I had so great a need of a change of impressions that I found relief in visiting the Marble House. The king who built it once spoke some flattering words to me when, a poor officer, I passed through his army. This king at least shared the ordinary failings of mankind: vulgar like other men, he took refuge in pleasures. Do the two skeletons trouble themselves today about the difference that once existed between them, when one was Frederic the Great and the other Frederic William[180]? Sans-Souci and the Marble House are both ruins without masters.
Upon the whole, though the immensity of the events of our own time has lessened past events, though Rosbach, Lissa, Liegnitz, Torgau are mere skirmishes beside the battles of Marengo, Austerlitz, Jena, the Moskowa, Frederic suffers less than other personages by comparison with the giant enchained at St. Helena. The King of Prussia and Voltaire are two strangely-grouped figures who will live: the second destroyed a society with a philosophy which assisted the first in founding a kingdom.
The Berlin evenings are long. I occupy a house belonging to the Duchesse de Dino[181]. My secretaries[182] leave me so soon as night sets in. When there is no entertainment at Court for the wedding of the Grand-Duke and Grand-Duchess Nicholas[183], I stay at home. Seated all alone by a cheerless stove, I hear nothing save the call of the sentry at the Brandenburg Gate and the steps on the snow of the man who whistles the hours. How shall I spend my time? With books? I have scarcely any. If I were to continue my Memoirs?
*
You last saw me on the road from Combourg to Rennes: I alighted in the latter place at the house of one of my kinsmen. He informed me with delight that a lady of his acquaintance, who was going to Paris, had a seat to give away in her carriage, and that he undertook to persuade this lady to take me with her. I accepted, cursing my kinsman's civility as I did so. He settled the matter, and quickly presented me to my traveling-companion, a sprightly, free-and-easy milliner, who began to laugh when she saw me. The horses arrived at midnight and we set out.
My first visit to Paris.
Behold me in a post-chaise, alone with a woman, in the middle of the night. How was I, who had never in my life looked at a woman without blushing, to descend from the height of my dreams to this terrifying reality? I did not know where I was; I clung to my corner of the carriage for fear of touching Madame Rose's gown. When she spoke to me, I stammered without being able to reply. She had to pay the postilion, to take everything upon herself, for I was capable of nothing. When day broke, she looked with fresh amazement at this booby with whom she regretted having saddled herself.
When the aspect of the landscape began to change and I ceased to recognize the dress and accent of the Breton peasants, I fell into a profound despondency, which increased the contempt in which Madame Rose held me. I noticed the feeling I inspired, and I received from this first trial of the world an impression which time has not wholly effaced. I was born shy but not shamefaced; I had the modesty but not the embarrassment of my years. When I suspected that I was ridiculous because of my good side, my shyness changed into insurmountable timidity. I was unable to speak a word: I felt that I had something to conceal, and that this something was a virtue; I made up my mind to self-concealment in order to wear my innocence in peace.
We sped towards Paris. As we came down from Saint-Cyr, I was struck by the width of the roads and the evenness of the plantations. Soon we reached Versailles: the orangery with its marble stairs amazed me. The success of the American War had brought triumphs to Louis XIV.'s palace; the Queen reigned there in all the splendour of youth and beauty; the Throne, so near its fall, seemed never to have been more solidly established. And I, an obscure passer-by, was destined to outlive this pomp, to survive to see the woods of Trianon as deserted as those which I was then leaving.
At last we drove into Paris. I saw a bantering look in every face: like the Périgord squire, I thought people looked at me to make fun of me. Madame Rose made them drive to the Hôtel de l'Europe in the Rue du Mail, and hastened to rid herself of her simpleton. Scarce had I stepped from the carriage when she said to the porter: