Prince J. Murat faltered a bit beneath the storm, just long enough to pass this unfortunate strait, but he wasn’t any more troubled than that, and we know that now, even to his cousins, lieutenant generals make no difficulty whatsoever, seeing no deep reason to do so, about addressing him as Your Highness and Sire, while the Parliament, when he goes to greet them, sends out its bailiffs with their staffs raised, an honor which Monsieur the Prince had so much trouble achieving, despite being a prince of the blood. Thus everything declines, everything is debased, everything decays as soon as it is born, in a State where the iron cautery isn’t applied right away to pretensions so that they cannot grow anew.
The King of England was accompanied by Lord Derby who was enjoying here, as in his own country, much consideration. He did not have at first sight that air of grandeur and reverie that was so striking in B. Lytton, who has since died, or the singular and unforgettable face of Lord Dufferin. But people liked him perhaps even more, by virtue of a sort of kindliness that the French completely lack and by which they are won over. Louvois had wanted him almost despite himself close to the King because of his abilities and his profound knowledge of the affairs of France.
The King of England avoided calling M. the Duc d’Orléans by that title when he talked to him, but wanted him to have an armchair, to which he did not lay claim, but took care to refuse. The princesses of the blood dined in a manner beyond their station by virtue of an indulgence that got talked about a lot but bore no other fruit. The dinner was served by Olivier, first steward of the King. His family name was Dabescat; he was considerate, beloved by everyone, and so well-known at the court of England that many of the noblemen who were accompanying the King saw him with more pleasure than the knights of Saint-Louis recently promoted by the Regent, whose faces were new. He preserved great loyalty to the memory of the late King and went every year to his memorial service at Saint-Denis, where, to the shame of forgetful courtiers, he was almost always alone with me. I have lingered for a moment over him, because by the perfect knowledge he had of his profession, by his kindness, by his connection to the highest people without being over-familiar, or servile, he had not failed to gain in importance at Saint-Cloud and to become a singular character there.
The Regent made the very true remark to Mme Standish that she was not wearing her pearls as other ladies did, but in a way that the Queen of England had imitated. Guiche was there; he had been brought there as if on a leash out of fear of incurring the Regent’s displeasure forever, and was not very much at ease being there. He was much happier at the Sorbonne and in the Academies, where he was sought out more than anyone else. But in the end the Regent had reeled him in; he sensed what he owed in respect of birth, if not of person, to the good of the State, perhaps to his own safety; it would have been too conspicuous if he had not come, and since there was no middle ground between disappearing and refusing to come, he came despite himself. At the word “pearls,” I sought him out with my eyes. His own, very similar to his mother’s, were admirable, with a gaze that, although no one liked amusing himself as much as he did, seemed to pierce through his pupils, as soon as his mind was engaged in some serious subject. We have seen that he was a Gramont, his name Aure, of that illustrious house made important by so many marriages and positions ever since Sanche-Garcie d’Aure and Antoine d’Aure, Vicomte d’Aster, who took the name and arms of Gramont. Armand de Gramont, who is in question here, with all the seriousness the other lacked, recalled the graces of that gallant Comte de Guiche, who had been so extensively welcomed in the early years of the reign of Louis XIV. He towered over all the other dukes, if only by his infinite knowledge and his admirable discoveries. I can truthfully say that I would say the same things even if I had not received so many marks of friendship from him. His wife was worthy of him, which is saying quite a lot. The position of this duke was unique. He was the delight of the court, the hope, with good reason, of scholars, the friend, without servility, of the highest people, the protector of choice for those who were not yet elevated, the close friend infinitely regarded by José Maria Sert, who is one of the foremost painters in Europe for his likenesses of faces and his smart, enduring decoration of buildings. It has been remarked in its place how, abandoning my berlin for some mules when I was returning to Madrid for my embassy, I had gone to admire his works in a church where they are arranged with prodigious art, between the row of altar railings and columns inlaid with the most precious marble. The Duc de Guiche was chatting with Ph. de Caraman-Chimay, uncle of the one who had become my son-in-law. Their name is Riquet and he truly resembled Riquet with the Tufted Hair as he is portrayed in the fairytales. Despite that, his face promised charm and delicacy and kept its promises, according to what his friends have told me. But I was not at all used to him — we had no commerce, so to speak — and I speak in these Memoirs only of things I have been able to know for myself. I led the Duc de Guiche into the private gallery so that no one could hear us: “Well!” I said to him, “Has the Regent spoken to you of Le Moine?” “Yes,” he replied smiling, “and for now, despite these cunctations, I think I have persuaded him.” Lest our brief conference be noticed, we had drawn very close to the Regent, and Guiche pointed out to me that they were still talking about gemstones, Standish having explained that in a fire all the diamonds of her mother, Mme de Poix, had burned and turned black, because of which peculiarity, very curious in its effects, they had brought them to the cabinet of the King of England where they were preserved: “But if the diamond was blackened by fire, couldn’t coal be changed into a diamond?” asked the Regent, turning to Guiche with an embarrassed air, who shrugged his shoulders and looked at me, confounded by this bewitchment of a man he had thought already dissuaded.