“‘The Emperor’s nephew!’ he cried. ‘Oh! Sire, enter!’
“He wanted to kiss my clothes.
“We visited the château. Everything is still about in its place. I recognised nearly everything, the First Consul’s study, the chamber of his mother, my own. The furniture in several rooms has not been changed. I found a little armchair I had when I was a child.”
I said to the Prince: “You see, thrones disappear, arm-chairs remain.”
While we were talking a few persons came, among others M. Duclerc, the ex-Minister of Finance of the Executive Committee, an old woman in black velvet whom I did not know, and Lord Normanby, the English Ambassador, whom the President quickly took into an adjoining salon. I saw Lord Normanby taken aside in the same way by Louis Philippe.
The President in his salon had an air of timidity and did not appear at home. He came and went from group to group more like an embarrassed stranger than the master of the house. However, his remarks are a propos and sometimes witty.
He endeavoured to get my opinion anent his Ministry, but in vain. I would say nothing either good or bad about it.
Besides, the Ministry is only a mask, or, more properly speaking, a screen that hides a baboon. Thiers is behind it. This is beginning to bother Louis Bonaparte. He has to contend against eight Ministers, all of whom seek to belittle him. Each is pulling his own way. Among these Ministers some are his avowed enemies. Nominations, promotions, and lists arrive all made out from the Place Saint Georges. They have to be accepted, signed and endorsed.
Yesterday Louis Bonaparte complained about it to the Prince de la Moskowa, remarking wittily: “They want to make of me a Prince Albert of the Republic.”
Odilon Barrot appeared mournful and discouraged. To-day he left the council with a crushed air. M. de la Moskowa encountered him.