, in which he begs him to be so kind as to write him all the witticisms with which his sudden apotheosis will no doubt have inspired him. He is anxious not to miss a single one.
M. de Montrond writes that the King says there can be nothing finer than M. de Talleyrand's letter, and that his reasoning is conclusive. For the rest, they are in great embarrassment, and look back to Marshal Soult with regret, and are even seeking to get him back. A new ignominy for our little Ministers! It appears that the Army is in a state of disorganisation.
The Poles who came here for the funeral of the Princess Tyszkiewicz are saying kind things about us, it appears, in Paris. Valençay is approved of only by the Prince Royal, being opposed by the Flahaut influence. M. de Montrond is furious at the kind things which are being said about Valençay, which he has always treated with ridicule.
Valençay, December 1, 1834.—When I was passing through Paris three months ago I saw M. Daure who, in very bad company, was writing in the Constitutionnel, and seemed to me to be in very poor circumstances. I offered him my interest with M. Guizot to get him employment in the researches into the ancient manuscripts and charters of the South, with which the Ministry of Public Instruction is occupied. I went so far as to make an application on his behalf, which was well received. I left for Valençay and heard no more of M. Daure, nor of his application, till a fortnight ago, when I heard from M. Guizot that Daure had been nominated to the place for which I had applied. I at once wrote to Daure, forwarding the Minister's letter, but, not knowing his address, made inquiries at Paris which remained without result, and my letter was awaiting some light on the whereabouts of the poor man, when yesterday evening I received two letters with the Montauban postmark; one in Daure's handwriting, the other in a handwriting unknown to me, which I opened first. It was from an abbé, a friend of Daure, who in accordance with his last wishes, informs me of his death—and what a death! He has committed suicide! Daure's own letter, written shortly before his mad act, touched me deeply, and I will even say, made me very proud. He refers to the people whom he liked in London. I blame myself very much for not asking him to come here this year; it would probably have turned him aside from this dreadful end.
It recurred to my mind last night that last autumn, at Rochecotte, while walking alone with him on the way to visit my schools I spoke to him of his future, and lectured him about his carelessness and extravagance. He replied with much gratitude, and begging me not to be at all anxious about him as he had a resource in reserve of which he could not speak to any one, which he had prepared long since, and which he would have if everything else failed. He was not, he said, so improvident as he seemed, and was as free as possible from anxiety about the future. I thought he meant that he had saved a little money—fool that I was! He killed himself at the very moment that we were burying poor Princess Tyszkiewicz here. What a sad November it has been!