My second journey to Prague.
In the visitors'-book of the hotel I read the name of my noble friend, the Comte de La Ferronnays, who was returning from Prague to Naples, in the same way as I was going from Padua to Prague. The Comte de La Ferronnays, who is my fellow-countryman in more than one respect, since he is both a Breton and a Malouin, mingled his political destinies with mine: he was Ambassador in St. Petersburg when I was Minister of Foreign Affairs in Paris; he occupied this latter office, and I, in my turn, became an ambassador under his direction. I was sent to Rome, and resigned on the accession to power of the Polignac Ministry; La Ferronnays succeeded to my embassy. He is M. de Blacas' brother-in-law, and is as poor as the latter is rich; he resigned the peerage and the diplomatic service at the time of the Revolution of July; every one esteems him and no one hates him, because of the genuineness of his character and the moderation of his mind. In his last negociation in Prague, he allowed himself to be overreached by Charles X., who is approaching the end of his days. Old people take pleasure in secret practices, having nothing to show that is any good. Excepting my old King, I would like every one to be drowned who is no longer young, myself first of all, together with a dozen of my friends.
At Udine, I took the Villach Road; I was going towards Bohemia by way of Salzburg and Linz. Before attacking the Alps, I heard bells pealing and saw an illuminated campanile in the plain. I had the postilion questioned through the intermediary of a German from Strasburg, my Italian cicerone in Venice, whom Hyacinthe had brought me to act as my Slav interpreter in Prague. The rejoicings about which I was asking were taking place on the occasion of the promotion of a priest to Holy Orders; he was to say his first Mass on the morrow. How often will those bells, which to-day are proclaiming the indissoluble union between a man and his God, summon that man to the sanctuary, and how soon will those same bells ring out for his funeral?
22 September.
I slept almost through the night, to the sound of the torrents, and awoke at day-break, on the 22nd, among the mountains. The Carinthian valleys are pleasant, but present no striking characteristics: the peasants have no distinctive dress; a few women wear furs, like the Hungarian women; others have white hoods set on the back of their heads, or blue woollen caps with a padded edging, half way between the Osmanli's turban and the bonze's skull-cap with the button at the top.
I changed horses at Villach. On leaving that stage, I followed a wide valley on the banks of the Drave, a new acquaintance: by dint of crossing rivers, I shall end by reaching my last shore. Lander[241] has just discovered the mouth of the Niger; the daring traveller surrendered his life to Eternity at the very moment when he taught us that the mysterious African stream discharges its waters into the Ocean.
At nightfall, we were nearly stopped at the village of St. Paternion: the carriage wanted greasing; a peasant screwed the nut of one of the wheels in the wrong direction, with so much force that it was impossible to remove it. All the clever people in the village, with the blacksmith at their head, failed in their attempts. A boy of fourteen or fifteen years of age left the band, returned with a pair of pincers, thrust aside the workers, wound a brass wire round the bolt, twisted it with his plyers and, bearing with his hand in the direction of the screw, removed the nut without the slightest effort, amid general cheering. Might not that child be a budding Archimedes? The queen of an Esquimaux tribe, the same woman who drew for Captain Parry a chart of the polar seas, used attentively to watch sailors welding pieces of iron at the forge and outstripped all her race through her genius.
During the night of the 22nd, I passed through a thick mass of mountains; their confusion continued before me as far as Salzburg: and yet those ramparts did not protect the Roman Empire. The author of the Essayes, speaking of the Tyrol, says, with his ordinary vivacity of imagination:
"It resembles a gown that we only see plaited up, but that, if it were spread out, it would form a very large country[242]."
The mounts among which I wound were like a landslip from the upper chains, which, covering a vast ground, had formed little Alps presenting the different accidental features of the great ones.