Chapter XIII (2)

The Princes started on their journey a year after the war of the Bavarian succession had ended. “This war entailed on the King of Prussia a large expenditure of men, horses, and money; it procured him an appearance of honesty and disinterestedness, and some political amenities, but it brought him no military honour, and caused him to entertain very bitter feelings towards us. Without any apparent reason the King forbade Austrian officers to enter his dominions without a special permit signed by him. The Austrian Court retaliated by making the same rule with regard to Prussian officers. This gave rise to mutual discomfort without reason or profit. Being of a confiding nature, I thought I could do without a permit, but the desire to have a letter from the great Frederick, rather than the fear of being badly received, induced me to write to him.”

Instead of one letter the Prince de Ligne received three, all charming. For fear of missing him the King had written from Potsdam to Vienna, Dresden, and Berlin. The travellers arrived at Potsdam on the 28th of June.

“Having to wait until twelve o’clock, at which hour I was to be presented to the King, together with my son Charles and M. de l’Isle, I went to the parade ground, and was soon surrounded and escorted by Austrian deserters, especially those from my own regiment, who tried to fawn upon me and ask my forgiveness for having left me. The hour for the presentation arrived, and the King received me in the most charming fashion. The military stiffness of headquarters was exchanged for a tender and benevolent welcome. He said he did not know I had so old a son.

“‘He has even been married a year, Sire.’

“‘May I ask to whom?’

“‘To a Pole--a Massalski.’

“‘What, a Massalski? Do you know what her grandmother did?’

“‘No, Sire,’ replied Charles.

“‘She fired off the cannon at the siege of Dantzic,--she fired, and made them fire, and defended the place, when her party, who had lost their heads, only thought of yielding.’

“‘Women are unaccountable creatures,’ said I, ‘strong and weak by turns, cautious and dissimulating, they are capable of anything.’

“‘No doubt,’ said M. de l’Isle, annoyed at not having been spoken to, and he added, with a familiarity which met with no success, ‘See, for instance----’

“The King interrupted him at the end of half a second. In order to satisfy de l’Isle I told the King that M. de Voltaire had died in his arms; so that the King asked him a few questions. He answered rather too lengthily, and went away. Charles and I remained for dinner.

“Every day the King had long conversations with me, often of five hours at a time, and completely fascinated me: fine arts, war, medicine, literature and religion, philosophy, moral philosophy, history and legislation, were all reviewed in turn. The great eras of Augustus and Louis XIV.; the refined society of the Romans, the Greeks, and the Franks; the chivalry of Francis the First; the frankness and valour of Henry the Fourth; the revival of learning; anecdotes of clever men of former days, and their failings; Voltaire’s errors, Maupertuis’s irritability, and I know not what else. In fact, anything and everything. The most varied and wittiest things were said by the King in a soft, low, and agreeable voice, with an inexpressibly graceful movement of the lips. The charm of his manner was, I think, the reason why one did not notice that, like Homer’s heroes, he was rather a babbler, though certainly a sublime one. His eyes, always too hard in his portraits, although strained with work and the fatigues of war, softened in their expression when listening to or relating some noble deed or trait of sensibility....

“One morning, as I arrived at the palace, the King came forward and said: ‘I fear I must be the bearer of bad news; I have just heard that Prince Charles of Lorraine is dying.’ He looked to see what effect the news would have on me, and seeing the tears fall from my eyes, he gradually and gently changed the conversation. The next day, the moment he saw me, the King came up, and said with an air of the deepest concern: ‘Since you must hear of the death of a man who loved you and honoured mankind, it is better that it should be through some one who feels it as sincerely as I do; poor Prince Charles is no more!’ He was deeply affected as he said these words.”

After a conversation during which the King had spoken unceasingly for nearly an hour, the Prince, finding the part of listener rather monotonous, seized upon an allusion to Virgil, and said:--

“‘What a grand poet, Sire, but what a bad gardener!’

“‘How true! Did I not try to plant, sow, dig, and hoe, with the Georgics as my guide? “But, Sire,” the gardener used to say, not knowing who I was: “You are a fool, and your book also; it is not so that one sets to work.” Good heavens, what a climate! would you believe it, God and the sun refuse me everything! Look at my orange, olive, and lemon trees, they are all dying of hunger.’

“‘Laurels, I see, are the only trees that will grow for your Majesty.’

“The King gave me a delighted look, and to cap my insipid remark with a bit of nonsense, I quickly added: ‘And then, Sire, there are too many grenadiers[28] in this country, they swallow up everything.’ The King laughed, for it is only nonsense that makes one laugh.”

The Prince knew that the King could not bear M. de Ried, and that it was because the latter had mentioned the taking of Berlin by Marshal Haddik that the King had conceived such a dislike for him; therefore, when Frederick asked him if he found Berlin much altered, he took care not to remind him that he was one of those who took possession of it in 1760. “He was pleased with my reticence, for he was an old wizard, who guessed everything, and whose tact was the finest that ever existed.”

The Prince asked him a bold question when speaking about France.

“There is everything, Sire, in that country, and it really deserves to be happy; it is reported that your Majesty had said that if one wished to have a happy dream, one ought----”

“Yes,” interrupted the King, “that is true--one ought to be King of France.”

After spending a delightful fortnight at Potsdam, the Princes took leave of the King of Prussia with regret, and continued their journey, arriving at Saint Petersburg in the month of August.

The Empress received the Prince de Ligne with the greatest distinction; she was already acquainted with him through Voltaire’s letters and the accounts the Emperor Joseph had given her at Mohileff. Catherine found him worthy of all the praise she had heard of him, and writes:--

“We have also the Prince de Ligne, who is one of the most amusing and easy beings to get on with I have ever seen. Though an original and a deep thinker, he yet has all the gaiety of a child. His company would suit me very well.”

On his part the Prince was charmed with Catherine the Great, as he called her, and, thanks to his account, we have a living portrait of the Czarina.

“It was easy to see that she had been handsome rather than pretty; the majesty of her brow was softened by a pleasant look and smile, but it showed all the force of her character, and revealed her genius, justice, judgment, courage, equanimity, gentleness, calmness, and firmness.

“Her chin, though rather pointed, did not exactly project; nor was it a receding chin, but one nobly proportioned. The oval of her face was not good, and yet it was pleasing, for the expression of her mouth was full of frankness and mirth. She must have had a fresh complexion and a fine bust, which, however, she got at the cost of her figure; she had been almost too slight, but one becomes very stout in Russia. She was clean, and if her hair had not been drawn so far back, but allowed to surround her face, she would have been better looking. One did not notice she was small; when she told me, in a slow manner, that she had been very vivacious, it seemed impossible to realise it. On entering a drawing-room she always made the same three bows, like a man, in the Russian style; one to the right, one to the left, and the other in the middle. Everything about her was measured and methodical.”

The Prince had already become very intimate with Catherine at the end of a few days.

“‘What did you suppose I would be like?’ she asked me.

“‘I fancied your Majesty tall, stiff as a poker, with eyes like stars, and a large hoop. I thought also I should only have to admire, and constant admiration is very fatiguing.’

“‘Is it not true that you did not expect to find me so stupid?’

“‘In truth, I thought it would be necessary to have all one’s wits about one, that your Majesty allowed yourself all license, and was a perfect firework of wit; but I infinitely prefer your careless style of conversation, which becomes sublime when treating of noble passages of history, or examples of sensibility or greatness.’ And the Empress heartily laughed at this clever mingling of frankness and flattery.

“It was this contrast of simplicity in what she said with the great deeds she performed that made her interesting. A trifle amused her; she was pleased at the smallest joke, and cleverly turned it to account. One day I told her that to silence the reproaches of a lady who was displeased with my scarcity of talk, and looking bored in her house, I replied that I had just heard of the death of an aunt who had brought me up. When the Empress was bored on the grand reception days, she would say to me: ‘My uncle is about to die.’ Then I would hear it murmured: ‘We are going to have a mourning.’ And all the Court would search up the uncle in the almanac, and of course not find him.”

However great the fascination Catherine exercised over the Prince, she did not make him forget Marie-Thérèse, and towards the end of his stay he wrote: “The Empress Marie-Thérèse had certainly much greater charm and fascination. Our Empress carried one away: the impression made by the Russian Empress was much weaker at first, but gradually increased. However, they resembled each other in this, that if the universe had crumbled away they would have been found _impavidas ferient ruinæ_. No power on earth would have made them yield; their great souls were proof against adversity; enthusiasm preceded the one and followed the other.”

It was, however, necessary for the Prince to tear himself away from the delights of this charming abode. But before their departure the Empress, laughing, said to the Prince-father: “As you told me that you would either sell, gamble, or lose any diamonds I should give you, here are only a hundred roubles’ worth round my portrait on this ring!”[29]

To this present Catherine added jewels for the Princesse de Ligne and her daughters; Prince Charles received a rich casket for Hélène, and the Princes left for Poland, having forgotten only one thing, viz. the claim of four hundred thousand roubles, for which they had undertaken their journey. “For,” says the Prince gaily, “it seemed to me a want of delicacy to take advantage of the favour with which I was received to obtain favours.”

The Bishop of Wilna received the Prince at his residence of Werky, a short distance from Warsaw. “Werky,” writes the Prince, “was a fortunate child of nature,--a large river, three smaller ones, and a chain of mountains, separated two valleys. Four or five waterfalls, three islands, manufactories, castles, a windmill, a port, a ruin, two convents of handsome appearance, natural undulations, temples to Vulcan, to Bacchus, and one to Unity, which is to be erected upon piles, and a kind of bridge at the meeting of three pretty rivulets, an obelisk, a fisherman’s and a workman’s hut, bridges, some ornate, others rustic, complete the attractions of this magnificent estate. I advise and direct everything.”

The Dietine (sub-Diet) of Wilna had assembled to elect deputies for the Diet of Warsaw. The Bishop gathered round his table eighty-four Polish gentlemen, nearly all wearing the national costume, and having their heads shaved after the Polish fashion. Before dinner each of them came up to salute the Bishop by respectfully kissing the hem of his robe. At the end of the repast healths were drunk; the Bishop proclaimed the name of the person whose health was proposed; then he filled an antique cup, beautifully chased, emptied it and turned it over, showing that he had drained it to the bottom. He then passed it to his right-hand neighbour, and in this way it went round the table. These toasts were always celebrated with champagne or Tokay. After an interesting sojourn at Werky and Wilna, the Princes, accompanied by the Bishop, started for Warsaw. We have seen that in the negotiations for the marriage of the Duc d’Elbœuf with Hélène the Prince-Bishop and the Marquis de Mirabeau had dreamt of the Polish throne for the young Princess’s future husband. This idea had taken possession of the Bishop’s brain; and the accounts that were given to him of Saint Petersburg, and the peculiarly cordial reception that the Princes had received, confirmed him in it. Persuaded that the Prince was far advanced in the Empress’s good graces, and convinced that the King Stanislaus-Augustus was no longer in favour, the Bishop, ever ready to throw himself into a new adventure, took advantage of the opening of the Diet to propose the Marshal as candidate for the _indigénat_.

“You will one day be King of Poland,” said the enthusiastic Bishop; “what a change will come over European affairs! what good luck for the Lignes and Massalski!” The Marshal laughed, but, although he ridiculed these sayings, he allowed matters to proceed. “I had a fancy,” he says, “to please the nation assembled for the Diet, and accordingly presented myself.”

Twenty-five candidates came forward to obtain the _indigénat_; twenty-four of them were set aside, the Prince alone was retained; but it required a unanimous vote, and three opponents came forward. “They were nearly cut down, and the violence of one of the nuncios,[30] who laid his hand on his sword, uttering very threatening words, nearly broke up the Diet, and my too zealous partisan had a narrow escape of losing his head.

“I sought my opponents; I succeeded in overcoming their prejudices, and that so thoroughly that they said, with a grace and eloquence worthy of their country, that, in favour of an acquisition they considered so honourable, they would, each in turn, solicit the vote of one of their friends. Against all custom, I rushed into the nuncios’ hall, and embraced the mustachios of these three orators. It electrified me, for I began an oration myself--in Latin too! then I took them by the hand, and my advances resulted in a general _sgoda_,[31] which rang three times through the hall, nearly bringing it down, so great were the universal acclamations.”

After having obtained the good graces of the Empress Catherine, laid out the Bishop of Wilna’s gardens, gained the _indigénat_, and become almost as popular at Warsaw as in Brussels, the Prince de Ligne, faithful to his word, arrived at Versailles to the very day, six months after having left it.

FOOTNOTES:

[24] The _indigénat_, though differing from naturalisation, conferred on those who obtained it all the privileges belonging to those indigenous to the soil.

[25] An estate belonging to the Princesse Charles.

[26] The Duchess had given birth to the Comte Armand-Jules de Polignac on 14th May 1780.

[27] The Abbé Delille, born at Aigueperse on 22d June 1728, died in Paris on 1st May 1813. He was a member of the French Academy, and as a poet enjoyed European celebrity. Though spelt differently the name was pronounced in the same way.

[28] _Grenadiers_ in French signifying both the soldier and the pomegranate tree.

[29] It is said that Catherine’s _friendship_ for the Prince de Ligne became a warmer sentiment, and we are disposed to believe it when we read the sour letters that Grimm wrote to the Empress about the Prince, of whom he was jealous. It will be seen later on that he excited Potemkin’s jealousy as well. Be this as it may, the Prince was very discreet on the subject, as also on that of the political conversations he had with the Empress, for he relates nothing about them, not even in reference to Poland. We can hardly believe, however, that he did not touch upon the subject; the Princesse Charles was Polish, and Catherine might well suppose that her father-in-law and husband took some interest in that unhappy country.

[30] The Polish deputies were called nuncios.

[31] The _sgoda_ was the cry which announced the unanimity of the vote.

VII

Life at Bel Œil--The Archduchess Christine, Governor of the Netherlands--The Comte d’Artois at Bel Œil--_Le Mariage de Figaro_--The Comtesse de Sabran and the Chevalier de Boufflers.

Hélène awaited her husband’s return with the greatest impatience, for during his absence and that of his father her life had not been an easy one.

The Dowager-Princess generally took advantage of her husband’s absence to reduce the expenses of her household, and reestablish, as much as possible, a condition of things too often upset by the Prince, who, like the amiable spendthrift that he was, gaily threw millions out of the window. Hélène would gladly have taken her share in superintending the household; for she had learnt at the Convent how to keep house, and was naturally proud of her acquirements. She gracefully proffered her services to her mother-in-law, anxious to display her domestic qualities, but the Princesse de Ligne was not disposed to share her authority with any one, and coldly refused her daughter-in-law’s offer. Hélène, rebuffed and humiliated, did not complain, but it left a feeling of rancour in her mind, and from that moment the relations between mother and daughter-in-law became more strained. At last the Prince’s six months’ journey drew to a close, and it was with twofold joy that Hélène hailed her husband’s return, and the end of the harsh tutelage under which she had been living.

The Princes found their family at Brussels, and in the spring went to Bel Œil, where they spent the summer together, with the exception of Prince Louis, who was detained by his service in Paris, and could seldom be with them. The life at Bel Œil was extremely gay and animated; the stream of visitors was incessant, and poured in from all sides--Brussels, Paris, and even Vienna. The officers of the de Ligne regiment came to stay in turns. Not only did the Prince keep open house--that is to say, that people could come and spend the day there without any previous warning, but there was also a certain number of apartments kept in readiness for any unexpected guests who might come for a longer visit. Among the intimates at Bel Œil were the most charming women of the Court of Brussels.

Although the de Lignes provided ample entertainment and amusement for their guests, a due part of the day was devoted to more serious occupations. The mornings were given up to study. Music, literature, drawing, etc., were cultivated in turn. “Christine pastes and unpastes, Hélène sings and is enchanting,” wrote the Prince. As for him, he was no sooner up than, book in hand, he went to his island of Flora, or worked in his library, or else inspected the gardens. He already possessed a private printing-press in his house at Brussels; he installed another at Bel Œil, which was a source of great amusement.[32] Prince Charles in particular busied himself with it, but he confined himself to publishing the works of others; his father, the Chevalier de l’Isle, and the Abbé Payez, provided ample material for the small presses of Bel Œil.

Prince Charles, who was an enthusiastic admirer of pictures, had found time, in spite of his studies and military duties, to make a magnificent collection of original drawings, both of ancient and modern masters.[33] He was a thorough connoisseur, and drew well himself, he even undertook to engrave some of the drawings in his collection, and sent for the celebrated Bartsch to give him lessons at Bel Œil. Hélène interested herself in her husband’s occupations, and, while he was engraving, put the drawings in order, studied under his guidance the different styles of each master, and became quite an enlightened amateur. These intellectual occupations took up the first half of the day, after which the family and numerous visitors assembled for dinner. After an hour’s rest they all went into the gardens, where they wandered about, or indulged in reverie, or gathered together according to taste. There were a hundred different pastimes, and a hundred different ways of enjoying one’s self; the Prince had anticipated every taste and every wish. Sometimes they went long excursions on horseback or in carriages to the beautiful forest of Baudour, adjoining the woods of Bel Œil, or they sailed on the large lake which was connected with the canals, rivers, and smaller lakes of the park. The boats were decked out with streamers, and manned by small boatmen dressed in the Prince’s livery. “During the lovely summer evenings,” he writes, “our excursions on the water, with music and a bright moonlight, were most agreeable to the ladies.”

The Prince never forgot them in his rustic arrangements; well beaten-paths, so that they might not wet their pretty feet, bowers of roses, jasmine, orange trees, and honeysuckle, led to the ladies’ baths. They found shaded benches and rustic cabins, and also “their embroidery frames, their knitting, their netting, and, above all, their black writing-books. Sand or something else was often wanting, but they contained secrets unknown both to lovers and husbands, and, used as desks by their owners, served to write many a pretty little lie.”

At this period Brussels presented the most brilliant and animated aspect. Prince Charles of Lorraine had been succeeded by the Archduchess Marie-Christine, formerly Regent of Hungary, where she had enjoyed the privileges of a queen. She held her court on a grand scale, and did the honours of it with grace and affability. The Archduchess was considered the handsomest of Marie-Thérèse’s four daughters. She danced so gracefully and so lightly that, directly she began, every one stopped to admire. Although pretending to be annoyed, she was, on the contrary, far from displeased at the admiration she provoked. She had married the Archduke Albert of Saxe-Teschen,[34] who was entirely under his wife’s influence, and, unlike Prince Charles of Lorraine, never gained the hearts of the Flemish. Nevertheless, the Archduke’s gentle and easy character made him beloved by all who approached him. He was an intelligent connoisseur in pictures, and formed two magnificent collections of paintings and drawings.

The Archduchess and her husband took pleasure in encouraging art and literature, and Brussels soon became a lively literary centre. All that appeared in France--novels, poetry, travels, etc.--was eagerly read. Several reviews were started. The Prince de Ligne welcomed young Belgian authors, and helped them in every way to the best of his ability. Happy to avail themselves of the lordly hospitality he so graciously offered, they constantly came to submit to him their essays. It is needless to say that they extolled the beauties of Bel Œil and Baudour in verses which were reproduced in the gazettes of the day.

If Belgium had not become the scene of political events, it is probable that the Prince would have founded a school of literature and good taste, for he occasionally evinced in his writings talent of the highest order. Ideas flowed in abundance from his fertile pen, and he seemed merely to jot them down on the paper at haphazard. His style, which is capricious, incorrect, and even obscure, is always lively and descriptive; each word seems to fall naturally into its place under his pen; wit abounds, unexpected, satirical, and sometimes most daring. He has the greatest contempt for grammar; but this very negligence, this lordly indifference, gives to his writings a most original style.

Moreover, he possessed all the requisites of an excellent critic, but it must be acknowledged that he was blindly indulgent towards his own poetry. Unfortunately gifted with deplorable facility, he never missed an opportunity of rhyming. One evening, when they had all gone for a long walk in the woods, they wandered so far into the forest that they completely lost their way, and only found it, thanks to a star Hélène had noticed. On the following day her father-in-law brought her a ballad, set to a tune then in vogue, and perhaps among all those he has written, it may be considered as one of the best:--

À HÉLÈNE.

_Air: Sous la Verdure._

Un sombre voile
Nous dérobait notre chemin;
Nous errions à la belle étoile,
Mais nous arrivons à la fin
Grâce à l’étoile.

Est-ce l’étoile
Qui jadis guida vers un Dieu?
Ou de Vénus est-ce l’étoile?
Je penche beaucoup en ce lieu
Pour cette étoile.

Auprès d’Hélène
Conduit l’étoile du berger;
Trop heureux celui qu’elle amène
Tout juste à l’heure du berger
Auprès d’Hélène.[35]

And so the days passed quickly and pleasantly, the only drawback in this happy scene being the state of Hélène’s health, which required an amount of care her youth and love of pleasure made it difficult for her to take. Two accidents had successively destroyed a hope dearly cherished by her husband, and even more by her father-in-law, who was anxious that his beloved Charles should have a son. The waters of Spa, then very much the fashion, were recommended. Hélène went there in the month of May 1782, accompanied by the Chevalier de l’Isle, and her convent friend, Mademoiselle de Conflans, who was now Marquise de Coigny,[36] and on intimate terms with the de Lignes. Hélène wrote to appoint a meeting-place. The Chevalier de l’Isle, who had a ready pen and familiar style, answered as follows: “Madame de Coigny embraces Mouchette,[37] and exhorts her to wait for her to go to Spa till the fifteenth of next month.” Hélène waited for her, and they started together with the Chevalier; he only remained a short time, and on his return wrote to the Prince de Ligne: “I did not write to you from Spa, my dear Prince, because I hoped to see you there, and then because I intended stopping at Brussels, at Bel Œil even; I had begged the Princesse Charles, who talks much better than I can write, to speak to you of me in her spare moments. She has none? So much the better for both her and you, and so much the worse for me. But I had my turn at Spa; twenty times I was on the point of writing, if only to tell you how charming your daughter-in-law was, and then I reflected that you were not the man to ignore it, and that when one has nothing fresh to say, one had better hold one’s tongue.”

Shortly after the Chevalier’s departure the Prince rejoined his daughter-in-law at Spa.

A watering-place at that time was very much like what it is in our days, but the Prince describes it in the most spirited manner: “I arrive in a large hall, where I find the maimed showing off their arms and their legs; ridiculous names, titles, and faces; clerical and worldly animals jumping and running races; hypochondriac _milords_ wandering sadly about; females from Paris entering with roars of laughter, to make one believe they are amiable and at their ease, and hoping thereby to become so; young men of all countries, counterfeiting the English, speaking with their teeth closed, and dressed like grooms, their hair cut short, black, and greasy, with a pair of Jewish whiskers surrounding dirty ears.

“French bishops with their nieces; an accoucheur, decorated with the order of Saint Michael; a dentist with that of the Spur; dancing and singing masters in the uniform of Russian majors; Italians in that of Polish colonels, leading about young bears of that country; Dutchmen scanning the papers for the rate of exchange; thirty so-called Knights of Malta; ribbons of all colours, to the right and the left, at the buttonhole on both sides, orders of all kinds, shapes, and sizes.

“Old duchesses returning from their walks armed with tall canes _à la Vendôme_, and three coatings of white and rouge; marchionesses, cheating doubly at cards; horrible and suspicious faces, surrounded by piles of ducats, and swallowing up all those that were timidly put on the large green cloth; two or three electors in hunting-dress, striped with gold, armed with hunting-knives; a few princes incognito, who would not produce a greater sensation under their own names; some old generals and officers retired on account of wounds they never received; a few Russian princesses with their doctors, and Palatines and Castilian ladies with their young chaplains.

“Americans and burgomasters of the neighbourhood; convicts escaped from all the different prisons in Europe; quacks of every description; adventurers of all kinds; abbés of all countries. Twenty sick people wildly dancing for their health; forty lovers, or pretended lovers, sweating and agitating themselves, and sixty feminine waltzers of more or less beauty and innocence, cleverness and coquetry, modesty and voluptuousness. All this combined is called a dancing breakfast.”

After leaving the establishment of the mineral waters, the Prince takes us to La Sauvetière, an elegant meeting-place for bathers: “The noise, the buzzing sound of conversation, the uproar of the music, the intoxicating rhythm of the waltz, the passing and repassing of the idlers, the oaths and sobs of the gamblers, both men and women, the weariness of this magic-lantern made me leave the hall. I sit down, and I see some water drinkers religiously counting their glasses and their steps, and congratulating themselves, perhaps rather sadly, on the improvement of their digestion. Some ladies join their group.

“‘Do you digest the waters, Madame?’

“‘Yes, sir, since yesterday.’

“‘Does your Excellency begin to digest?’ she says to the minister of an ecclesiastical court.

“‘I have the honour to inform your Excellency,’ he answers, ‘that I perspire from eight o’clock in the evening till ten, and that I sweat completely from ten till midnight. If I had not so much business to transact for his Grace, I should be entirely cured by the treatment.’”

Hélène returned to Spa in 1783, and met there Madame de Sabran, born a d’Andlau,[38] who became later the Marquise de Boufflers. She was one of the most charming women of her time, and pleased every one who saw her by her appearance, her elegance, and the kindliness of her nature. She was accompanied by her little son, Elzéar de Sabran, who little thought of the part he was destined to play in politics later on; for the present, he contented himself with learning the part of Chérubin in the _Mariage de Figaro_, the Princesse Charles studying Suzanne, and Madame de Sabran the part of the Countess, for after the return from Spa the play was to be acted at Bel Œil.

Just at this time they received news of the Comte d’Artois’ arrival in Flanders,[39] and the Princes de Ligne started off at once to receive and accompany him on his progress through Rocroi and Spa, bringing him back with them to Bel Œil.

The Princesse Hélène returned to Bel Œil before the Princes, in order to prepare for the Comte d’Artois’ reception; but he had barely arrived when he fell seriously ill. The Prince had prepared festivities which cost him over fifty thousand francs; he never even spoke of them to the Count, who was not in a condition to enjoy them. Only one thing took place, a fairy-like illumination of the park, which the Prince, however, did not see, for he never left the Comte d’Artois’ side, and started with him for Versailles.

After the departure of the Comte d’Artois, the Chevalier de Boufflers and Madame de Sabran came to Bel Œil. Hearing that the Chevalier was garrisoned at Valenciennes, the Prince wrote and proposed his joining him at Tournai, and from there returning with him to Bel Œil. The Chevalier replied: “I am very much tempted, my dear Charlot, by all you suggest; but on closely examining your marching orders, I believe that my regiment is the very thing I should miss. Tell me when you go to Tournai; I intend going there, and defying you at the head of your army, and if I find it on two _Lignes_ (lines), I shall try to break through them.

“Dear Prince, I love you as if I saw you every day of my life. After yourself there is nothing that gives so much pleasure as the impression that you leave. Send me your marching orders, so that we may meet somewhere, and that, if possible, we may part nowhere.”[40]

The Chevalier arrived at Bel Œil in time to take part in the representation of the _Mariage de Figaro_, which was given with great success in the pretty theatre at Bel Œil. Hélène took the part of Suzanne; Madame de Sabran that of the Countess; Elzéar, Chérubin, and Boufflers, Figaro; as for the Prince-father, he had to content himself with the modest part of Doublemain, the notary’s clerk; we must confess that, though he gave others[41] good advice, he acted very badly himself. He was generally given the part of the notary who draws up the marriage-contract, or that of the lackey who brings in a letter, and would invariably come in at the wrong moment; but on the other hand, once on the stage he would not leave it, but say in a supplicating whisper to the other actors: “I am not in your way, am I?”

Hélène acted with an archness and vivacity which recalled the merry schoolgirl of the Abbaye-aux-Bois, tempered by a little experience; the little Elzéar was charming as Chérubin, but the Chevalier carried off the palm by the zest and spirit with which he threw himself into his part. It was a curious sight, and a sign of the times, to hear Figaro’s soliloquy recited by a nobleman, and applauded by the aristocratic audience of Bel Œil.

Prince Charles willingly lent himself to his wife’s amusements, though he took no active part in them; but his serious mind required occupations of a different order. He took a keen interest in all scientific discoveries, and at that moment was much taken up with the new process of aerostation invented by Charles Pilatre de Rozier and Montgolfier. He witnessed the first experiments made in Paris, and among others the ascension of a fire balloon, in the gardens of La Muette, on the 21st of November 1783, made by Pilatre de Rozier and D’Arlandes. The aeronauts were in the greatest danger, their balloon having caught fire; they managed to extinguish it, and made their descent at Gentilly in safety. At that time a balloon ascension was looked upon as a most daring undertaking, and no one cared to accompany the aeronauts. But Prince Charles, whose courage and coolness were proof against everything, determined to take part in the third ascent, which took place at Lyons on the 19th of January 1784. The seven passengers were: the elder Montgolfier, Pilatre de Rozier, Fontaine, Prince Charles, and three other persons who at the last moment wished to ascend. Although the balloon was of enormous size, the number of passengers was too great; De Rozier had foreseen this, and did not wish the two last persons to enter the car. Montgolfier persuaded him, however, to let things be; but they were hardly off, and had only run about five hundred fathoms, when the balloon began imperceptibly to tear, and they were obliged to make a hasty and perilous descent at a distance of about a league from the town. On their return to Lyons they were received with acclamations by the whole population. In April 1784 Prince Charles sent off from the public square in front of the hôtel des États, at Mons, a magnificent balloon, constructed at his own expense. He had invited the Duke and Duchess of Aremberg and a great many distinguished personages of the Courts of Brussels and Versailles, who, after the ascent of the balloon, all returned to Bel Œil.[42]

FOOTNOTES:

[32] The volumes printed at Bel Œil are extremely rare and much in demand. M. Adolphe Gaiffe is in possession of one of the two known copies of the Chevalier de l’Isle’s poems. From a memorandum left by the Princess, we believe that part of her childhood’s _Memoirs_ was printed by her husband at Bel Œil.

[33] A catalogue of them was made by Adam Bartsch in 1794; it contained six thousand numbers.

[34] Son of Augustus III., King of Poland; and Field-Marshal in the Austrian army. He was born on 11th July 1738, and married, on 8th April 1766, Marie-Christine-Josepha-Jeanne-Antoinette, sister of the Emperor Joseph, born on 13th May 1742. She died in 1798, and the Archduke Albert in 1822.

[35]

TO HÉLÈNE.

A dark mist
Concealed our road;
We wandered in the open air,
But at last we reach our goal,
Thanks to the star.

Was it the star
That formerly led us heavenwards?
Or was it of Venus the guiding star?
I am disposed to believe
That it was this latter star.

’Tis to Hélène
That this star led us,
Too happy he that by it brought,
Comes just at the happy moment
Near to Hélène.

[36] It was to this witty Marquise de Coigny that the Prince de Ligne addressed the charming letters written from Tauris.

[37] Familiar nickname of the Princesse Charles.

[38] Madame d’Andlau was daughter of the famous Helvétius and Mademoiselle de Ligneville. She had educated her daughter, Madame de Sabran, very well: Madame d’Andlau in no way shared her father’s opinions.

[39] We read in the _Gazette des Pays Bas_, dated Thursday, 17th July 1783: “On Monday, H.R.H. the Comte d’Artois, accompanied by their Excellencies the Governors-General, saw all that was remarkable in the vicinity. The next day the Prince, with their Royal Highnesses, left for the Chateau de Marimont, from whence he was going to Bel Œil.”

[40] The Prince de Ligne had a particular affection for Boufflers. It would appear, however, that the Chevalier had a very uneven temper, for Madame de Sabran, in one of the charming letters she wrote him, gives us the following sketch: “It is not your manners, which are those of a savage, your absent and moody appearance, your sharp and genuine wit, your large appetite, and your deep sleep whenever one wishes to converse with you, which made me love you to distraction. It is I know not what: a certain sympathy that makes me think and feel like you, for under that rough exterior you conceal the spirit of an angel and the heart of a woman.”

[41] See his _Letters to Eugénie on Theatricals_. Paris, 1771.

[42] See the _Gazette des Pays Bas_, Monday, 5th April 1784, No. xxviii.

VIII

Prince Charles purchases a hotel in Paris--Birth of Sidonie--The insurrection in Flanders--Winter in Vienna--Joseph II. and his Court--First representation of _Don Juan_---Haydn and Mozart--The Comtesse de Kinsky--Prince Charles’s affection for her---Hélène’s departure for Warsaw.

The Prince de Ligne and his daughter-in-law were in entire sympathy. The young Princess enjoyed living at Bel Œil when her father-in-law was there, but she disliked Brussels, their winter residence. We already know, by her own confession, that Hélène was as “obstinate as the Pope’s mule,” and she had not given up her purpose of settling in Paris. Her husband disliked the idea of the Paris life, so little in harmony with his tastes; he had never lived in France, and, a stranger there, he feared comparison with the supreme elegance, the light witty tone, which distinguished the brilliant gentlemen at the Court of Versailles. But, as the saying goes, “What woman wills, God wills;” Prince Charles ended by giving way, and he bought in September 1784 a fine mansion, situated in the Rue de la Chaussée d’Antin.[43]

It is needless to say with what delight Hélène went to live in Paris. She found most of her old convent friends, and, presented under the auspicies of her father-in-law, she was welcomed and entertained on every side.

Received everywhere into the most brilliant circles--at Chantilly, the Prince de Condé’s; at Petit Bourg, the Duchesse de Bourbon’s; at the Temple, the Prince de Conti’s--all welcomed the young Princess, who gave herself up entirely to a vortex of pleasure and success. Captivated by the charm and amiability of the young men who surrounded her with their attentions, Hélène gave way to her natural instinct of coquetry; she distinguished no one in particular but tried to please all; when at home, she was occupied with her toilet and saw very little of her husband, who but rarely accompanied her into society, absorbed as he was in his studies. The steady character of the Prince, his taste for study, and the very German and romantic turn of his mind, formed a marked contrast with the light, bantering, superficial tone assumed by the courtiers. Hélène, with the giddiness of youth, decided in her own mind that her husband was tiresome, and had it not been for fear of offending her father-in-law she would not have spared him a little bantering.

Prince Charles’s position in Paris as husband of a pretty and fashionable woman was rather a trying one. With a father whose sparkling wit made him everywhere take a leading part in society, he was thrown into the shade, and reduced to a secondary position, which, however, his modesty would not have objected to had he not felt that it lowered him in his wife’s estimation. When he married, it was without any feeling of love for Hélène, whom he had hardly seen, but he soon felt a tender and almost paternal affection for her. He had allowed her the greatest freedom at Bel Œil, at the same time seeking to develop in her a taste for serious occupations hitherto rather checked by her intense love of pleasure. He was beginning to succeed, but these three winters in Paris almost annulled his efforts, or at least greatly compromised their success. Hélène was too young to understand and appreciate her husband’s superior intelligence and high character.

However, a long-desired event brought the married pair nearer to each other for a while. On the 8th of December 1786 Hélène gave birth to a little girl, who received the name of Sidonie. This was a great joy to Prince Charles, and he easily obtained Hélène’s consent to go to Bel Œil in the early spring, instead of returning to Paris. She consented the more willingly that her father-in-law had left Paris for the Russian Court, whither he had been summoned by an invitation from the Empress Catherine.

Before starting the Prince had had ample time to construct the bower of roses he had promised for Charles’s children, and as early as the month of March a handsome Brabant nurse, carrying a pink and white baby, might be seen in the gardens of Bel Œil. Everything seemed to promise a happy summer, and in spite of the somewhat unrestricted authority exercised over the nurse and baby by the Dowager-Princess, which was a source of annoyance to the young mother, harmony and peace prevailed at Bel Œil.

All of a sudden, in the middle of the summer (1787), a serious insurrection broke out in Flanders. It had been secretly brewing for some time past. Joseph II. had the mania of meddling in everything; he generally had the best intentions, but, cleverer in theory than in practice, he often neglected to ascertain whether a system useful in itself might not become dangerous if applied without any previous preparation. The reforms he tried to introduce into Flanders are a striking example of this sort of mistake.

The Flemish people, who had long been under the dominion of Spain, were bigoted in their religion, and as deeply attached to their ancient political privileges as they were to those of the Church. After the death of Marie-Thérèse, Joseph II. began by abolishing certain processions, pilgrimages, and a number of confraternities. These customs and institutions, which were certainly useless and far too numerous, were closely interwoven with the habits of the people, and their abolition was a source of great offence. The clergy were not less offended at the decree that suppressed the Bollandists, numerous convents and abbeys, and all the diocesan seminaries.

Finally the Emperor, still animated with the most liberal intentions, thought that “it was his charitable duty to extend towards Protestants the effects of that civil tolerance which, without inquiring into a man’s belief, considers only his capacity citizen.” He accordingly granted them a civil existence--a privilege which till then had been refused to them.

The Bishops loudly protested against these measures, and were severely reprimanded. Not content with attacking the privileges of the Church, Joseph II. upset the judicial organisation of the country, and in a way suppressed the nationality of the Netherlands, which were declared to be an Austrian province, divided into nine circles, governed by an _intendant_ and Austrian commissioners, solely dependent on the Viennese Court. This was trampling underfoot the “_Joyeuse Entrée_” (Joyous Entry), that grand charta of the privileges of Brabant and the other Flemish States.[44]

The irritation was at its height, for Joseph had by his various reforms succeeded in alienating every class of his subjects.

A barrister of Brussels, Van der Noot, published an extremely violent manifesto, demonstrating the illegality of the innovations introduced by Joseph II. This libel was approved of by the States,[45] but the author, in danger of being arrested by the Government, fled to England. It was at the very moment when the revolution was being fomented that the de Ligne family, alarmed at the agitation going on in Belgium, hastened to join Prince Charles at Vienna, whither he had been summoned by Marshal Lascy. An army, destined to fight the Turks in the ensuing spring, was already being organised by the Emperor’s secret orders. The Princesses de Ligne reached Vienna at the end of the summer. Hélène had made a short stay there at the time of her marriage, and had not retained an agreeable recollection of the place. The Viennese manners and customs differed too much from the French to suit her taste. She would infinitely have preferred spending the winter in her hotel at Paris; but her husband’s duties detaining him in Vienna, she dared not make the request.

The Emperor of Germany’s Court did not display the brilliant aspect which might have been expected from the most important European power.[46] The simple architecture of his palace conveyed no idea of a sovereign’s residence. A detachment of the Viennese garrison mounted guard, and a few _trabans_ posted at the inner doors superintended the management and good order of the interior. Joseph II.’s household was very economically conducted. He had, however, grand Crown officials, such as grand-master, lord high chamberlain, grand-equerry, etc. But they only fulfilled their duties on gala days. In spite of the plainness and simplicity of the Viennese Court, the personages who composed it were of very high standing; there were many reigning princes, brothers of kings or electors, in the service of the Emperor, and a crowd of great nobles, such as the Princes de Ligne, d’Aremberg, de Lichtenstein, Esterhazi, Colorado, Palfy,[47] and others, who by their rank and future were almost equal to their sovereign. When he chose, the Emperor “knew how to impart to this Court, which usually had the appearance of a convent or a barrack, all the pomp and dignity worthy of the palace of Marie-Thérèse.

Hélène witnessed for the first time the New Year’s festivities at Vienna. On that day most of the Hungarian magnates[48] came to Court in their elegant costumes, decked out with their handsomest jewels; the Prince Esterhazi, among others, was mounted on a richly caparisoned horse whose saddle-cloth was studded with diamonds. The Prince’s costume was as rich as his horse’s trappings. “I could not look at him,” Hélène says; “he dazzled me.” The Emperor Joseph, so simple in private life, wore a full-dress uniform embroidered with gold, and his coat, his orders, and his hat glittered with eighteen hundred thousand livres[49] worth of diamonds; the buttons, the fastenings, the epaulets, the braid, and the button of his hat were one mass of diamonds. On that day the Court servants and those of the nobility wore a livery of silk embroidered with gold and silver.

The Prince de Ligne has left an interesting portrait of Joseph II., with whom he had been on terms of the closest intimacy. A year before the commencement of the Emperor’s reign, Lord Malmesbury asked the Prince de Ligne what he thought of him. “As a man,” replied the Prince, “he possesses great merit and talent; as Prince he will always be tortured by ambitions which he will be unable to satisfy; his reign will be a sort of perpetual and vain longing to sneeze.”

The Emperor Joseph was fond of the society of amiable and distinguished women, but no love intrigue ever arose in his intimate circle. The Princesse Kinsky, born a Hohenzollern, and her sister, the Princesse Clary,[50] were both conspicuous at Court. The first was simple and affable, had much learning, possessed a sound judgment, and was passionately fond of reading and conversation. The second, modest, gentle, and gracious, was a better listener than her sister, and her pliant disposition imparted great charm and ease to her society. The Emperor had given the Princesse Kinsky a very fine apartment in his palace of the Haut Belvédère.[51] It was there that the choicest Viennese society, both of men and women, would meet every Thursday. As a great favour Hélène was admitted to this circle, and she has traced a few portraits of these ladies--amongst others, that of the Princesse Charles de Lichtenstein, born Princesse d’Œttingen, who was the darling of the Belvédère society. She was exquisitely beautiful, and wrote marvellously well. Her letters, nearly all written in French, overflowed with wit; she expressed herself with elegance; and her firm and reliable character, her amiable and cultivated mind, so won the heart of the Prince de Ligne that she became his favourite sister-in-law.

The Comtesse Ernest de Kaunitz,[52] sister of the Princesse Charles, was plain, but witty and lively. She would often provoke a discussion, for she loved an argument, and excelled in the vivacity and archness of her repartee. The Princesse François de Lichtenstein, born Steinberg, completed the little circle. Second sister-in-law of the Prince de Ligne, she pleased him less than the first; she had an exalted idea of her rank and name, and of the consideration that was due to her. Serious and dignified, but at the same time kind and benevolent, she was constantly occupied with charitable works, and it was difficult to escape the lottery tickets, concerts, and collections for the poor she imposed upon every one.

The only stranger admitted into this society was the Duc de Braganza. The Marshal de Lascy, the Prince de Kaunitz, the Prince de Ligne, and several other gentlemen of the Court frequently came, and the Emperor Joseph never missed a Thursday at the Belvédère.

In his youth Joseph II. did not give much promise of amiability, but he changed entirely when he became Emperor. His travels, his campaigns, the society of distinguished women, had formed his character and cured him of a shyness engendered by the extreme severity of his education.

The greatest freedom existed in the Belvédère circle; the Emperor laid aside his rank and allowed the ladies to speak with a frankness that sometimes exceeded the bounds of respect.

“The things I have heard said to Joseph by the ladies of his society are simply inconceivable,” writes the Prince de Ligne. “One of them said, referring to the execution of a robber who had been hanged by his orders that day: ‘How could your Majesty condemn him after your robbery of Poland?’

“It was at the moment of the first division of that country.

“‘My mother, who enjoys all your confidence, ladies,’ he replied, ‘and who goes to Mass as often as you do, has long ago made up her mind on that question. I am only her first subject.’”