When I climbed back into my carriage, a priest harangued me on the _Génie du Christianisme._ I was crossing the scene of the victories which led Bonaparte to encroach upon our liberties. Udine is a beautiful town: I noticed a portico copied from the Palace of the Doges. I dined at the inn, in the room lately occupied by Madame la Comtesse de Samoyloff; it was still quite full of her disorder. Is that niece of the Princesse Bagration, "another injustice of years," still as pretty as she was in Rome, in 1829, when she used to sing so wonderfully at my concerts? What breeze had blown that flower once again under my feet? What wind impelled that cloud? O daughter of the North, you enjoy life; make haste: harmonies that used to delight you have already ceased; your days will not have the length of the arctic day. [Sidenote: My second journey to Prague.] In the visitors'-book of the hotel I read the name of my noble friend, the Comte de La Ferronnays, who was returning from Prague to Naples, in the same way as I was going from Padua to Prague. The Comte de La Ferronnays, who is my fellow-countryman in more than one respect, since he is both a Breton and a Malouin, mingled his political destinies with mine: he was Ambassador in St. Petersburg when I was Minister of Foreign Affairs in Paris; he occupied this latter office, and I, in my turn, became an ambassador under his direction. I was sent to Rome, and resigned on the accession to power of the Polignac Ministry; La Ferronnays succeeded to my embassy. He is M. de Blacas' brother-in-law, and is as poor as the latter is rich; he resigned the peerage and the diplomatic service at the time of the Revolution of July; every one esteems him and no one hates him, because of the genuineness of his character and the moderation of his mind. In his last negociation in Prague, he allowed himself to be overreached by Charles X., who is approaching the end of his days. Old people take pleasure in secret practices, having nothing to show that is any good. Excepting my old King, I would like every one to be drowned who is no longer young, myself first of all, together with a dozen of my friends. At Udine, I took the Villach Road; I was going towards Bohemia by way of Salzburg and Linz. Before attacking the Alps, I heard bells pealing and saw an illuminated _campanile_ in the plain. I had the postilion questioned through the intermediary of a German from Strasburg, my Italian _cicerone_ in Venice, whom Hyacinthe had brought me to act as my Slav interpreter in Prague. The rejoicings about which I was asking were taking place on the occasion of the promotion of a priest to Holy Orders; he was to say his first Mass on the morrow. How often will those bells, which to-day are proclaiming the indissoluble union between a man and his God, summon that man to the sanctuary, and how soon will those same bells ring out for his funeral? 22 _September._