M. de Talleyrand is very well, except for his legs; their weakness does not matter so much, but they are becoming painful, especially the toes of one foot, which are not always their natural colour. This is an ominous sign. I am very anxious, and so is he; in short, I am greatly depressed, and everything weighs heavily upon my mind.
Paris, January 28, 1838.—M. de Talleyrand is not ill, but his mania for dining out has not agreed with him. Yesterday at Lord Granville's, when giving his arm to the Princesse de Lieven, he trod upon the folds of her dress and nearly fell; he did not actually fall, but his knee gave way, his weak foot turned, and he twisted his big toe. I was deeply anxious when I saw him come back in this state. What a sad year it is! The fact is that since last April nothing has gone right, and if I did not regard all this as a trial and preparation for a better world, I should be quite disgusted with this one.
Paris, January 30, 1838.—M. de Talleyrand's foot gives him pain, and the worst of it is the difficulty of finding out whether the pain is the result of the sprain or the general weakness of the foot; otherwise he is calm, with people always about him, and plays his game of whist every evening.
I was with the Queen this evening, who had received the sad news that morning of the burning of the palace in Gotha in which her daughter, Princesse Marie, was living. Princesse Marie nearly lost her life, and has lost much valuable property, albums, portraits, books, her diaries, in fact everything. Her diamonds are melted out of the settings, which are mere lumps of metal; the large stones alone resisted the heat, and these must be repolished. And then many precious objects which money cannot replace have gone. This first cloud which overshadows her young happiness is especially cruel, because it raises distrust and destroys the sense of future security. It is a real grief to the Queen, the more so as the shock might have done the Princess some harm, as she is with child.
Paris, February 1, 1838.—M. de Talleyrand is anxious about the state of his leg and the consequent change necessitated in his mode of life. I wish his foot would get strong enough to allow him to get into a carriage, but he cannot yet put enough weight upon it to mount. Want of fresh air and exercise, if this continues, may have serious consequences. Meanwhile he is not alone for a single moment from ten o'clock in the morning till after midnight.
Lady Clanricarde came to lunch with me yesterday. In a few days she is returning to her dear England, of which I think daily with deep regret. I knew all that I was losing when I left it, and I have at any rate counted the cost.
Paris, February 2, 1838.—The state of M. de Talleyrand's leg is pretty much the same, though it was slightly less swollen yesterday. He is rather despondent, and, I think, too far-sighted not to realise all the possible ill-results. I cannot say how despondent I feel and what a weight is upon my mind.
Paris, February 3, 1838.—Yesterday was M. de Talleyrand's birthday, and he is now eighty-four. Fortunately his leg has seemed much better during the last day or two. This fact was the best birthday present he could have, or I either.
Paris, February 5, 1838.—My sister collected some Austrians and Italians yesterday evening at her house, and engaged a band of Neapolitan musicians who are here. She got them to sing some of their national airs, which are very pretty. M. de Talleyrand was carried up to my sister's rooms, and played his game there. His leg improves in appearance, but the sprained foot is weak and painful. I do not know if he will ever be able to walk again. If he could only get into a carriage! His inability to get fresh air makes me anxious.
He is sad and worried. Strange to say, he has expressed a wish to make the acquaintance of the Abbé Dupanloup, and has asked me to invite him to dinner on my birthday. I did so at once. The Abbé at first accepted and then refused. I suspect the Archbishop's hand in this. I shall see him to-morrow and get an explanation. When M. de Talleyrand heard that the Abbé had refused he said: "He has less intelligence than I thought, for he ought to be anxious to come here for my sake and his own." These words have impressed me and increased my vexation with the Abbé's refusal.