On July 9th, the day after the re-entering of Paris, Talleyrand was appointed Foreign Minister and President of the Council. His difficulties began with the new Ministry. He had in June drawn up a list of ministers, and had carefully excluded Fouché and included two men with a view to conciliating the Tsar. But Fouché was intrigueing most assiduously for a place in the Ministry. The contrast between the two men is instructive. Both have the remarkable history of taking service under the successive governments of the country; both were experts of the highest ability in their respective departments. Yet while later writers have expended a vast amount of moral indignation over the “knight of the order of the weathercock” (as they called Talleyrand) there has been comparatively little concern about Fouché. While Talleyrand has been at times buried beneath a mass of such epithets as corruption, treachery, venality, and unscrupulousness, Fouché has been passed by with a smile at his knavery. Nevertheless, while Talleyrand takes his place with some dignity in the eyes of contemporary statesmen in the successive administrations, Fouché has to resort to the most unblushing jobbery, and is only admitted under the heavy pressure of practical exigencies. Nothing could better illustrate the effort and prejudice that have been thrown into the hostile interpretation of Talleyrand’s career. Fouché had been at work since April, when, while serving under Napoleon, he had offered the King to get rid of him on condition of receiving the Ministry of Police. After Waterloo he flew from place to place, and statesman to statesman, offering to surrender Napoleon, obtain the capitulation of Paris—anything in order to get his coveted place in the Ministry. He persuaded Monsieur that he was necessary for crushing the remainder of the rebellion, and at last imposed that view on Wellington. Talleyrand resisted the tendency to purchase his useful qualities, but was overruled and had to admit him as a colleague. He is often blamed for not resigning at once. No doubt he tested that suggestion by his usual question: “What good would it do?” It is difficult to see any real ground for censuring him. He strongly blames Wellington for admitting Fouché, and suggests that he was too eager “to be the first to enter Paris.” Chateaubriand was in attendance on the King at St. Denis, and saw Talleyrand come from his chamber leaning on Fouché—“vice leaning on the arm of crime,” he bitterly says. It was Chateaubriand above all who had implored Talleyrand to come from Vienna to the assistance of the King.