VII
At all events M. de Talleyrand, during his mission in England, not only sustained his previous reputation, but added very considerably to it. What struck the vulgar, and many, indeed, above the vulgar, who did not remember that the really crafty man disguises his craft, was the plain, open, and straightforward way in which he spoke of and dealt with all public matters, without any of those mysterious devices which distinguish the simpleton in the diplomacy from the statesman who is a diplomatist. In fact, having made up his mind to consider the English alliance at this time essential to his country, he was well aware that the best and only way of obtaining it was by such frank and fair dealing as would win the confidence of British statesmen.
Lord Palmerston told me that his manner in diplomatic conferences was remarkable for its extreme absence of pretension, without any derogation of authority. He sat, for the most part, quiet, as if approving: sometimes, however, stating his opinion, but never arguing or discussing;—a habit foreign to the natural indolence which accompanied him throughout his active career, and which he also condemned on such occasions, as fruitless and impolitic: “I argue before a public assembly,” he used to say, “not because I hope to convince any one there, but because I wish my opinions to be known to the world. But, in a room beyond which my voice is not to extend, the attempt to enforce my opinion against that which another is engaged to adopt, obliges him to be more formal and positive in expressing his hostility, and often leads him, from a desire to shine in the sense of his instructions, to go beyond them.”
Whatever M. de Talleyrand did, therefore, in the way of argument, he usually did beforehand, and alone, with the parties whom he was afterwards to encounter, and here he tried to avoid controversy. His manner was to bring out the principal point in his own opinion, and present it to the best advantage in every possible position.
Napoleon complained of this, saying, he could not conceive how people found M. de Talleyrand eloquent. “Il tournait toujours sur la même idée.”79 But this was a system with him, as with Fox, who laid it down as the great principle for an orator who wished to leave an impression.
He was apt, however, to ask to have a particular word or sentence, of which he had generally studied the bearing and calculated the effect, introduced into a paper under discussion, and from the carelessness with which he made the request it was usually complied with. There was something in this silent way of doing business, which disappointed those who expected a more frequent use of the brilliant weapons which it was well known that the great wit of the day had at his command. But in the social circle which he wished to charm, or with the single individual whom he wished to gain, the effect of his peculiar eloquence generally overran the expectation.
M. de Bacourt, who was secretary to his embassy in London, informed me “that M. de Talleyrand rarely wrote a whole despatch,” but that a variety of little notes and phrases were usually to be found in his portfolio. When the question which these notes referred to had to be treated, they were produced, and confided to him (M. de Bacourt), who was told the general sense of the document he was to write, and how such memoranda were to be introduced. Finally, a revisal took place, and the general colouring, which proved that the despatch came from the ambassador, and not from his chancery, was fused over the composition. As a general rule in business, M. de Talleyrand held to the rule, that a chief should never do anything that a subaltern could do for him.
“You should always,” he used to say, “have time to spare, and rather put off till to-morrow what you cannot do well and easily to-day, than get into that hurry and flurry which is the necessary consequence of feeling one has too much to do.”
I have painted the subject of this sketch personally in his early life. Towards the close of his existence, the likenesses of him that are common are sufficiently resembling. His head, with a superfluity of hair, looked large, and was sunk deep into an expanded chest. His countenance was pale and grave, with a mouth, the under-lip rather protruding, which formed itself instantly and almost instinctively into a smile that was sarcastic without being ill-natured. He talked little in general society, merely expressing at intervals some opinion that had the air of an epigram, and which produced its effect as much from the manner with which it was brought out, as from its intrinsic merit. He was, in fact, an actor, but an actor with such ease and nonchalance that he never seemed more natural than when he was acting.
His recorded bon mots, of which I have given some, have become hackneyed, especially the best. But I will venture to mention a few that occur to me, as I am writing, and which are remarkable as expressing an opinion concerning an individual or a situation.
When the Comte d’Artois wished to be present at the councils of Louis XVIII., M. de Talleyrand opposed the project. The Comte d’Artois was offended, and reproached the minister. “Un jour,” said M. de Talleyrand, “Votre Majesté me remerciera pour ce qui déplaît a Votre Altesse Royale.”
M. de Châteaubriand was no favourite with M. de Talleyrand. He condemned him as an affected writer, and an impossible politician. When the “Martyrs” first appeared, and was run after by the public with an appetite that the booksellers could not satisfy, M. de Fontanes, after speaking of it with an exaggerated eulogium, finished his explanation of the narrative by saying that Eudore and Cymodocée were thrown into the circus and devoured “par les bêtes.” “Comme l’ouvrage,” said M. de Talleyrand.
Some person saying that Fouché had a great contempt for mankind, “C’est vrai,” said M. de Talleyrand, “cet homme s’est beaucoup étudié.”
There is a certain instinct which most persons have as to their successor; and when some one asked M. de Talleyrand a little before the Duc de Richelieu, governor of Odessa, was appointed prime minister in his own country, whether he, M. de Talleyrand, really thought that the Duc was fit to govern France, he replied, to the surprise of the questioner, “Most assuredly;” adding, after a slight pause, “No one knows the Crimea better.”
A lady, using the privilege of her sex, was speaking with violence of the defection of the Duc de Raguse. “Mon Dieu, madame,” said M. de Talleyrand, “tout cela ne prouve qu’une chose. C’est que sa montre avançait et tout le monde était à l’heure.”
A strong supporter of the chamber of peers, when there was much question as to its merits, said, “At least you there find consciences.” “Ah, oui,” said M. de Talleyrand, “beaucoup, beaucoup de consciences. Semonville, par exemple, en a au moins deux.”
Louis XVIII., speaking of M. de Blacas before M. de Talleyrand had expressed any opinion concerning him, said, “Ce pauvre Blacas, il aime la France, il m’aime, mais on dit qu’il est suffisant.” “Ah oui, Sire, suffisant et insuffisant.”
As Madame de Staël was praising the British Constitution, M. de Talleyrand, turning round, said in a low, explanatory tone, “Elle admire surtout l’habeas corpus.”
One evening at Holland House the company had got into groups, talking over some question of the moment in the House of Commons; and thus M. de Talleyrand, left alone, got up to go away, when Lord Holland, with his usual urbanity, following him to the door, asked where he was going so early. “Je vais aux Travellers, pour entendre ce que vous dites ici.”
We could prolong almost indefinitely this record of sayings from which M. de Talleyrand, notwithstanding his many services and great abilities, derives his popular and traditional reputation: but, in reality, they belong as much to the conversational epoch at which he entered the world, as to himself.