Memoirs of the Duchesse De Dino (Afterwards Duchesse de Talleyrand et de Sagan), 1841-1850

Nice, December 20, 1841.– We have now reached the end of our journey which has lasted a whole fortnight. We left Aix the day before yesterday, after my niece had satisfied her archæological curiosity and started in sunshine which would have been delightful had it not been accompanied by the mistral. At nine o'clock in the evening we reached Brignoles, but were horrified by the dreadful filth of the inn and resolved to continue our journey. When we had fairly entered the mountains of the Esterel, which involve an ascent of four hours and a descent of three, the cold became cruel. At dawn the summits of the mountains showed themselves covered with snow. At the highest point, where the post house is situated, twenty mountaineers of wild appearance, all armed with guns were starting in pursuit of the wild boars and wolves which inhabit this rough district. This band of mountaineer hunters were accompanied by some policemen and customs' house officers and were firing trial shots which made the rocks re-echo; they formed a picture worthy of a painter, but we had no thoughts of the picturesque, so intense did the cold of the night seem. When we reached the valley the temperature suddenly changed; the sun was warm, the sea blue, the olive-trees tall and covered with fruit, the orange-trees laden with their golden balls and the hedges of rose-trees in flower. The town of Cannes overlooked by its old castle, stood out delightfully as a background to the landscape upon the rough mountains which we had just left; the island of St. Margaret floated peacefully upon an azure sea and was an excellent completion to a view which we badly needed to thaw our minds and recover our taste for the south, which we were much inclined to abuse. Before entering Cannes we saw on the right hand the villa Taylor and on the left the villa Brougham; these looked like country houses belonging to retired stockbrokers. Lord Brougham's villa is shut off from the road by a great iron railing, each point of which is surmounted by a large gilded fleur-de-lis.

From Cannes we had only nine leagues to cover to reach Nice and as it was only nine o'clock in the morning, we hoped we might be able to dine here yesterday, but misfortune came upon us. When we reached Antibes, the last station before Nice, at midday, there were no horses to be had and we were emphatically told none would be forthcoming before four o'clock, after which hour there is no driving to Nice because the bridge of the Var is broken down and the passage is impossible after nightfall. We were therefore obliged to remain at Antibes and sleep there; but where to sleep was a question. The inns in this town are indescribable and travellers never stop there; there are muleteer public-houses of the most disgusting appearance. A meal was served to us which revolted us so far that we ate nothing but dry bread, and instead of sleeping in beds which, after the previous night, would have been very pleasant, we returned to our carriages. Shut up in these boxes and bestowed in a stable which was half a barn, we watched for dawn which came very late. Cats were mewing all round us47 and then a storm burst with as much fury as though we were in the midst of summer; thunder, lightning and rain threatened our miserable shelter. At last, at seven o'clock in the morning we were delivered from our prison and started to Saint Laurent du Var. There we were obliged to leave our carriage and embark in a little boat which brought us after much tossing to the Sardinian customs house, where two carbineers allowed us to warm ourselves at their fire. Our carriage went three-quarters of a league up stream and passed the river by a ford which was almost impracticable and very dangerous. Meanwhile we soaked a little dry bread in the very sour wine of the country and opposed our umbrellas to the gusts of wind and rain. At length we reached Nice at one o'clock, amid driving rain and by a furious sea. The hurricane continues and the waves are loudly roaring and rising so high that they almost reach the summit of the terrace on which stands the house where Fanny and myself occupy the second floor. Our windows look directly on the sea and before us to the right and to the left there is nothing else. On sunny days the reflection will be frightful and in times of rain a vast grey sheet is confused with the sky and forms the saddest possible outlook; the roar of the waves is also most dismal. We have an enormous room and though it has a fireplace, it is very cold. My room is small and might be warm but the chimney smokes; everything is very dirty, as the old houses in Nice generally are. I cannot describe the general impression of sadness and desolation which comes over us. The better side of the situation which consoles us for all the rest is to see Pauline, who is neither better nor worse than when I left her seven months ago, as she is still suffering from her throat; she is thin and looks feverish, but her illness has not been aggravated. She and her family are at one end of the quarter which is known here as La Terrasse, while I am at the other.

Nice, December 22, 1841.– Yesterday I called upon the Grand Duchess Stephanie between lunch and dinner; she is spending the winter here with her daughter. She took me for a drive in her carriage upon the jetty in weather which reminded me of the Chain Pier at Brighton. The Grand Duchess has excellent rooms at some distance from the sea in the midst of a charming garden, with a beautiful view of the mountains; the house is well furnished, cheerful and clean, exactly the contrary to mine and very little more expensive. The Grand Duchess is infinitely better since she took the waters of Wildbad, but her restlessness and the fidgety and flighty nature of her conversation which her disease had checked have reappeared with an emphasis really annoying.

I had no letters from Paris yesterday: a rise in the river has carried away the boats and made the ford impassable, so that was impossible to pass the Var two hours after the time when we crossed it.

Nice, December 24, 1841.– Yesterday I met a large number of acquaintances at the house of the Grand Duchess, but few worth mentioning apart from the de Maistre family. She puts on her cards, la comtesse Azelia de Maistre, née de Sieyès. The two names look strange side by side; however, she seems a very pleasant person, while he has the wit of that particular kind which his name implies.

Nice, December 25, 1841.– Yesterday after lunch I took my niece and the Castellanes to Saint Charles, in the most beautiful weather. The sun was almost too warm and the short walk threw one into a perspiration; the sky was magnificent and the view beautiful, and the smell of the roses, the violets and the orange flowers intoxicating. On returning to the town I left a few cards, and went home to rest, for the burning sun and the keen sea air were most fatiguing.

There is a strange custom here. On Christmas Eve and Christmas Day and throughout the intervening night, cannons are fired every half-hour; bands of sailors and country people go about the streets singing and howling and making the most horrible din; for twenty-four hours this uproar has never ceased for a moment and I should think no one has had a wink of sleep.

Nice, December 27, 1841.– I can remember the time when we went to Mannheim to pay our respects to the Grand Duchess Stephanie on Saint Stephen's Day. The same day here is being kept as a festival. At ten o'clock she went to hear mass at the College of the Jesuits: the Father Rector, who is kind and polite, had invited a dozen people who were intimate with the Grand Duchess, and my daughter and myself were included. The choral mass was very well given and we were then allowed to follow the Grand Duchess round the whole of the establishment, an exceptional privilege, and the ladies saw everything, even the cells of the Fathers. In each class one of the pupils made a little speech, simple and suitable to the occasion. We then found coffee, chocolate and sherbet with cakes and sweets in the rector's parlour. There he offered the Grand Duchess a reliquary containing a relic of Saint Etienne. As she professes a great admiration for Silvio Pellico, he added a copy of this writer's poetry, nicely bound with an autograph letter by Pellico. The Father Rector was the support and consoler of Pellico's mother while he was in prison, and afterwards strongly influenced him to lead a Christian life. He is now said to be living in unusual sanctity. This little attention which was most tastefully offered was entirely successful. Before leaving the college we went into the physical laboratory where we were shown some electrical experiments. When we went away all the Fathers and pupils drew up in line and the youngest offered the Grand Duchess a bouquet of the kind only procurable in this country where flowers are abundant and where their colour and perfume are incomparable. The whole morning's visit was admirably arranged; there was no pedantry, nothing was too long, the tactfulness and common sense of the Jesuits were quite obvious. The pupils looked very healthy and were polite and well mannered.

After dinner we went with Fanny and the Castellanes to the Grand Duchess. Princesse Marie had invited some fifty persons to take part in a game of proverbs given in rhyme, which had been specially arranged by several Russian and Italian society people and proved quite successful.

Nice, December 29, 1841.– Yesterday I called upon several people, including the Comtesse Louis de Narbonne, the widow of the friend of M. de Talleyrand and mother of Madame de Rambuteau. She is pleasant and cheerful, but it is obvious that she has lived a great deal in the provinces and very little with her husband. By birth she is Mlle. de Montholon, cousin of the first husband of Madame de Sémonville.

Nice, December 30, 1841.– Yesterday was Pauline's twenty-first birthday and to celebrate the double anniversary of her birth and her majority, she came to lunch with me with her husband and her little girl. She found some small presents and a German cake with as many candles as she had lived years. This little surprise pleased her. In the morning I went with Fanny and her former governess to visit a garden on the hillside protected by wooded slopes from the wind, with a view of the mountains and the sea which is reputed to be extremely pretty. The villa in the centre was closed, but the garden, which contained a large number of rare flowers and is more carefully tended than usual here, was open. We met the owner, a merchant of Nice, at the end of a walk where he was giving instructions to his workmen. He was very polite, loaded us with flowers and promised me some seeds for Rochecotte; his villa is called St. Helena. We returned very pleased with our walk, although the weather was by no means kind.

Nice, December 31, 1841.– The Grand Duchess called yesterday when I was finishing lunch and carried me off to see a country house near Nice which is very well situated and remarkable for the surrounding woods of pine-trees and holm oaks and arbutus. The shade of trees is not often to be found here, as the gardens are usually built in terraces looking southward and leading more or less towards the sea; any variety of style is therefore not to be despised. Moreover yesterday's walk reminded me of one which I had projected in the woods around Rochecotte and pleased me for this reason. The owner is a retired merchant and an old bachelor. He is very polite, and, according to the custom of the country, loaded us with flowers and gave us orangeade to drink. I thought this refreshment cold under the circumstances, for it was by no means hot and driving had certainly made us no warmer. I therefore walked home from the house of the Grand Duchess to restore the circulation; the distance is about that from the Louvre to the Arc de Triomphe in the Champs Elysées.

This is the last day of a year of which I am not sorry to see the end: it can count as two years in my life by reason of its length; however, it has not been entirely unfortunate; the months spent at Rochecotte were quiet and the time while I was in Germany was not without interest and satisfaction.

This is also the second anniversary of the death of Mgr. de Quélen. It could not pass unnoticed by me, for he was a great loss to me, and his regular and protecting kindness left one of those gaps which can never be filled, for nothing can take the place of that which has been consecrated by time.