It was this same M. Bourqueney, who was lately writing for the Journal des Débats before he went to London with Sébastiani, who had the impudence to insinuate that he prepared for M. de Talleyrand from Paris the speech which the Prince made to the King of England in delivering the letters accrediting him to the Court of St. James's in 1830. The following is the history of this speech. M. de Talleyrand was just finishing dressing to go to the King, and said to me that it had occurred to him that it would not be amiss to say a word or two, as was the old fashion. In the peculiar circumstances of the time he thought it would be a good thing, but he had no time to prepare anything. Then he added: "Come, Madame de Dino, sit down and find me a few phrases, and please write them in your largest hand." I did so. He changed two or three words in my draft, which I recopied while his orders were being pinned on and his hat and cane were being brought. This is the precise history of this little speech, which by its fortunate allusions and a comparison between 1688 and 1830 attracted some attention at the time.[58]
It is the same with the letter of resignation which M. de Talleyrand wrote less than a year ago. The general idea is that M. Royer-Collard was its author, so here again follows an exact account of what passed. My conscience had told me that it was absolutely necessary that M. de Talleyrand should send in his resignation, and I familiarised him by degrees with this idea. I knew that he always found it difficult to express his thoughts in words, and that he preferred to act. I had, therefore, for a long time been considering what words it would be best to use. At last, one day last November, when we were alone here, I spoke again to M. de Talleyrand of the propriety, which was daily growing more obvious, of his sending in his resignation—a step from which he still shrank a little. He then said that the necessary letter would be very hard to write. Thereupon I immediately gathered together all that I had prepared in thought and put it into writing. I came back in half an hour and read what I had written to M. de Talleyrand, who was much struck with it and adopted it entire, all but two words, which he thought affected. I then asked him to submit the proposed letter to M. Royer-Collard, which he was quite willing to do. Next morning I left for Châteauvieux. M. Royer-Collard thought well of the letter, only putting at the end "the thoughts which it suggests" instead of "the warning which it gives," as I had written, and replacing one expression at the beginning, which he thought too pompous, by another in better taste. Thus, without any further alteration, this letter afterwards appeared in the Moniteur, and for a good while occupied public attention. All the letters of this period written by M. de Talleyrand to the King, Madame Adélaïde, and the Duke of Wellington, were first thrown on paper by me and then rehandled by him. It was only the first above-mentioned, which contained his resignation, which was corrected by M. Royer-Collard. The others were merely communicated to him, and he approved them all.
Valençay, October 1, 1835.—Yesterday I went to Châteauvieux; the weather was terrible.
M. Royer-Collard said that, of all the people he had ever met, the two most alike were Charles X. and M. de la Fayette. They were both equally mad, equally obstinate, and equally honest. Speaking of M. Thiers, he said: "He is a good-humoured rascal with plenty of cleverness and some sparks of greatness, but capable of losing an empire by his recklessness and excitability." Referring to the recent repressive laws, he said: "I have no love for dictators, but reason tells me that they are necessary at times. Perhaps the present is one of these times. But where are we to find the Dictator? If they frankly proposed the King I could understand it, but to think of the present Cabinet occupying such a position!"
Valençay, October 4, 1835.—Yesterday I heard some singular stories of M. Cousin, whose formerly revolutionary ideas have changed into monarchical sentiments of the most exalted character. Some delightful remarks on the subject are quoted. It seems that this illustrious Peer has composed a monarchical and Catholic Catechism. The work being completed it was laid before M. Guizot, who gave it his approval, as did M. Persil, Minister of Public Worship. The book was printed, sent out to educational establishments, and recommended to all the institutions under the University. After all this there came a poor priest with the book in his hand and proved that all these doctors had only forgotten one little thing in the whole system of Catholic doctrine, which was the doctrine of Purgatory, to which not the slightest allusion was made throughout the catechism, verified and approved as it was by M. Guizot, Minister of Public Instruction and a Calvinist!
Valençay, October 10, 1835.—A pedantic and ill-mannered Prefect spitefully refused permission to M. de Talleyrand to plant a few trees, saying that he was "à cheval sur la loi." "Dear me," replied M. de Talleyrand, "you have chosen to ride a sorry jade!"
The celebrated Alfieri was at first attracted by the ideas of the French Revolution, but became so disgusted with them, that he determined to leave France. The reason of this was that one day he was driving four-in-hand in the Bois de Boulogne at a great pace, himself holding the reins, when the horses were requisitioned by force for the public service. That very evening he announced his departure, and in reply to entreaties that he should remain, he observed, "What on earth is one to do in a country where the nobility have no daggers and the priests no poison!"
Valençay, October 16, 1835.—I am confronted with new anxieties. I had heard that the Princesse de Talleyrand was in an alarming condition, and that her end appeared to be approaching. The Baronne de Talleyrand, who told me, asked me to prepare M. de Talleyrand for this event. I confess I shrank from this mission. The gloomy ideas which have so frequently recurred to M. de Talleyrand's mind for some time, the depression caused by his great age, the anxiety which he feels at the slightest symptoms, the sharp and painful impression made on him by the deaths of his contemporaries—all this made me hesitate to tell him that his wife's days were numbered. I was not afraid of the shock of the bereavement, for his heart is not interested. But the disappearance of a person much of his own age, with whom he had lived and of whom he had once been fond, or who had been so indispensable to him that he had given her his name—all this made me think that the Princess's danger would affect him deeply.
I racked my brains to find some oblique way of getting at the subject without speaking directly of a seizure. My first remarks were received in silence, after which M. de Talleyrand immediately changed the subject. Next day, however, he returned to it, but only to refer to the embarrassment it would be to be in mourning if she did die, of the funeral, and of the cards that would be sent out. If the Princess did die, he said, he would go out of Paris for a week or a fortnight, and all this he said, not only without any trace of grief, but even in a tone of obvious relief. He immediately proceeded to enter on the financial questions of importance which are involved in his wife's death which would repossess him not only of her annuity, but also of other monies in which she has only a life interest. All the rest of the day M. de Talleyrand showed a kind of serenity and gaiety which I have not seen in him for a long time, and which struck me so much, that when I heard him positively humming a tune, I could not help asking him "if it was the fact that he was soon to be a widower that put him in such spirits." He made a face at me like a mischievous child, and went on talking about all there would be to do if the Princess were to die. He will have the satisfaction of an easier income, which will be a relief to him, as for some years past his revenues have, to his great annoyance, notably diminished owing to several causes. Besides this, it is probably a relief to him (though he will not acknowledge this even to me), to see a bond snapped which was the greatest scandal of his life because it was the only one which was irremediable.
Valençay, October 18, 1835.—After several months of silence, during which General Alava has come to grief at the head of the English ruffians he took with him to Spain, I have received a letter from him at Madrid, dated the 6th instant, which begins thus: "You were right, my dear Duchesse, when you once said that to enter Spain with foreign troops was to tempt Providence." The letter ends with another allusion to my prediction, which seems to have come true to a degree which poor absurd Alava can hardly bear. He insists, however, that he was in honour bound to this partisan existence which he dignifies with the epithet chivalrous, although it is merely Quixotic in the bad sense.