Frederick Lamb detests Lord Granville, but he does not believe that the Tory Cabinet will succeed, though he does not think that the Radicals will necessarily be their successors. He thinks Lord Grey will come back, and is looking for means to extrude Lord Palmerston and Lord Holland. Like Pozzo and M. Molé, he says extraordinary things of M. de Broglie. If we may believe them, no one ever made such blunders.
When I got back yesterday, at four, I received M. Molé. It all passed off as if we had parted only yesterday. He spoke to me, as he used to do, of himself, his affections, friends, attitude of mind—all with the charm which is peculiar to him. He told me that I was much more amiable even than I was four years ago, and he stayed nearly an hour. I have always thought that nobody's conversation is so good, so rapid, or so agreeable as his. He is in very good taste in an age in which good taste is unknown. Perhaps he is not high-souled enough to rule, but he is high-minded enough to refuse to be degraded, and that is already much.
Many names, many facts and deeds, were passed in review during that hour, and I was much pleased with the natural manner in which he approached every topic. He told me that my mind was so just that even those who feared my enmity were reassured; and, in fact, all went off excellently. I am not sure that this will be so between M. de Talleyrand and him. I have undertaken to arrange a meeting, and both parties have begged me to be present at this first interview, which is rather amusing.
M. Molé told me that he yesterday refused an invitation to dine with M. Dupin on the ground that the latter had given a distorted version in the tribune of the purely unofficial relations between them a fortnight ago. M. Molé added that he had no thoughts of the English Embassy—as some people were saying—for he did not wish to accept anything from the present Ministry.
He never sees the Duc de Broglie at all now. He thinks Rayneval is the only possible Ambassador for London just now, and intends to speak about it to the King, with whom he says he is on very good terms. He is scarcely on bowing terms with Guizot, and his relations with Thiers are very cold.
Paris, December 10, 1834.—Yesterday evening M. de Talleyrand was overwhelmed with a procession of visitors. A great many things were said, of which the following seemed to me the best.
They come from Frederick Lamb, who came first, and with whom we were for some time alone. He talked a great deal of M. de Metternich and of his remark made four months ago about King Louis-Philippe: "I thought he was an intriguer, but now I see quite well he is a King." He also told us that on the day of the fall of the last English Ministry Lord Palmerston sent the news to the British chargé d'affaires at Vienna, and asked him to acquaint M. de Metternich, adding: "You will never be in a position to make to M. de Metternich a communication which will give him more pleasure." The chargé d'affaires took the despatch to the Prince, and for some unknown reason read the whole of it to him, including even this last phrase. M. de Metternich made the following reply, which, I think, is in very good taste: "Here is another proof of Lord Palmerston's ignorance of men and things. I cannot be pleased at an event the consequences of which I cannot yet measure. Tell him that I receive the news not with joy but with hope."
Paris, December 12, 1834.—I dined yesterday at the Tuileries; besides M. de Talleyrand, there were the Molliens, the Valençays, and Baron de Montmorency. I sat between the King and the Duc de Nemours; the last-named has conquered his shyness a little, but he is still very timid. He is as white and blonde and pink and slim and transparent as a young girl, and not pretty in my opinion.
No conversation could be more interesting than the King's, especially when, deserting politics, he plunges into the innumerable memories of his extraordinary life. I was struck by two anecdotes which he told extremely well, and though I fear I may spoil them in the repetition, I will put them down. There was in the room a portrait of M. de Biron, Duc de Lauzun, which the King has just had copied from one lent him by M. de Talleyrand. This naturally led the talk to the original of the portrait, and the King told how, when he came back to Paris in 1814, he saw at his first reception an old man, who approached him and asked for a few minutes private conversation away from the crowd. The King placed himself in the embrasure of a window, and then the unknown drew from his pocket a ring mounted with the portrait of the Duc d'Orléans, the King's father, and said: "When the Duc de Lauzun was condemned to death I was at the Revolutionary Tribunal, and as he was going out M. de Biron, whom I had met several times, stopped before me, and said: 'Monsieur, take this ring and promise me that if ever occasion offers you will give it to the children of M. le Duc d'Orléans, assuring them that I die a faithful friend of their father and a devoted servant of their House.'" The King was naturally touched by the scrupulous fidelity with which after so many years the commission had been discharged, and asked the unknown his name. The latter refused, however, saying: "My name will not interest you, and might even awake painful memories. I have carried out the promise I made to a man about to die. You will never see or hear of me again;" and, in fact, he never reappeared.
This is the second anecdote. When the present King was still in England with Louis XVIII. and the Comte d'Artois, the last-named insisted absolutely on his cousin wearing the uniform of the French emigrés, and especially the white cockade. This the Duc d'Orléans persistently refused, and said he would never do. He appeared always in civil dress, which gave rise to many bitter discussions. In 1814, the Duc d'Orléans, following the whole of France, adopted the white cockade, and the Comte d'Artois took the uniform of Colonel-General of the National Guard. The first day on which the Duc d'Orléans appeared at the Comte d'Artois', the latter said to him, "Give me your hat." He took it, turned it over, and, playing with the white cockade, said: "Ah, ah! my dear cousin, what is this cockade? I thought you were never going to wear it?" "I thought so too, Monsieur; and I thought also that you were never destined to wear the coat I see you in to-day. I am very sorry you have not adopted the cockade, which suits it best." "My dear fellow," replied Monsieur, "do not deceive yourself. A coat matters nothing. You may take it or leave it; it is all the same. But a cockade is a different thing; it is a party symbol, a rallying point; and the symbol which you adopt must never be withdrawn." What I liked in the King, as he was pleased to recount this scene, was that he hastened to add: "Well, Madame, Charles X. was right, and what he said was cleverer than might have been expected." "What the King says is true," I replied. "Charles X.'s explanation was that of a man of honour and a gentleman, and it is certain that in him there was much of both." "Assuredly there was," added the King; "and besides that he has a very good heart." I was very much pleased to see justice done to him in that quarter.