Paris, April 22, 1843.—The Dowager Grand Duchess of Mecklenburg, the mother-in-law of the Duchesse d'Orléans, told a lady with whom she is on confidential terms and who repeated the remark to me, that she was greatly grieved at the restraint in which the King keeps the Duchesse d'Orléans in every respect. It is said that the Princess proposes to wear mourning for the rest of her life.
Paris, April 29, 1843.—Some months ago Princesse Belgiojoso produced a book which is rather pedantic than serious, entitled The Formation of Catholic Dogma. The work is simply a catalogue of the different heresies which appeared in the early centuries of Church history. It presupposes researches so long and arduous that it is difficult to think that a young society woman could have written it unaided: the style is simple and strong, and the book is clearly marked by want of orthodoxy; indeed it has already been placed upon the Index by Rome. There has been much surmise as to who could have collaborated with the Princesse. M. Mignet and the Abbé Cœur, who are both intimate with her, have been mentioned. On this occasion some one in whose hearing reference was made to the book said, "It is a good instance of the saying, the style is the man."
The Duc de Coigny, knight of honour to the Duchesse d'Orléans, is a somewhat brusque and unpolished character: he had a small quarrel with the Princesse on the question of General Baudrand, as governor to the Comte de Paris, saying that it was hardly worth while to press forward a choice so poor and mean, and that people had expected the Duc de Broglie or some marshal or notable person. The Duchesse d'Orléans replied, "If the choice is a bad one, I alone am responsible for it, for I earnestly pressed it upon the King." The Duc de Coigny then became really angry, and asked an explanation of this preference. "What can you expect?" was the reply, "you know that we do not care to have about us people who are burdensome." M. de Coigny replied, "So your Royal Highness only wanted a man of straw? It is pitiable!" And the conversation then finished.
The Prince de la Moskowa, the eldest son of Marshal Ney, is a great musician, and conceived a plan for promoting a taste for sacred music at Paris; such music is strangely unknown and little appreciated. He has taken great trouble to gather a few amateurs, and attempts to arouse some interest in the association among certain ladies by asking them to become patronesses. I am one of the number. The day before yesterday the first performance took place in the salon of Hertz. The attempt was laudable but the result only moderately successful, notwithstanding the great talent of Madame de Sparre and another female voice. But in Paris people cannot sing austere and sacred numbers of religious music with due simplicity and gravity and without dramatic action. It is a new art in this country, and can only be acclimatised at the expense of time, but the attempt is none the less interesting. I told the Prince de la Moskowa that he ought to secure the support of the Paris priests, of whom I saw two in the room.
A sad accident has just happened to a family of my acquaintance. A young man of eighteen, Henri Lombard, the pride and joy of his parents, the honour of his school and beloved by his comrades, died on the 24th of this month after an illness of three days; the illness in question was hydrophobia. Last November he found one of his sporting dogs surly and depressed: the same day his hand was scratched by the animal's teeth, which died a short time afterwards of madness. His master, who was very fond of the animal, was so bold as to wipe away the foam from the dog's mouth while he was tied up, with his sponge: he afterwards washed out the sponge and used it as before; but he could not forget the scratch upon his hand of which he had not at first spoken; not until three months after the dog's death did he tell his old nurse that for several weeks he had been anxious and uneasy, but that lapse of time had entirely reassured him and that he now felt quite confident. A quiet and studious youth, he was by no means lively and communicative and spoke very little of his inner feelings: thus, no member of his family knew how assiduously he had followed for nearly a year the religious instructions given at Saint Louis d'Antin by M. Petetot, the clever and respected priest of that parish. Henri Lombard's parents were by no means accustomed to attend such exercises, and he had probably been afraid of displeasing them by displaying habits in contradiction with theirs. Such was the state of affairs on Friday, April 21, when he felt very ill, and experienced a marked repugnance to liquids; he immediately recognised the hopeless nature of his condition and begged M. Petetot to come and speak to him. He fulfilled all his religious duties not only with exemplary regularity but with such fervent faith and such remarkable resignation that the priest and all present were both astonished and edified. During the dreadful attacks of this horrible malady, in the terrible grip of the strait-waistcoat, covered with the disgusting foam of mania, racked by the disease, for which no remedy can even be tried, Henri Lombard thought only of heaven: the solemn parting of soul and body seemed to have taken place even before the moment of death; the soul long buried in silent meditation was thus revealed and fled from its earthly bonds; it found language and expressions supernatural in character. When he was able to speak he exhorted every one with strange appropriateness and authority, especially his mother, whom he knew to be in the wrong towards a respected member of his family. He said to her with words of inspiration, "Mother, from my death-bed I send you to ask pardon and to repair the wrong you have done." When Madame Lombard returned to him he said, "I know you will weep over my grave and think you draw nearer to me in going to my tomb, and you will not know or feel that I am no longer there. You will not raise your eyes to the place where I shall be above. I shall be better off, for I shall be where I can intercede for you." The schoolboys who were boarders at the Hospice de la Charité, whom the uncle of Henri Lombard, M. Andral, had placed near him, and who did not leave until all was over, were so overcome by the scene that their agnostic ideas were entirely changed. M. Andral himself, though accustomed to the most heartrending sights, was depressed and consoled at the same time. The funeral of the youth was remarkable for the fact that it was attended by the whole of the school to which he belonged and by the general eulogy and regret which was expressed upon all sides.
Paris, April 30, 1843.—The charity bazaar for the benefit of the victims in the earthquake at Guadeloupe produced more than a hundred thousand francs net. Those of us who acted as saleswomen had a laborious but not uninteresting task; each of the lady patronesses had some small adventure to relate. The following was mine: A man of some age came and asked me the price of a little porcelain goblet. I replied, "Twenty francs." "Is it French porcelain?" "No, sir, it is Saxony porcelain from the Dresden factory." "From Dresden!" replied the gentleman, "I have unpleasant memories of Dresden, for I am an artillery officer, and during the wars of the Empire I blew up the bridge at Dresden, acting under orders from my superiors." "Well, sir, then you do not know that you are speaking to a German lady?" "You will be generous, madame, and pardon wrongs committed in time of war." "Yes, sir, if you are generous to our poor people." "Give your orders, madame; I will buy anything you like, or at any rate anything I can, for I am not rich." With these words he emptied his purse upon the counter. It contained thirty francs. I was preparing to add a cigar-holder to the goblet when he asked me to give him something of my own make. I substituted some worked slippers for the cigar-holder. The officer took them and said to me very gracefully, "Madame, has peace been made?" "Certainly, sir, signed and ratified."
A provincial lady who came to our stall during the last three days of the sale told us upon the last day that she had been so touched and overcome by our zeal and by our polite and obliging energy that she asked us to accept a little souvenir. She then offered the Comtesse Mollien and myself, who were at the same stall, a pair of lace mittens. We thanked her in the name of the poor, as we thought she intended the lace work for our stall, but she clearly explained that it was for ourselves. She would not tell us her name, and with great difficulty we induced her to accept from us in memory of our stall a cup which we presented to her.
Paris, May 5, 1843.—Yesterday I called upon Queen Christina. She has intelligent eyes, beautiful skin, a cheerful smile, is pleasantly dimpled and is a ready talker with a slight accent that animates her every observation. She will discuss any subject without embarrassment. A free and easy life is her preference, and I think she is greatly relieved to be far from the throne and political business. The freedom and to some extent the obscurity of her life at Paris suit her to perfection. She has not a single lady-in-waiting, and the number of chamberlains about her are somewhat surprising. Only upon great and unavoidable occasions is Madame de Toreno requested to accompany the Queen. Muñoz is here: he lives quietly in the Queen's house, and is regarded as her husband. Their five children are being brought up at Grenoble. It is confidently stated that he is a sensible man and that his influence over the Queen's mind is supreme. Though not so enormously fat as the Infanta Carlotta, the Queen is much too stout, and her deficiency in this respect is the more obvious as she will not wear stays; besides, she is short of stature. She spoke to me of her Spanish daughters, and said that Queen Isabella had a very dignified bearing, that she was a clever and decided character, entirely made for the difficult part which she is called on to play; that her health had been restored and that she was even strong and robust. She added that unfortunately those about her made no attempt to induce her to study, lest they should lose her favour, and she remained very ignorant. The Queen also told me that the news of her daughters that came to her was reliable, because she had other than official sources of information. She spoke a great deal of the late Duc d'Orléans with extreme regret, saying that his death was a loss not only to France, but even to Spain. "Not that the King," she added, "has been ill-disposed to Spain, but there was in the Prince Royal a youthful ardour and an enterprising spirit which would have been very useful to my daughter."
On the day when the Rouen railway was opened, while the Duc de Nemours was in the tent upon the platform, a lady and gentleman who were also travelling, attempted to come in. The official allowed the lady to pass while the gentleman stopped to talk with some one. When he wished to follow the lady, the official said to him, "You cannot pass here." "But I am a deputy." "No matter." "But you have allowed my wife to go through." "Very likely!" "But there she is, talking to the Prince." "All the more reason why you cannot go through." This answer, which was heard by several people, caused general delight.
The Duc de Nemours is taking every trouble to fulfil the responsibilities of his new position without omission,[ [87] but this work is obviously an effort to him and he does not show the easy grace which distinguished his elder brother. He goes fairly regularly to the Chamber of Peers and even expresses very correct and reasonable opinions to his neighbours upon the questions before the House, but he speaks coldly and in an embarrassed style and as briefly as possible. Then he may be seen leaving the Chamber on foot and alone with a cigar in his mouth, and thus returning to the Tuileries.