M. de Montbel fell from Rome upon Padua in the midst of our pother. The little Court of Padua was cool with him; it blamed M. de Blacas for the orders from Vienna M. de Montbel, a very moderate man, had no other resource than to seek refuge with me, although he feared me; when I saw that colleague of M. de Polignac's, I explained to myself how he had written the History of the Duc de Reichstadt and admired the Archdukes, all, without his perceiving it, at sixty leagues from Prague, the Duc de Bordeaux's place of exile; if he, M. de Montbel[237], was suited to throw the Monarchy of St. Louis and the monarchies of this base world out of window, it was a little accident of which he had not thought. I behaved graciously to the Comte de Montbel; I talked to him of the Coliseum. He was returning to Vienna to place himself at the disposal of the Prince de Metternich and to serve as an intermediary for the correspondence of M. de Blacas. At eleven o'clock, I wrote the Governor the letter agreed upon; I respected Madame's dignity, made no engagements on her behalf and reserved her power of action: "PADUA, 20 _September_ 1833. "MONSIEUR LE GOUVERNEUR, "H.R.H. Madame la Duchesse de Berry is quite _willing, for the moment_, to comply with the orders that have been sent you. Her intention is to go to Venice and thence to Trieste; there she will act on the information which I shall have the honour to address to her and will take a final resolve. "Pray accept my sincerest thanks and the assurance of the high regard with which I am, "Monsieur le gouverneur, "Your most humble and most obedient servant, "CHATEAUBRIAND." The Deputy, when he read this letter, was very much pleased with it. Once Madame had left Venetian Lombardy, he and the Governor ceased to be responsible; the Duchesse de Berry's doings at Trieste concerned only the authorities of Istria or Friuli; each vied with the other to rid himself of misfortune, as, in a certain game, every player hastens to pass a little piece of paper on to his neighbour. At ten o'clock, I took leave of the Princess. She placed her fate and that of her son in my hands. She made me King of France after her fashion. In a Belgian village, I once received four votes to raise me to the throne occupied by Philip's son-in-law[238]. I said to Madame: "I submit to Your Royal Highness' wishes, but I fear that I shall deceive your hopes. I shall do no good in Prague." She pushed me towards the door: "Go, go, you can do everything." I stepped into my carriage at eleven o'clock: it was a rainy night. It seemed to me as though I were going back to Venice, for I followed the Mestre Road: I felt more inclined to see Zanze again than Charles X. [145] This book was written at Ferrara, between 16 and 18 September 1833, and at Padua, on the 20th of September.--T.