When any one's memory is as full of your stories of the United States as mine is,[ [92] and when one reads the stories of M. de Custine concerning Russia, it is difficult to say which of the two countries seems the more objectionable, as their bad points are so precisely in contradiction; but with regard to the Russians, I think I forgot to tell you an incident which might very well find a place in M. de Custine's quotations. When I was recently in Paris for the last time, I called upon my niece, Madame de Lazareff, to say good-bye. She said to me, "You have quite an imperial countenance this morning, aunt." I did not understand, and told her so. "Oh," she replied, "at St. Petersburg, when any one looks particularly well, that is what we say." Is not that excellent?
Harbke, May 31, 1843.—I left Brunswick yesterday morning, but the journey here took a great deal of time, and caused me many screams of terror. To begin with, even the highroads in the Duchy of Brunswick are far from admirable, while Harbke is at the end of a horrible cross-road. The terrible rains of the last few days have ruined the roads to such an extent that I really thought we should stick fast. When I arrived, I found the poor old master of the house[ [93] ill, and his wife in great anxiety. I was anxious to start again at once in order not to embarrass them at such a time, but neither Frau von Veltheim nor the invalid himself would hear of this plan; so I shall start to-morrow very early, and reach Berlin, if God wills, in the evening.
This place is very well arranged for a German château. It is of considerable extent, and would have some style if the old building had not been modernised instead of being left as it was. The garden is well kept and adjoins beautiful woods. The mistress of the house has no children, and is devoted to flowers and birds, even to some noisy cockatoos; she is scrupulously neat, and is aged sixty-two: a tall, thin, pale figure, she is always dressed in white muslin: and her lace caps and her shawls, all tied with white ribbons, give her a somewhat ghostly appearance. The Veltheim family is most noble and ancient, and the members are well aware of the fact; she is a Bülow. Count Veltheim's first wife, from whom he is divorced, is now Countess Putbus, the mother of Countess Lottum, and of the young Putbus who died at Carlsruhe. The Veltheims are very wealthy, and a certain note of opulence prevails in the house where, however, the useful and the agreeable are in very close conjunction. There is no view, as the castle is built in a hollow and overlooked by wooded hills. From the top of one of these hills the Hartz mountains can be seen distinctly on the horizon, while the Brocken, where Goethe placed the supernatural scenes of Faust, stands out very clearly.
Magdeburg, June 1, 1843.—A most annoying incident has just happened; I have missed the train for Berlin which I hoped to reach this evening, and I ought to be very satisfied that I have got so far safe and sound; to cover thirteen leagues, the distance from Harbke to this town, I was obliged to spend ten hours on the road. The continuous deluge of the last few days and the waterspouts which have burst over the country, have devastated everything, swollen the streams, carried away the dykes, swept away earth, &c. Nothing can describe my anxiety.
Berlin, June 2, 1843.—At length I have reached the first halting-place on my long and tiresome journey. I have arrived literally at the end of my resources, with a ragged dress, reduced to my last crown and so exhausted that I feel as if I had spinal curvature. The railway from Magdeburg here is very well managed and the journey is accomplished in eight hours, though the line is not direct, as the railway passes through Dessau and Wittenberg. I did as I have done on board the steamers and remained in my own carriage: this seemed to me the most suitable plan, as I had no male companion and a very mixed number of people were travelling.
Berlin, June 3, 1843.—The Duchesse d'Albuféra writes to say that Princesse Clémentine went to Brest to embark for Lisbon and Brittany where she was excellently received; while good news has arrived from the Prince de Joinville and the Duc d'Aumale is distinguishing himself in Algeria. The Duchesse de Montmorency tells me of an extraordinary incident: Madame de Dolomieu has sold for thirty-five thousand francs certain autograph letters by living writers in which there are some that could only be circulated with unpleasant consequences. The King of France bought back his letters for twenty-five thousand francs. Really impudence at the present time knows no bounds! General Fagel forced Madame de Dolomieu to buy back for eight hundred francs a letter from the King of the Low Countries which he had given her and which she had sold with the collection.
The author of the tragedy of Lucrèce, M. Ponsard, and the author of the tragedy of Judith, Madame Emile de Girardin, whose plays have met with such different receptions, came across one another at the house of the Duchesse de Gramont. Madame de Girardin was bursting with rage, in a manner said to be absolutely grotesque.
Berlin, June 4, 1843.—Yesterday I saw the Countess of Reede. The old and agreeable lady, who always treats me as her daughter, received me with open arms and soon put me in possession of all current news. She is at the head of the faction hostile to Princesse Albert, who has gone to Silesia. Her position here is abominable, and though the King has so far supported her as not to allow his son to divorce her, the Princess feels herself entirely out of place in society and at the Court.
I went to tea with the Princess of Prussia. Her husband was there and has grown stout, and I am sorry to see how she has changed, as the beauty of which I thought so much has disappeared. As she is young and strong, I hope that her freshness will return.
Berlin, June 5, 1843.—Yesterday was a day of hard work. First came Sunday mass; then I went home for a long business talk with Herr von Wurmb and Herr von Wolff, and then went to Madame de Perponcher, and then to the Werthers; they are to see their son again to-day who is Prussian Minister at Berne. I then called upon Lady Westmoreland, who had just heard that one of her sons, whom she had left in England, was seriously ill. Finally, I went to the Radziwills.