At nine I went with Madame Mollien to the Comtesse de Boigne's. She had been to see me first, and had caused me to be told at Madame Mollien's that she would be much flattered if I would come and see her sometimes in the evening. Hers is the leading salon at present; the one good house which belongs, I will not say to the Court, but to the Ministry, as that of Madame de Flahaut belongs to the Duc d'Orléans, and that of Madame de Massa to the Court proper. There is no fourth. At Madame de Boigne's there is a reception every evening; politics is the leading subject, and they talk of nothing else. The conversation seemed to me strained and rather embarrassing owing to the direct questions which the speakers rather indiscreetly hurled at each other. "Will the Duke of Wellington be able to go on?"—"Do you think that Mr. Stanley will join Sir Robert Peel?"—"Do you believe that a reconciliation between Lord Grey and Lord Brougham is possible?" These are specimens of the interrogations with which I was naïvely assailed. I escaped by pleading absolute ignorance, concluding with a laugh by saying that I did not expect to have to solve questions of conscience on a festive occasion. The matter ended there, but I got a disagreeable impression in spite of the excessive graciousness of our hostess, and I was glad to get away.
Paris, December 14, 1834.—Lady Clanricarde came to breakfast yesterday, and at half-past eleven we left for the Académie française. M. Thiers, who was being received, had secured the best places for us, which I was grateful to observe were far from those occupied by his family, who were with the Duchesse de Massa in an elevated gallery. In our neighbourhood there were only Madame de Boigne, M. and Madame de Rambuteau, Marshal Gérard, M. Molé, M. de Celles, and Madame de Castellane. The last-named has got stouter, heavier, and thicker, but she retains her pleasant face, the mobility of whose lower parts is so attractive. She seemed so delighted, so moved, and so touched on seeing me (I used to be intimate with her and knew all about her affairs, so much that the imprudence of her subsequent quarrel with me was incredible) that I was quite touched too, and we shook hands. She said, "May I come and see you again?" and I answered, "Yes, with all my heart."
Here is the story. When the Tuileries were against me under the Restoration, Madame de Castellane turned against me, and, without thinking of the injury it was in my power to inflict on her, she broke with me. I was deeply hurt, because I was very fond of her; but to revenge myself would have been mean, and, in spite of all my faults, I am incapable of doing anything so low as that would have been. I think that at the bottom of her heart she was grateful to me for having spared her.
M. de Talleyrand, as a member of the Institute, came into the hall leaning on the arm of M. de Valençay. The effect of his entry was unbelievable. Every one rose with one accord in the galleries, as well as on the floor of the house, and this, no doubt, with a certain stirring of curiosity, but also with an impulse of respect, of which he was deeply sensible. I know that in spite of the crowd which obstructed the approaches every one made way for him.
The sitting began at one. M. Thiers is so small that he entered without being seen, being surrounded by Villemain, Cousin, and some others. No one noticed him till he stood up alone to begin his speech. He spoke with the best possible accent, and pronounced everything distinctly. His voice was sustained, and his gestures rare. He was not over voluble, and for the first few moments he was as pale as death and trembling from head to foot. This made a much better impression than if he had displayed the insolence with which he is often reproached. In spite of the disagreeable tone of his voice, he never offended the ear; he was neither monotonous nor shrill; and, in fact, Lady Clanricarde went so far as to think him splendid!
M. de Talleyrand and M. Royer-Collard were opposite to him, and he seemed to speak only for them. His discourse was brilliant. I do not know whether it was precisely academic, though it was full of wit, of good taste, and fine language in certain places, but there is no doubt that it was political, and he spoke it much more as if it was an improvisation than as if it was a lecture. Certain of his movements, too, recalled the tribune, and on the audience the effect produced was much more parliamentary than literary, but always favourable and sometimes even enthusiastic. M. de Talleyrand was quite moved, and M. Royer-Collard moved his wig up and down in a way that signified the most lively approbation! The passage on calumny was spoken with a conviction and an intimacy which was contagious, and was received with a salvo of applause.
The discourse is in the highest degree anti-revolutionary. He is orthodox in his literary principles, he is—and this is what I like in him above all—he is penetrated through and through with a sentiment of honesty which greatly pleased me, and which should be useful to M. Thiers throughout the remainder of his career. This fine speech did not require the tedious reply of M. Viennet to bring out its excellence; no one listened to him, and he only succeeded in drawing attention to the fact that the hour was very late and that it was dreadfully hot.
It is said that during M. Thiers' speech M. de Broglie was making merry jests. M. Guizot was cross, and not very well satisfied, I think, to see his rival make a double success—political and literary—in the same week.
Paris, December 16, 1834.—Yesterday I paid several calls, and found Madame de Castellane in. She had missed me when she came to see me. She insisted on my hearing her history during the past twelve years; and she tells it so well that I thought she must have had some practice in pouring it into the ears of others than myself in these cooing tones. She has lost all her youth, and is a large, short, squat person. Except for her smile, she is no longer the same person that I once knew—physically, that is. Morally, I thought she had made up her mind to be grave, rather than that she had become serious. She is witty and caressing as ever, and she talked a great deal; I very little. My heart was full of many old memories; and though she was kind I could not recover my old confidence in her. However, I received all she said well, and I am not sorry to be on good terms with her again.
Paris, December 17, 1834.—Yesterday I allowed myself to be persuaded to go with her to the Court of Peers. We sat, not in a conspicuous box, but in that of the Duchesse Decazes, which is in a retired position, and from which one can see and hear without being seen. I had never been there, the sittings not having been public till 1830. The proceedings of yesterday had been very much advertised and excited general curiosity, so the House was full.