I am assured that Queen Victoria, who showed herself so anxious to escape from the maternal yoke, is now trying to avoid the influence of her uncle, King Leopold.
The Flahaut family have been saying the most horrible things at London about the Tuileries, and the Tuileries are aware of the fact.
France has abandoned Belgium in the course of the negotiations in progress at London, and forces her to yield upon all questions of territory, but supports her pecuniary claim; between the figures of Leopold and King William there is a difference of 16,000,000. The Powers wish to compromise, but Leopold objects, and refuses to relax his grasp of Limburg until the crowns are paid.
In Spain Queen Christina is trying to make money out of everything, and demands a price for every nomination that she makes. She thinks only of amassing money and spending it quietly out of Spain, for which she may speedily have an opportunity. Her sister, whose practical mind has already gained her a certain influence here, and who might be able to marry her prettiest daughter to the Duc de Nemours, is intriguing vigorously against her.
M. Thiers spent three hours with Count Metternich near Como, and showed anything but sympathy for Spain during the conversation. However, people have not been taken in and prejudice remains unaltered.
Bonnétable, September 17, 1838.—I reached this strange place an hour before dinner-time. The country is very pretty, but the castle stands at the end of a little town, and the only view is the high-road which runs along the moat. It is an old manor-house, with heavy turrets, thick walls, and the windows few and narrow. There is little in the way of furniture or decoration, but it is solid and clean, and the necessaries of life of every kind are at hand, from an almorne to a warming-pan. The mistress of the house, an active, bustling, good-tempered lady, is largely occupied in most charitable work, in which she shows great insight, and really leads the life of a Christian widow, on the principles laid down by St. Jerome. In short, one is inclined to think oneself in a country far away from France and in a century quite remote from the nineteenth. Evening prayers are said all together at nine o'clock in the chapel, and are read by the Duchesse Mathieu de Montmorency herself. They moved me deeply, especially the prayer for the rest of the departed, repeated by one who has survived all her relatives, whether older, of her own age, or younger than herself. This prayer in the mouth of one who is thus alone, without forefathers or posterity, was strangely sad. The other isolated being, poor Zoé,[ [96] who repeated the responses, completed the picture and the impression, which went to my heart. All the servants were present. No more edifying spectacle could be seen than that of this great and ancient house. The Duchesse is very highly connected, and came to her title through the Luynes, who had inherited it by marriage from the Duchesse de Nemours, one of whom had married the niece.
Bonnétable, September 18, 1838.—If the weather were not so damp I should find much interest in this place, which is quite unique. Mass brings the household together every morning at ten o'clock; we do not lunch until eleven o'clock, and have then half an hour for walking in the moats, which are dry and have been turned into gardens by the care of the Duchesse; she also took us for a walk around her kitchen garden and the whole of her strange household. After lunch we worked round a table at an altar-cloth, while the prior read his newspapers aloud. At one o'clock we went to visit the fine hospital and the schools founded by the Duchesse; everything is perfectly arranged, and much better cared for than the castle. There are six beds for men and six for women, a kind of boarding-school for twelve girls, and classes for day scholars and the poor, together with a large dispensary. This is all in one place, with the necessary outbuildings. Eight sisters do the work of the establishment, which is really very fine. The Duchesse then made us get into an old carriage with worm-eaten lining, but drawn by four handsome horses, driven very cleverly four-in-hand by one of the coachmen of Charles X. With Madame de Montmorency everything is in contrast. She inherited her taste for horses from her mother, and indulges herself in that respect; she has no taste for carriages, and does not care if the one makes the other look shabby. Thus drawn over shocking roads, we reached a magnificent forest of full-grown timber, where the fine trees are only cut every hundred years. It is really beautiful. In the centre of this forest, where six roads meet, is a vast clearing; there the Duchesse has built a china factory, with all the necessary outbuildings, which is almost a village. She has spent a great deal of money on it, and admits herself that it is not a lucrative investment, but it gives occupation to sixty-eight people, is a reason for a pretty walk, and an additional interest for herself. I made a few purchases, and Pauline was interested in seeing the pottery moulded, fired, painted, and enamelled.
After dinner one of the local clergy called while we spent our time in embroidery, as after lunch, and talked of matters of local interest. Then came prayers, good-night, and sleep.
Bonnétable, September 19, 1838.—Yesterday it rained all day. No one went out except the clergy, who were going to a retreat at Mans, and stopped here to pay their respects to the Duchesse. The sisters also came in for their orders. The Duchesse is in very good spirits. She has the gift of narrative, and kept the conversation going very well throughout a long day, without the smallest appearance of ill-nature. When I went down to my room she lent me a manuscript book of her thoughts. She writes wonderfully, and her writing displays a wealth and variety of astonishing description. The outpourings of her heart since her husband's death are especially touching, and display a tenderness of feeling which would hardly be guessed from her outward appearance. I shall leave her entirely overcome by the warmth of her reception, her fine qualities, and the admirable example which she sets here.
Rochecotte, September 27, 1838.—Yesterday I had a most unexpected piece of news which grieved me deeply: Madame de Broglie is dead of brain fever, though she was so young, at any rate for death—a year younger than myself—though she was so happy, healthy, beautiful, useful, distinguished, and beloved. In one short week she was carried off, though prepared for death by her constant goodness. It has been no surprise to her.