M. Mignet, who has been here for two days, tells us no news. He confines himself to long historical dissertations, which are sometimes interesting, but generally somewhat pedantic.
Madame de Jaucourt writes that Baron Louis is dying of a stroke of apoplexy. This has been largely brought on by fretting over the business of his nephew de Rigny.[ [77]
Valençay, September 2, 1837.—I have a letter from the Duc de Noailles, who gives me some small news. I never saw any one of importance stay at home less than he does. At Paris he pays a daily round of calls, morning and evening, which take up the whole of his time, and he never refuses an invitation to dinner. In the summer he goes the round of the country houses and the watering-places, and is continually making excursions to Paris, as his residence is close at hand. Barren characters, when they are naturally intelligent, feel a greater need of change than others; in any case, the consequence is that he always knows the news. At Paris he keeps it to himself, and asks more questions than he answers; but when he writes he tells all that he knows, so that his letters are always pleasant.
I have also a letter from M. Thiers, from Cauterets. He is izard-hunting with the Basques, of which sport he is very fond, although the Pyrenees seem to him but poor scenery after the Lake of Como. He is less anxious about his wife's health, and talks of coming here for the end of the month, but with all his impedimenta, as he cannot leave the ladies whom he is escorting. I am not altogether pleased, but how can I refuse?
It seems that the expedition to Constantine is actually to take place, and that the Prince Royal will lead it. This campaign seems to me a very foolish one for the Prince Royal.
I have just read the so-called memoirs of the Chevalier d'Eon, which are tiresome, improbable, and absurd; the idea in particular that he could have had a love-affair with the old Queen of England, the ugliest, the most prudish and austere woman of her time, is too ridiculous an invention.
Valençay, September 6, 1837.—The newspapers now say that it is the Duc de Nemours, and not the Prince Royal, who will command the expedition to Constantine. This seems to me a better arrangement.
The Princesse de Lieven writes as follows: "There is talk of a double marriage: the Princesse Marie with Duke Alexander of Würtemberg and Princesse Clémentine with the eldest son of the reigning Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. Here, however, a difficulty appears. The children of the marriage should be Lutherans, which the Queen does not wish; and in the case of the first marriage there is also the possible difficulty that the King of Würtemberg might not give his consent. It is said that the negotiations, though not broken off, are not far advanced. I have a letter from my brother which shows me that Orloff has kept his word. He says that Paris is the only place to suit me, and that no one protests against it. Now I have only my husband to think of, and how can he be likely to offer objections as the Court has raised none? This difficulty is bound to disappear, but not for a month or six weeks, for my husband will require advices from the Emperor, and the whole troublesome affair will have to go round Europe, from Paris to Odessa and from Odessa to Ischl and from Ischl to Paris. Just think of that!" So much from this great and aged spoilt child.
Valençay, September 8, 1837.—The news given us by Madame de Sainte-Aldegonde was premature. Madame Adélaïde writes to M. de Talleyrand that the Duchesse d'Orléans is not with child, that the King will not go to Amboise this year, and that the marriage of the Princesse Marie with Duke Alexander of Würtemberg is possible, but not absolutely settled, though negotiations are going on.
Valençay, September 9, 1837.—I have come back from an excursion to Châteauvieux and Saint-Aignan which occupied the whole of yesterday and to-day. I was marvellously well and in high spirits with M. Royer-Collard, but to-day I feel broken down and miserable. There is no sense in it; I do not know what does me good or what makes me feel ill; I suffer from what I think should do me good and recover from that which should lay me low. I am a very strange little creature. The doctor tells me every day that it is the result of my nervous, fantastic, and capricious disposition. What is certain is that I have fits of cheerfulness, of gaiety, and of sadness; that I look after myself, or my nerves look after me, very badly; and that I am exceedingly tired of myself, and to some extent of other people.