Nice, February 23, 1842.—I have just heard of the death of poor Pozzo di Borgo. It was best for him and for his family that his life should end, as he merely vegetated. He leaves an income of four hundred thousand francs; half to his nephew Charles, the husband of Mlle. de Crillon, with his residence in Paris and his villa at Saint Cloud, and the remainder to his relatives in Corsica.
Nice, February 25, 1842.—Yesterday there was a heartrending scene in front of my windows; a terrible storm arose which has not even to-day sunk to rest; the unfortunate ships were struggling with the fury of the waves the whole day, and we sat for a long time watching their fate. Fortunately none were lost.
In spite of the terrible weather I went out to take my offering to a collection which was being made for the Sisters of Saint Vincent de Paul, at the hospice which they conduct. There I saw Mlle. de Maistre, the eldest daughter of the Governor, who is twenty-one years of age and is spending her novitiate as a Sister of Charity in the hospice. She has a definite call to the work, and seems happy; she is said to be clever and well educated, as all the family are; she has a pleasant face, intelligent and calm.
M. Pasquier, I am told, is being complimented on his nomination to the French Academy. M. Molé will introduce M. de Tocqueville, and M. de Barante will do the same for M. Ballanche; I do not know who will introduce M. Pasquier. M. de Tocqueville is taking the place of M. de Cessac, formerly director of the Ministry of War under the Empire, and not a promising subject for a eulogy; indeed, it will be difficult for any one to treat it, and especially so for M. de Tocqueville, who does not belong to that time either in point of age or mental habits. He mentioned his difficulty to M. Thiers, who told him that he might perhaps be able to help him and would give him some interesting information, as he possesses letters from the Emperor to M. de Cessac which he would send him. M. de Tocqueville, in fact, received the next day, in an envelope, a letter from Napoleon to M. de Cessac, which began as follows: "My dear Cessac, you are a fool." M. de Tocqueville himself related this amusing incident to his cousin, the Marquis d'Espeuil, who is here. M. d'Espeuil married Mlle. de Chateaubriand, a near relation of M. de Tocqueville.
Nice, February 27, 1842.—I have a letter from M. de Barante who seems less certain concerning the return of Count Pahlen to Paris; probably the return will be indefinitely delayed until some incident settles the matter one way or the other. Meanwhile Périer is at St. Petersburg and his official position is quite correct, but society continues to regard him as an outcast, wishing to show that its sense of patriotism and self-respect has been wounded.
Barante gives me better news of the domestic situation. The majority of forty-one seems to be really important, as the opposition, which combined every shade of opinion, had set all their hopes upon this discussion. The Minister himself hardly expected so large a majority. The speeches of M. Dufaure and M. de Lamartine were received by the Centres with the strongest censure; every word which seemed to conform to the doctrines of the Left aroused opposition; in short, there is a certain reaction in favour of order and conservatism. We have now to see if it will have any influence upon the elections. If this hope were realised, France would be in a better position than for the last ten years. Such at least is the idea of Barante, though he is rather optimistic.
He also tells me that M. de Chateaubriand, whom he met at Madame Récamier's house at the Abbaye-au-Bois, has grown surly, taciturn and displeased with everybody and everything. Madame Récamier has a difficult task, as her business is to soothe the touchiness of wounded pride and to provide a series of the successes for which alone M. de Chateaubriand cares to live. I could never feel the smallest sympathy for this barren and vain character.
Nice, March 3, 1842.—This evening we are to celebrate Mid-Lent by an entertainment from which I would gladly be excused, not that I anticipate any bad results, but because I think pleasure of this kind, if it is not to result in a fiasco, demands more time and trouble than it is worth. Moreover the Castellanes have given me the task of sending out the invitations, and my fingers are worn out with writing addresses: further, I myself and none other have to make the four costumes of Pauline and those of Charles de Talleyrand: then they want me to coach them in their parts; I am to receive the company; I have also to play in a wretched little scene in the second piece, which is trifling, but I have to learn my part and repeat it, and finally I have to provide supper for the actors. This is too much. However, I have spent my life in being tyrannised over by somebody, and to give way is, I think, a part that I have least forgotten in my past life, and I have sometimes obeyed more reluctantly than now.
Nice, March 4, 1842.—I feel somewhat stupid this morning: yesterday's performance was too long, and the supper which followed it prolonged the evening still further. I think people were amused. The prettiest part of the entertainment was the prologue composed by my son-in-law. It was a clever criticism of the previous performance, in which a handsome young boy satirised the different actors and suggested a young débutante to take the place of the prima donna, who was supposed to be suddenly indisposed: then two boys dressed as lacqueys of the last century brought in a little sedan chair, gilded and surmounted by a crown of lighted candles; from this chair came out my little girl, Marie, in full dress of the time of Louis XV., powdered wig, long dress and many diamonds. Nothing could have been prettier, more dignified, more stately and gracious. On leaving her chair she went round the stage exactly like a great lady. The prologue was charming and was greatly appreciated; I foolishly began to weep with emotion on seeing the gracefulness of this dear child. The melodrama was very well played: the Malade Imaginaire was not sufficiently well known or taken sufficiently briskly; moreover it made the entertainment much too long. The costumes of the melodrama were magnificent, and in the Malade Imaginaire were precisely those of Molière's age. To conclude, the three couplets at the end, composed by the Grand Duchess, were charming and in the best of taste.
Nice, March 14, 1842.—Prince Wasa arrived here yesterday from Florence, where he has left his wife, to pay a few days' visit to his mother-in-law, the Grand Duchess Stephanie. I think she would have been glad to avoid this attention. She took him about everywhere as soon as he arrived, and we met them on the French schooner, commanded by M. de Clérambault. A party of us, including the Castellanes, Fanny, Charles de Talleyrand and myself, paid a visit to this vessel and to the yacht of Lord Ranelagh, which is also at anchor in the harbour at Nice. M. de Clérambault was a comrade of my son, M. de Dino, when he was serving in the Navy. I was much impressed to see in his cabin, round his mother's portrait, a rosary and a little crucifix which had been given him by the Pope on the condition that he would hang them up in his cabin, which he scrupulously does. This young officer greatly distinguished himself at the capture of Saint Juan d'Ulloa[ [54] and was decorated in consequence at the age of twenty-eight. What a pity my son did not follow the same career.