Chapter XIII (4)

The King summoned it to meet on the 6th of October 1788. The arrival of all the nuncios, accompanied by their numerous retinues, part of which came from the most distant Palatinates, imparted to Warsaw an unusually animated appearance; and the town offered at that time attractions of a most unique character.

The great Polish lords, who habitually lived on their estates, had retained manners and customs that partook of an uncivilised magnificence. They nearly all possessed palaces in Warsaw, but only inhabited them during the Diets--that is to say, for six weeks every two years; and these large residences presented the most curious mixture of luxury and penury. After passing through empty halls, where the ceilings were falling to pieces, and the hangings were all mouldy from the damp, one came upon drawing-rooms with ornamented frescoes, and with gold and blue vaulted ceilings. The ante-rooms were crowded with lacqueys in tattered liveries, and with poor gentlemen who, attending as servants upon the great lords, proudly wore the ancient Polish costumes. Though they did not give at Warsaw, as in the Palatinates, gigantic feasts, during which the toasts were accompanied by a salute of artillery, yet they did not completely abandon all the old customs, and the master of the house would still occasionally honour the lady of his thoughts by sending round her tiny shoe, full of champagne or Tokay.

The tone of the best French society reigned at the Polish Court with a mixture of oriental peculiarities. European good taste was combined with that of Asia, and the polished manners of civilised countries did not exclude the hospitality common to those beyond the pale.

A revival took place in Polish literature during the reign of Stanislaus-Augustus. The King patronised learning, and encouraged to his utmost the reorganisation of the universities. After the suppression of the Jesuits the funds obtained by the sale of their property were entirely applied to this object. A regular committee was appointed to superintend the national education. The Bishop of Wilna was one of its most influential members; he created at his own expense a professorship of anatomy at the university of Wilna, which was the first that existed in Poland.[79]

During the reign of Stanislaus-Augustus the Court was celebrated for its pleasures, its love intrigues, and its pretty women; their beauty had become proverbial. Among the beauties of that time were the Princess Lubomirska, whom we have already heard of under the name of Princesse Maréchale; her sister-in-law, the fascinating Princess Czartoryska, a Fleming by birth; the Countess Potocka, an Ossolinska by birth; and the Princess Charles of Courland. The two latter were really beautiful, and all four were intelligent women. It was asserted that the first one made the fortune of those she loved, the second robbed them of it, and the two others simply enjoyed themselves without thinking of anything else. The Princess Langorouska and the Countess Branicka, the Princess André Poniatowska, sister-in-law to the King, the Princess Lubomirska, a Haddik by birth, also ranked high at Court, where all the affairs of the State were the mainspring of society. The King, who was weak, indulgent, and always in love, was governed by the favourite of the moment.[80] The Prince, during his short stay at Warsaw, soon perceived these weak points, and he says: “The King is too honest a man with women, as he is indeed with all his subjects; he is genuinely in love, and inconstant with the greatest possible sincerity; and thus he often throws himself into the arms of his opponents, deserting and ruining his own cause.”

Such was the Court at which the Princess Charles was to shine. Her reputation for intelligence, beauty, and coquetry having already attracted the attention of all, her Polish nationality, elegance, talents, and the evident pleasure she showed on returning to her native land, delighted her fellow-countrymen.

Her empty palace, rapidly metamorphosed by her own able hands, became one of the most elegant in Warsaw, and she availed herself of the opportunity to display the remarkable domestic qualities she possessed, and which had been so little appreciated by her mother-in-law. During the latter time of her stay at Bel Œil her husband had forbidden her to ride, on account of her delicate health; she now amply made up for that privation. The Prince-Bishop, who thoroughly spoilt her, gave her the most beautiful horses, and she might be seen every morning on horseback escorted by several young noblemen who were perfect horsemen, as are all the Poles. She built a theatre in her palace, and gratified her love of acting to her heart’s content.

Freed from the supervision that oppressed her at Bel Œil, Hélène abandoned herself without constraint to the irresistible charms of this life of pleasure. She forgot the past, her husband, and her daughter even; the Princesse Charles de Ligne no longer existed--Hélène Massalska alone remained.

Winter was rapidly drawing to a close, and the Princess still gave no thought to Vienna. The de Ligne family, justly offended at her prolonged absence, preserved a disdainful silence.

The Prince-Bishop had returned to Wilna during the vacation of the Diet, but his niece, who wished to enjoy the summer season, just then beginning, remained alone at Warsaw.

The King, his family, and the most important personages at Court, had elegant country-houses in the suburbs, where they indulged in the most sumptuous and original festivities. The greatest luxury was displayed in these entertainments, where each host endeavoured to surpass his neighbour in planning surprises and unforeseen effects. The first one at which the Princess Charles appeared was given by the Princess André Poniatowska. “The heat on that day had been suffocating; the Prince led his visitors to a grotto formed by an artificial rock, from which fell a cascade, imparting by its very sound a cool and agreeable sensation. Then they all went into the grotto, where they rested for a few minutes on the soft mossy banks, after which the Prince proposed a walk in the park. They entered a shady avenue leading to a door, which was hidden in the foliage; he touched a spring, the door flew open, and disclosed a magnificent circular hall, splendidly illuminated, and painted with frescoes representing allegorical subjects; it was surrounded by niches in the walls containing Turkish divans, which were covered with the richest brocades. The back of these recesses was of a dead gold, contrasting marvellously with the black hair and delicate complexion of the Polish ladies who came to rest in them. They had barely seated themselves when strains of music were heard, which seemed to descend mysteriously from the skies. Suddenly the floor opened, and a table, magnificently laid out, slowly ascended, as if at the touch of a fairy’s wand.” The King seated himself, and motioned the desired guests to their places, Princesse Hélène being among the number.

Stanislaus was most agreeably disposed; he was fond of conversation, and set every one at ease. He liked to speak on art and literature; his mind, which was cultivated, though without much depth, appeared at these entertainments under its most favourable aspect, Paris and France were the topics of conversation, and as they recalled the delightful past, the King took pleasure in questioning Hélène about the people whom he had known.

When supper was over they again went into the park, and wandered about in the beautiful moonlight, returning only to Warsaw when the night was far advanced.

Hélène had become particularly intimate with the Princess Czartoryska, so passionately loved by Lauzun, and of whom he has left a charming description.[81] The Princess’s residence was entirely different from any of the others; for Powinski was laid out in what we now call the _realistic_ style.

Each member of the family occupied a cottage, the exact reproduction of a peasant’s hut; it was made with trunks of trees laid one on the other, cemented together by a mixture of earth and straw: “Madame la Princesse inhabited a very large hut; those of the children and servants were smaller. This group of cottages looked like a village in the midst of an immense park; but, on entering one of them, one was struck by the sumptuousness of the apartments which greeted the eye. The finish and elegance of the decorations were on a scale of which one single detail will give an idea. The bathroom of the Princess was lined from top to bottom with tiles of Dresden china, painted with the utmost delicacy, and each representing a small picture: they numbered, it is said, three thousand.

“After leaving these would-be cottages, and crossing a part of the park, one came upon an enormous Turkish tent, of a magnificent and curious appearance. It had belonged to the Vizier, and was taken during the war between the Russians and the Turks. The interior was ornamented with Oriental hangings and trophies of Turkish arms, which were exceedingly beautiful. On the ground were rich carpets, and piles of gold-embroidered cushions used as seats made the illusion perfect. Behind the heavy curtains sounds of Turkish music were heard, and servants dressed in Eastern costumes served pipes and coffee on small low tables, inlaid with mother-of-pearl.” Every reception-day the park, lakes, rivers, and bridges were illuminated, and supper was served the whole evening in a large pavilion covered with creepers, and open on all sides. A number of small tables were laid out, and at each one of the ladies presided. A ball was organised in the Princess’s cottage, where they danced most of the night.

After enjoying these gaieties for some time, Hélène joined her uncle at Werky. With the exception of a few short holidays, the Diet, contrary to the usual custom, sat without interruption and without fresh elections till the year 1792. During these four years, and notwithstanding the critical nature of the political questions under discussion, the Court of Stanislaus presented an unusually brilliant aspect, which, however, was not destined to last.

While the Diet was sitting all the Crown officials were obliged by their duties to reside in Warsaw. Amongst those who attracted the most notice was the Lord High Chamberlain, Count Vincent Potocki. He belonged to one of the most illustrious families in Poland, and possessed immense landed estates and palaces of regal magnificence. His father, Stanislaus-Potocki, Palatine of Kiew, was the nephew and godson of the King Stanislaus-Leczinski, and therefore first cousin of the late Queen of France.

Although at this time the Lord Chamberlain was nearly thirty-eight years of age, he passed for one of the most fascinating men at Court. Gifted with a keen and refined intellect, very careful of his own interests, a favourite with women, and always on the best of terms with influential men, he knew the art of being successful with every one.

His first wife was Ursule Zamoiska,[82] niece of King Stanislaus-Augustus; they had no children, and were divorced at the end of a few years. Divorces were of such frequent occurrence in Poland, and had become such an established custom, that this event made no difference in the Count’s position with the King. Shortly after her divorce Princess Zamoiska married the Count Mniseck, and Count Vincent himself married in 1786 the Countess Micielska, by whom he had two sons. It was just at the time of the birth of his second son that the Count was summoned by his duties to Warsaw. The Countess remained at Ukrania, in a property near Niemirow, their habitual residence, her health not yet permitting her to travel.

The Lord Chamberlain, on arriving at Warsaw, met the Princesse Hélène at his cousins, Mesdames Jean and Severin Potocka; he was presented to her, and soon became one of the most faithful followers of her little Court. Hitherto Hélène, like a real coquette, had noticed all her admirers without seeming to distinguish any, but it was soon apparent that she received Count Vincent with marked favour. Her habits changed entirely, she went much less into society, and was only seen at the houses which the Count himself habitually frequented. He showed the greatest reserve in his intercourse with the Princess. Either from policy or prudence, he manifested no eagerness, and even affected to avoid meeting her too often; it was easy, however, for an attentive observer to see that he was flattered at the distinction with which he was treated by a young, beautiful, and most attractive woman.

Hélène, who was in love for the first time in her life, gave herself up completely to the feelings which influenced her. Without admitting it to herself, she felt keenly the Count’s coldness of manner towards her, and endeavoured to find out its cause; she thought he disapproved of her worldly pursuits, and she hoped to please him by giving them up: the pleasure parties, the brilliant cavalcades, were all abandoned. She courted solitude, and in her letters to her friends betrayed, unawares, her secret thoughts: here is an answer from the Princesse Henri Lubomirska, then living in Paris, which shows that her passion was no longer a secret:--

PARIS, _15th October 1789_.

“At last, pussie, I have received a letter from you, dated the 24th of September. It is a thousand and a hundred thousand years since I had heard from you, and I even felt a little cross, I must confess. But, after seeing in your letter such big phrases as _actual situation_, _settled for ever_, etc., I have cooled down, for, like Germain in _La Feinte par Amour_,[83] ‘What I am not told I know nevertheless.’ Really I am sorry that I cannot see you in _this new situation, which makes solitude_ so precious. You must be very funny, not that I think the sentimental style altogether unbecoming to you; there are privileged beings whom every phase suits, and this can be said of you more than of anybody; but I cannot suppress a certain curiosity,--forgive me for it, my pet. Your happiness is my most ardent wish, and I am more interested than ever in desiring it, since the longer it lasts the longer you will remain with us. Tell me what terms you are on with Madame de Mniseck;[84] I have good reasons for asking, and you will understand them; but do not mention my question to anybody, and when you see the Lord Chamberlain, present him with my compliments.

“Is it true that he is irrevocably settled at Warsaw, and has given up Niemirow?

“By the bye, why were you astonished that in a letter dated from Paris I should have sent you the Comte Auguste’s[85] compliments? It was not on the high-road, but here, where he is deputy at the States-General, that I saw him. I will not mention my health; it is too tiresome a subject. Neither will I write about what goes on here, as political matters do not interest you much; and, moreover, you see everything in the newspapers. So good-bye, my puss; write often; you know that your letters are always a great pleasure to me. Are you still fond of riding and going to the theatre? I am afraid you have given up all these amusements. Forgive my surmises; at a distance of five hundred leagues one may sometimes make a mistake, and see things in a wrong light; but at least believe that no distance can diminish the tender interest I feel for you.”

Evidently Hélène’s friend knew perfectly all that was going on; her question with regard to the Comtesse de Mniseck proves it. She wished to know on what footing the two young women were with each other. Hélène had naturally become intimate with her. Madame de Mniseck was only too glad that the Count should be faithless to her successor. We have already seen that Hélène was extremely worried by the Count’s coldness and reserve towards herself; she could not refrain from mentioning it to Madame de Mniseck, who, according to the singular Polish habit, had remained on perfectly courteous terms with her first husband. It is not necessary to add that the word _love_ was never mentioned between them; they only recognised an “affectionate regard,” and Hélène implored her friend to discover the cause of the Count’s strange behaviour. Madame de Mniseck graciously fulfilled this strange commission, and reassured Hélène so completely that she wrote as follows to the Count:--

“Madame de Mniseck has just told me that you have spoken of me in affectionate terms to her, and that you reproach yourself with having left me for three months in doubt as to your sentiments.

“I am deeply touched at this; your affection is precious to me, and will always be so, and, as I felt that I had not been in fault, I was sure your good heart would bring you back to me sooner or later.”

It is evident that little by little the intimacy between the Count and Hélène was increasing. Perhaps he was unconsciously fascinated by the very great charm of the young Princess? Perhaps in the Bishop of Wilna’s immense fortune he hoped to find a resource for freeing his lands from their heavy mortgages? It is difficult to tell, for, in this circumstance, as in all those connected with the Count, the motive of his conduct remains an enigma.

Whatever the reason, he accepted the delicate responsibility of managing Hélène’s affairs, which had been in a state of great confusion for some time. The Count had an undoubted capacity for business--a rare quality in a Polish noble; they generally know how to spend their fortune better than how to manage it.

The advice which he gave the Princess was a pretext for frequent interviews, which always took place in the presence of a third person, either a secretary or a young lady.[86] One day, however, Hélène received a note from the Count begging for a private interview. Surprised and disturbed at the receipt of these few lines, Hélène, without reflecting on their undoubted significance, replied that she would grant his request, but only on condition that he would remember she was another man’s wife.

The Count arrived at the appointed time, and after a few minutes of the most trivial conversation, Hélène, agitated and trembling, asked him, without reflecting on the purport of her words, why he had demanded this interview. He answered rather coldly that she appeared to be aware of it already; and he then made her a regular declaration. The young Princess, carried away by the violence of her feelings, admitted that she loved him as she had never loved any one before, but that she was determined that this confession should lead to no result so long as they had not each recovered their liberty.

The Count calmly replied that he was proud of the distinction conferred, that it was sufficient for his happiness, and that his reserve and respect would prove that he was an honourable man. He then made a deep obeisance and retired, leaving Hélène in a most agitated frame of mind.

She felt more humiliated than satisfied with what had taken place; for, in accordance with a very natural sentiment, she had wished to maintain a discreet behaviour, with the intention of taking all the credit to herself; she had prepared to combat an ardent lover, and she had found herself face to face with a man who was able not only to master his feelings, but was even more reasonable than she was.

Dissatisfied with herself, with him, and with the rash admission she had just made, she wrote and tore up three or four letters after his departure; at last she sent him the following:--

“I have tried three times to write to you, without having been able to express the agitation of my heart. How changed are my prospects since yesterday! I feel humiliated, degraded.... I granted the very first request you made, but I wished to place between us a barrier which your delicacy of feeling would respect. On reflection I perceive that my surrender has only added to my imprudence. I have shown you my weakness, whilst you have shown me how honour should control nature. I forgot myself whilst you remembered; this is not the moment to claim your esteem, time alone will restore it to me.

“_P.S._--My thoughts are so full of yesterday’s events that I have not been able to close my eyes. Can it be possible that a single day should thus influence my life; I feel that, henceforth, it is yours, and yours alone!”

Hélène spoke truly, for this affection, already so deeply rooted, was to last all her life.

It appears that the Count replied in a way that sufficed to dispel the anxiety of the young Princess; for he received the following note from her, which we find carefully preserved amongst her other letters.[87]

“The few words you have written have filled me with joy. I read and reread them ten times whilst dressing, and I found the pastime a sweet one. I shall see you this evening at Madame Jean’s.”[88]

We do not possess any of the letters which the Count wrote at that time; but, judging by Hélène’s answers, he must have been a jealous and despotic man. She submitted to his tyranny in a most extraordinary manner. He insisted on her burning all the letters she had received from her husband and her friends, and made so severe a selection among her numerous acquaintances at Warsaw, that little by little he narrowed her sphere to a small circle, in which he reigned supreme; Hélène accepted everything.

“I wrote to you last night, and intended sending off my note this morning,” she writes, “but when I awoke it was too late.

“What is it that worries you? Tell me at once. If a complete sacrifice of all that displeases you can secure your peace of mind, say but one word, and it will cost me nothing. I shall consider myself the gainer if, by giving up everything, I am able to make you happy and contented.

“If these ladies had not insisted on my going with them, I would willingly have stayed at home.

“With you alone I have enough to occupy my heart and mind without requiring the presence of others.”

About this time, that is, towards the end of 1790, the Comtesse Vincent, who had completely recovered her health, left Ukrania, and joined her husband at Warsaw. It was impossible to prevent her return, and equally impossible to conceal from her the growing intimacy between the Lord Chamberlain and the Princesse de Ligne, whose reputation of coquetry and beauty had already reached her ears.

The Comtesse Anna adored her husband, and in spite of all his efforts to hide the truth from her she soon discovered it, and absolutely refused to admit the Princess within her doors. “I shall never consent,” she said to her husband, “to receive the woman who has robbed me of your affection, whatever may be the nature of your intimacy.” The Count, very much surprised at this unexpected resistance on her part, vainly endeavoured to dispel his wife’s suspicion, but when Hélène called on the Countess she found the door closed. Mortally wounded by this affront, she gave way to all the violence of her character; she declared to the Count that she insisted on his compelling his wife to receive her, adding that she could never rest under an insult that dishonoured her in the eyes of the world. The Count, after trying in vain to calm her, finally flew into a passion, and after a terrible scene abruptly left her. Utterly upset by the manner in which the Count had left her on the previous day, Hélène sent him the very next morning these few lines, written in such a state of agitation as to be almost illegible:--

“I am writing to you without knowing how to begin. What a scene! I am still quite unnerved by it; you have left me, abandoned me, and nothing remains to alleviate my despair. I am alone in the world. I have neglected my friends, broken all ties, burnt under your eyes all the proofs of the affection which my husband once bestowed on me. I have destroyed secrets, confidences, assurances of tenderness from the friends of my childhood, and yesterday you retracted the few words of affection which have at times escaped your lips. Who will console me in my affliction? I leave it to you to imagine what remains after this. Good-bye, my dear Vincent; in any case, should I meet you again, you will always be the eternal object of my affections, and should nothing bring you back to me, that of my eternal regrets. In any case you alone will occupy all my thoughts, and possess till death all my affection.

“If you are determined never to see me again, return my letters, and at the end of this one write: _Adieu_. This sentence, to be decreed by your hand, is the only favour I solicit from you.”

This note was returned to the Princess, a few minutes later, by the messenger who had taken it. The seal was unbroken,[89] but on it were traced two lines, in the Comtesse Anna’s own handwriting, with the following words: “The Count left this morning for Niemirow.” This news filled Hélène with dismay; she fancied the Countess rejoicing at her grief, triumphing in his departure, and preparing to join her husband and her children. A mad idea shot through her brain; she rang at once, and ordered a post-chaise to be brought round immediately. Half an hour later the Princess threw herself into the carriage, accompanied by only one of her women, and after a journey of astounding rapidity arrived at Niemirow a few hours after the Count.

The latter had left Warsaw merely to escape from a position that was no longer bearable, and without any settled resolution. The unexpected arrival of Hélène completely unnerved him; her beauty, her tenderness, her despair, the rashness of her conduct in thus sacrificing her reputation, all combined to move and perplex him, and the recollection of poor Comtesse Anna could not contend against the fascination of the moment. Hélène carried the day, and when the emotion of the first few moments was over they agreed to ask for a divorce on both sides.

The Princess, dreading lest the Count should change his mind, urged that their plans should be carried out without delay, and the very next day three letters were despatched from Niemirow, the first addressed to the Comtesse Anna, the second to the Prince de Ligne, and the third to the Bishop of Wilna. The Count offered his wife the custody of their two sons, besides a large annuity, if she would consent to the divorce. The Princess requested that her daughter Sidonie should be sent back to her, and that the Prince-Bishop and a trustee appointed by her, and invested with her full authority, should settle all questions of interest with the de Ligne family. Then, in a letter to her uncle, she informed him of her intended divorce, asking him not to withdraw his sympathy from her, and help her in the settlement of her affairs.

The Comtesse Anna was in total ignorance of what had taken place; her husband’s letter told her the sad truth. The unhappy woman could as yet hardly believe in the reality of the blow which had fallen upon her. She had scarcely been married four years, and her unvarying gentleness and blameless character ought to have secured to her the lasting affection of the husband she adored, and whose fondest wish had been fulfilled by the birth of two sons. She still hoped that this intimacy would be but a passing fancy, and refused to consent to a divorce.

Her answer was simple and touching:--

“Have you forgotten,” she said, “that we married out of mutual sympathy, and not only with the consent but by the wish of our parents? These ties were to last for ever; and God sanctioned and blessed them by granting us children. You have sometimes been weak, but I shall still persevere, being fully persuaded that both my duty and my happiness are involved....

“I shall always remember that when Francis was born you were on your knees in the adjoining room, praying to God for me and for our child. You loved us then, and if you searched your inmost heart, you would still find these two sentiments there, for I believe nothing could ever efface them.

“You see my heart and soul laid bare before you; read your own; one word, only one, and I will forget everything; I await it with the greatest impatience.

“Your very humble and very obedient servant,

ANNA POTOCKA.”

* * * * *

This letter and many others remained without effect; the Lord Chamberlain had already made up his mind. Not only was he completely under the charm of Hélène’s fascination, but, as we said before, the prospect of the immense fortune she would possess singularly strengthened his determination.

FOOTNOTES:

[78] This Diet was called the Grand or Constitutional Diet; it lasted four years, and decreed hereditary rights to the throne, religious liberty, the maintenance of a permanent army, and a new distribution of taxes, affecting also the nobility. See Ferrand’s _History of the Dismemberment of Poland_.

[79] The dismemberment of Poland did not arrest the intellectual progress of the nation, which from that time devoted itself to the preservation of the Polish language, and to the protection of the monuments of the country. The influence exercised by Prince Czartoryski in the Emperor Alexander’s councils greatly assisted this movement. He purchased the magnificent library of the King Stanislaus-Augustus, which, added to his own, became the most important depository of Slavonic history and literature. It was confiscated by Russia in 1831.

[80] “It would be necessary,” says the Prince de Ligne, “to prevent the ladies at Court from harming the Government by intrigues in love, in politics, and in society; and also advisable to attract the great lords by all sorts of amusements and distinctions. It would then be possible to retain in the kingdom all the money which the pettiest noble, as soon as he has cut his mustachios and left off his long respectable coat, thinks necessary to carry off to Paris, and spend with women, tailors, hotels, and hairdressers, and in gambling and paying off the police, with whom he is always getting into trouble.” Unfortunately the King himself set the example of thus abandoning the ancient Polish customs in favour of the French.

[81] See the _Memoirs_ of Lauzun, whose authenticity, however, one can by no means be certain of.

[82] The King’s eldest sister, Louise Poniatowska, married Count J. J. Michel Zamoiski, by whom she had one daughter, Ursule Zamoiska. Madame Geoffrin wrote as follows to King Stanislaus on 25th March 1776:--“Society at Warsaw is more brilliant than ever--at least I hear of a great many marriages. Your niece, Mademoiselle Ursule Zamoiska, is marrying a Count Potocki, brother-in-law of a Countess Potocka who is here.”

[83] _La Feinte par Amour_, The Counterfeit of Love, comedy in three acts and verse by Dorat, played for the first time on 13th July 1773.

[84] Ursule Zamoiska, Count Potocki’s first wife.

[85] Comte Auguste de la Marck, second son of the Duchesse d’Aremberg. A friend of Mirabeau, he played an interesting part in the commencement of the Revolution.

[86] The great Polish ladies were always accompanied by some young girl or young married woman, who belonged to the lesser and poorer nobility; their position was that of a companion or even head lady’s-maid.

[87] Hélène’s notes, many of which were insignificant, were docketed and carefully kept by the Count.

[88] Madame Jean Potocka, the Count’s niece.

[89] We have found this letter amongst the Count’s papers. Hélène probably forwarded it before she determined to join him.

XI

The rebellion in Flanders--Death of Joseph II.--Prince Charles in the Russian service--The storming of Ismail--Return to Vienna--Hélène at Kowalowska--The Count’s journey to Paris--The Lignes refuse to grant a divorce--The Count’s illness.

While these romantic events were taking place in Ukrania others of a more serious nature were occurring in Flanders. Van der Noot, uniting his efforts to those of Vonck and Van der Mersch, had issued a manifesto exhorting the people of Brabant to rebellion, and on the same day, the 24th of October 1789, the little army of patriots assembled at Hasselt had invaded the Belgian territory.[90] The Emperor, suddenly alarmed, tried to arrest the movement by making useless concessions; the violent irritation he felt at the defection of Flanders caused him to suspect every one belonging to the country of taking part in the rebellion. The Prince de Ligne himself, then at the siege of Belgrade, did not escape his displeasure, and it was then that he wrote him the harsh letter we have already mentioned. But Joseph soon recognised the injustice of his suspicions, and the Prince de Ligne was recalled. The latter obeyed at once, and wrote the following charming letter to the Emperor:--

BELGRADE, _November 1789_.

“I am overjoyed at your Majesty’s kindness in permitting me to appear before you, and to remain in Vienna until I start for Moravia or Silesia at the head of the army now returning from Syrmia. I am far more touched, Sire, by a grace than by a disgrace. The cares of the siege of Belgrade, and the fever from which I suffered, that no amount of quinine could subdue, prevented my feeling the grief I should naturally have had on reading the terrible phrase: ‘Prepare yourself to receive marks of my displeasure, for it is neither my pleasure nor my habit to be disobeyed.’ I had reason to congratulate myself on my behaviour, Sire, during the Bavarian war eleven years ago, and you thanked me for it. On this occasion, it is true, your Majesty decided that my despatches should be conveyed to you through an orderly; but if I made use of my aides-de-camp, it was solely on account of the Comte de Choiseul’s special message from Constantinople, recommending that his very important despatch to the Marquis de Noailles should be conveyed as safely and directly as possible. An orderly may fall asleep, get drunk, or be murdered.

“I must crave your pardon, Sire, if I showed no anxiety at your displeasure, but I know your justice still better; I supposed that the ill-timed journey made by one of my aides-de-camp to Flanders when the rebellion was at its height had perhaps led your Majesty to suppose that I was concerned in it, and that I had some understanding with the disaffected.”[91]

Whilst the Prince de Ligne was returning to Vienna the insurgents seized Ghent and Brussels, and on the 2d of December 1789 they proclaimed that Joseph II. had forfeited the sovereignty of the Netherlands. Two months later the Emperor succumbed to a chronic disease, aggravated by grief and anxiety.[92] The Prince de Ligne wrote to the Empress Catherine: “He is no more, Madame,--he is no more, the Prince who honoured the man, the man who still more honoured the Prince. He said to me a few days before his death, on my return from the Hungarian army which I had led into Silesia: ‘I was not fit to see you yesterday; your country has killed me.... The capture of Ghent is my agony, and the abandonment of Brussels my death. What an outrage’ (he repeated that word several times). ‘I am dying of it: one would have to be of stone to survive it. I thank you for all you have done for me. Laudon has spoken very well of you; I thank you for your fidelity. Go into Flanders; bring back the country to its allegiance. If you cannot succeed, remain there; do not sacrifice your interests to me--you have children....’”

On the Emperor’s table were found several letters, written on the eve of his death. One of them, which was in French, was addressed to the Princesses François and Charles de Lichtenstein, and to the Comtesses Clary, de Kinsky, and de Kaunitz.

TO THE FIVE LADIES WHO SO KINDLY RECEIVED ME INTO THEIR SOCIETY.

“The time has come for me to bid you an eternal farewell, and express all the gratitude I feel at the condescension and kindliness you have shown me for so many years. The memory of each day is dear to me, and the thought of separation is the only one that troubles me. Wholly trusting in the goodness of Providence, I submit myself entirely to its decrees. Keep me in remembrance, and do not forget me in your prayers. My writing will show you the condition I am in.”

The Prince de Ligne was deeply affected by this loss, of which he soon felt the painful results. Leopold II., who succeeded his father, behaved with marked coldness towards all those for whom Joseph had had any affection. Moreover, the new sovereign’s policy had nothing in common with that of his predecessor. On the 27th of July 1790 Austria signed at Reichenbach a Convention with Prussia, by which she agreed to make peace with Turkey, the conditions to be based on the _status quo_ that existed before the war.

Prince Charles, foreseeing a period of forced inaction, asked and obtained permission to enter the Russian service. He accordingly set off, leaving his father in Vienna unfavourably looked upon at Court, and grieved at being separated from him.

It was under Souvarof’s orders in Bessarabia that Prince Charles fought his campaign. He was selected to conduct part of the operations at the famous siege of Ismaïl.[1]

Since the 19th Souvarof had been battering the walls of the town; he directed in person the assault by land, while another attack was being made from the river. Three times the Russians were driven back under a terrific fire; two columns remained for three hours in the trenches exposed to a perfect storm of grape shot. At last a fire broke out in the town, and the Russians were able to enter, the assault having lasted ten hours. Prince Charles was amongst the first to go up, and behind him followed, as simple volunteers, the Duc de Richelieu, the Comte Roger de Damas, the Comte de Langeron, etc. etc. Fifteen thousand

1 Ismaïloff, a town of Russia in Europe (Bessarabia), situated on the Danube. The storming of Ismaïl is one of the most celebrated in history. The Russians, numbering 30,000, took possession of the town on 22d November 1790, and pillaged it for three days. The Russians, exasperated at the resistance they had met with, massacred two-thirds of the inhabitants. Turks were massacred, and the town was given up to pillage. Prince Charles received a wound in the leg, which, however, did not stop him.

General Ribas, who commanded the flotilla in the Danube, wrote to the Prince de Ligne as follows:--

ISMAÏL, _15th December_.

“MY PRINCE--In recalling myself to the notice of your serene Highness, I venture to congratulate you on the glory that Prince Charles has won at the storming of Ismaïl. The column he commanded, following the example of its daring leader, was the first to effect a landing. In spite of a severe wound in his leg he was the first to leap out of the boat, and he scaled the ramparts of the town under a deadly fire. He took possession of it, after setting fire to a Turkish frigate that was doing us great damage, and after establishing and directing the battery, which inflicted the greatest loss on the enemy.”

At the moment of Prince Charles’s entry into Ismaïl, and in the midst of the fire and pillage and the fearful carnage, he saw a child three or four years old standing alone under the doorway of a fine-looking house, and uttering the most heartrending cries; his beauty and the richness of his attire attracted the attention of the Prince; he took up the child in his arms; it ceased crying, and looked at him with eyes full of astonishment; then, terrified at the tumult and the horrible scenes going on around them, he hid his face on his deliverer’s breast, clinging to his neck with all the strength of his little arms. Much moved, the Prince hastily carried the child to a place of safety, and had it questioned by some prisoners who had escaped the massacre. All he could say was that he was called Norokos, and that his mother and the women who took care of him had been killed. The Prince chose among the prisoners a Turkish man and woman, gave the child into their keeping, and commanded that he should receive every possible care, as he had decided to adopt him, and take him to Vienna on his return.

Immediately after the taking of Ismaïl the Empress Catherine wrote to Prince Charles to tell him herself of his promotion to the rank of colonel, and to confer on him the cross of commander of the order of Saint Georges.

The Prince de Ligne was at Vienna when he received the news of the capture of Ismaïl, and of the honours the Empress had bestowed on his son. He had just been slighted and treated with flagrant injustice by Leopold II., but he forgot everything on hearing of his Charles’s success, and wrote the same day to the Czarina:--

“MADAME--My heart, which bounds forward so quickly that my pen is unable to keep pace with it, can never sufficiently express my gratitude for the favours bestowed by your Imperial Majesty on my excellent and fortunate Charles. I shall not publish the letter you have deigned to write to me, but shall content myself with never forgetting it. Not until we have peace will your Majesty regain your former wit, as during the last four years you have been all soul and genius. Good heavens, what abundant proof of it there is in your letter to my good Charles! I am afraid it will have put him quite beside himself....”

But it is with his son that the Prince gives himself up to the full vehemence of his feelings.

VIENNA, _25th November 1790_.

“So you end the war, as you began it, by making me die of anxiety on behalf of the most courageous of mortals, of joy at possessing such a son, of emotion at your conduct, and of regret at never having equalled your merit in any quarter.[93] My dear Charles, in spite of these four deaths, I am quite alive, and the happiest of men, for I am going to see you again. My God! good Charles, brave Charles, what anxiety you have given me! Mine is the high stake! If they had _néboïsséd_[94] you, as they sometimes do (and for two or three nights especially the thought deprived me of sleep), say, what in the world would have become of me? Supposing I had survived, could I have existed a minute without reproaching myself for my strength and weakness in not opposing your departure?...”

Almost immediately after the peace of Ismaïl the Empress began secretly to negotiate a treaty with the Turks. Preoccupied by events in France, and especially in Poland, she was anxious to be rid of a war which absorbed the greatest part of her army. Prince Charles, aware of what was going on, asked and obtained his discharge. He announced his return to Vienna to his father, and came back escorted by a numerous retinue. He brought with him the little Norokos and his attendants, a Turkish band of twelve musicians, and magnificent presents of arms and horses that Marshal Souvarof and Prince Potemkin had given him.

THE PRINCE DE LIGNE TO HIS SON.

“Good Lord! dear Charles! you are coming back, but I cannot realise it. I assure you that since you have had the good fortune to escape from such dangers, you must be physically immortal as well as morally. I do not know how I shall manage to kiss you, how I shall place myself, where your large nose will go, how I shall manage my own; I fully intend also kissing your wounded knee, perhaps going down on my own knees for the purpose, before you as well as before heaven.”

_P.S._--TO THE BRAVEST AND PRETTIEST FELLOW AMONG THE VOLUNTEERS.[95]

“As for you, my dear Duke, I shall not seek to express the feelings I entertain on your behalf. It is impossible to be a more worthy grandson of the Maréchal de Richelieu, never has any one had a more valiant and charming comrade. Both you and Charles have equally contributed to each other’s glory.

“Certain of your mutual esteem, you strove to augment it. What happiness for me, dear Duke, to know that you are full of life and energy; to remember that I have loved you from the time of your birth, for hardly had you come into the world than you were already its ornament.

“But I must tell you both about the King of Naples. What a kind good man he is! He embraced me about ten times, that is to say, as often as he met me during the ball, which took place at the house of his ambassador Gallo.[96] He took me up to every one, saying: ‘_Suo figlio! ah! bravo juvene! è férito_.’”[97]

The Flemish rebellion was drawing to a close. After shaking off the Austrian yoke the first act of the Flemish people had been to divide into two hostile factions, one of which was anxious to preserve the ancient, aristocratic, and sacerdotal constitution, to retain which had been the motive of the revolution, while the other faction supported the new doctrines of the constituent assembly in Paris. Leopold, who had learnt the art of negotiating in Tuscany, and was an astute politician, cleverly took advantage of the division of opinions, and on coming to the throne[98] promised to restore to Flanders all her ancient privileges, but at the same time despatched an army strong enough to subdue her if necessary. The country offered no resistance.[99]

On the 2d of December 1790 Leopold granted a general amnesty, and before many months had passed all trace of the disturbances in Flanders had disappeared.

After enjoying for some time the happiness of seeing her son, the Princesse de Ligne left for Brussels and Bel Œil, in order to repair the damages these residences had sustained during the revolution, for they had been abandoned ever since 1787. It was precisely at this period that Hélène’s letters asking for a divorce reached her husband.

The de Ligne family had several times expressed their displeasure at the prolonged stay of the Princesse Charles in Poland. At first she had answered evasively, then, having inquired after her little daughter Sidonie, she ceased writing altogether.

Hélène’s sudden departure and prolonged stay in Ukrania had created a great sensation in Warsaw. The Princesse Maréchale and other great ladies, who were spending the winter in Vienna, related the adventure, and commented upon it. The Lignes, as may easily be supposed, were greatly offended at Hélène’s imprudent escapade, and, far from favourably receiving her request for a divorce, they absolutely refused to consent to it. It may be supposed that if the lady whom he loved had been free, Prince Charles would have sent a different answer, but there existed, evidently, some insurmountable obstacle to their union. Meanwhile the Count, who directed all Hélène’s affairs, started for Paris, invested by her with full powers to treat with the Lignes; for the Princesse Charles was still under the delusion that her request would be granted. On his arrival in Paris he had a first interview with the Prince de Ligne’s steward, and gave him a copy of his deed of authorization.

The steward went off at once to confer with the Prince on these grave questions, but when he returned to Paris he found that the Count, who in the meantime had heard from Hélène of Prince Charles’s decided refusal, had already taken his departure.

The following is the letter the steward had brought.

LETTER FROM THE PRINCE DE LIGNE.

VIENNA, _15th January 1791_.

“As we no longer are aware of the Princesse Charles de Ligne’s existence, and as, in fact, she is dead to us and to our little Sidonie, we can enter into no arrangements with her.

“A woman kept prisoner by a stupid Polish tyrant should not prevent Sidonie’s great-uncle from paying the bills of exchange, for which he has given us every possible security, and which, according to the desire of Prince Charles and the Prince-Bishop, and even according to that of her mother, are destined to free the estates in Galicia. She has neither the power nor the right to administer these estates, as she is under the influence of a man who publicly manages her business, for in so doing she might damage her daughter’s interests.

“When she chooses to free herself from the bondage in which she is living, and take up her residence either in Paris or Warsaw, or on one of my estates if she prefers it, she shall receive an annuity of thirty thousand French livres, which is the least her husband intends her to have, as soon as he shall himself come into the whole of his fortune.

“As the Princesse Charles, if she married the Count Potocki, would be even more unhappy than she is at present, her husband, in her interest and in that of her daughter, will never give his consent.

LIGNE.

“The Princess’s diamonds and the rest of her property will be immediately returned to her, and she must send to Pradel the drawings belonging to her husband she still has in her possession.”

Prince Charles wished to send back at once all the diamonds, furniture, and effects left by Hélène at Bel Œil and at Brussels, and he wrote to his mother urging her to forward them at once to their destination. It will be remembered that Hélène had left Brussels hurriedly at the time of the insurrection, and therefore had not had time to discharge a few personal debts contracted at her own expense. The Princesse de Ligne wrote to her daughter-in-law the following letter:--

BRUSSELS, _24th February 1791_.

“As your husband had written to me, Madame, that he consented to the return of everything belonging to you, with the exception of the books, most of which already formed a part of the library at Bel Œil, the rest having been purchased on condition of their being placed in it, I was about to order the packing of your effects when your creditors, hearing of this, came to oppose the proceedings, alleging that they never received any answer to the letters they sent you. They will not allow the removal of the effects, which are their guarantee; it is only out of consideration for me, and on my promising to write to you myself, that they have consented to wait long enough for you to receive this letter and send a reply.

“I therefore beg you, Madame, if you do not wish to run the risk of having your things publicly sold, to send me a bill of exchange or an order on some bank, so that by the end of April I may be able to meet their claims.

“The bills I have been able to collect, added to those I already know of, amount to about five thousand florins in our coin. As I do not intend to be in Brussels after the 15th of May, I warn you that unless I receive the money by the first of the month, I shall hand over your possessions to a public auctioneer, who will estimate their value and settle with the creditors, and I shall have nothing more to do with it. You will certainly not profit by this arrangement; for I should have been more economical and have taken more interest in your affairs than he will.

“Sidonie is in excellent health; she is a dear little thing, and although you hardly notice her, she often speaks of you, and never forgets to mention her mother in her little prayers. Impatiently awaiting your reply, for, with the precautions I have taken, I am certain this letter will reach you, I remain, Madame, yours, etc.

“LA PRINCESSE DE LIGNE.”

During these negotiations Hélène was living at Kowalowska in complete retirement. Her mother-in-law’s letter arrived at a moment when it was impossible for her to send any money to Brussels. This woman of the world, accustomed to the most refined luxury, was almost in actual want, and with very natural pride would accept nothing from the Count but the hospitality he had offered her. She wrote to him as follows:--

“Your letter has made me very sad. There is no more question of your return than if you were never coming back. MM. de Ligne will listen to nothing; what can I do? What line of action can I take? What do they want of me? What is their object? They apparently hope that want will make me submit to their will, and imagine they are granting me a favour by shutting me up in a Convent with a pension.[100] But even should they be willing to receive me back into their family, I would never return to them; all is at an end between them and me, and I should even prefer the Convent to the trial of living with people whom I do not love, and who would despise me; the word alone makes me shudder.