On the evening of that day the handsome saloons of the great Hôtel
“Universo” were filled with a brilliant assemblage to compliment the
Princess Sabloukoff on her arrival. We have already introduced this lady
to the reader, and have no need to explain the homage and attention
of which she was the object. There is nothing which so perfectly
illustrates the maxim of _ignotum pro magnifico_ as the career of
politics; certain individuals obtaining, as they do, a pre-eminence
and authority from a species of mysterious prestige about them, and a
reputation of having access at any moment to the highest personage in
the world of state affairs. Doubtless great ministers are occasionally
not sorry to see the public full cry on a false scent, and encourage to
a certain extent this mystification; but still it would be an error
to deny to such persons as we speak of a knowledge, if not actually an
influence, in great affairs.
When the Swedish Chancellor uttered his celebrated sarcasm on the
governing capacities of Europe, the political _salon_, as a state
engine, was not yet in existence. What additional energy might it have
given to his remark, had he known that the tea-table was the chapel of
ease to the council-room, and gossip a new power in the state. Despotic
governments are always curious about public opinion; they dread while
affecting to despise it. They, however, make a far greater mistake
than this, for they imagine its true exponent to be the society of the
highest in rank and station.
It is not necessary to insist upon an error so palpable, and yet it is
one of which nearly every capital of Europe affords example; and the
same council-chamber that would treat a popular movement with disdain
would tremble at the epigram launched by some “elegant” of society. The
theory is, “that the masses _act_, but never _think_; the higher ranks
_think_, and set the rest in motion.” Whether well or ill founded, one
consequence of the system is to inundate the world with a number of
persons who, no matter what their station or pretensions, are no other
than spies. If it be observed that, generally speaking, there is
nothing worth recording; that society, too much engaged with its own
vicissitudes, troubles itself little with those of the state,--let it
be remembered that the governments which employ these agencies are in
a position to judge of the value of what they receive; and as they
persevere in maintaining them, they are, doubtless, in some degree,
remunerated.
To hold this high detective employ, a variety of conditions are
essential. The individual must have birth and breeding to gain access
to the highest circles; conciliating manners and ample means. If a lady,
she is usually young and a beauty, or has the fame of having once been
such. The strangest part of all is, that her position is thoroughly
appreciated. She is recognized everywhere for what she is; and yet her
presence never seems to impose a restraint or suggest a caution. She
becomes, in reality, less a discoverer than a depositary of secrets.
Many have something to communicate, and are only at a loss as to the
channel. They have found out a political puzzle, hit a state blot, or
unravelled a cabinet mystery. Others are in possession of some personal
knowledge of royalty. They have marked the displeasure of the Queen
Dowager, or seen the anger of the Crown Prince. Profitable as such facts
are, they are nothing without a market. Thus it is that these characters
exercise a wider sphere of influence than might be naturally ascribed
to them, and possess besides a terrorizing power over society, the chief
members of which are at their mercy.
It is, doubtless, not a little humiliating that such should be the
instruments of a government, and that royalty should avail itself of
such agencies; but the fact is so, and perhaps an inquiry into the
secret working of democratic institutions might not make one a whit more
proud of Popular Sovereignty.
Amongst the proficients in the great science we speak of, the Princess
held the first place. Mysterious stories ran of her acquaintance with
affairs the most momentous; there were narratives of her complicity in
even darker events. Her name was quoted by Savary in his secret report
of the Emperor Paul's death; an allusion to her was made by one of the
assassins of Murat; and a gloomy record of a celebrated incident in
Louis Philippe's life ascribed to her a share in a terrible tragedy.
Whether believed or not, they added to the prestige that attended her,
and she was virtually a “puissance” in European politics.
To all the intriguists in state affairs her arrival was actually a
boon. She could and would give them, out of her vast capital, enough
to establish them successfully in trade. To the minister of police
she brought accurate descriptions of suspected characters,--the
_signalements_ of Carbonari that were threatening half the thrones of
Europe. To the foreign secretary she brought tidings of the favor in
which a great Emperor held him, and a shadowy vision of the grand
cross he was one day to have. She had forbidden books for the cardinal
confessor, and a case of smuggled cigars for the minister of finance.
The picturesque language of a “Journal de Modes” could alone convey the
rare and curious details of dress which she imported for the benefit of
the court ladies. In a word, she had something to secure her a welcome
in every quarter,--and all done with a tact and a delicacy that the most
susceptible could not have resisted.
If the tone and manner of good society present little suitable to
description, they are yet subjects of great interest to him who would
study men in their moods of highest subtlety and astuteness. To mere
passing careless observation, the reception of the Princess was a
crowded gathering of a number of well-dressed people, in which the men
were in far larger proportion than the other sex. There was abundance of
courtesy; not a little of that half-flattering compliment which is the
small change of intercourse; some--not much--scandal, and a fair share
of small-talk. It was late when Sir Horace Upton entered, and, advancing
to where the Princess stood, kissed her gloved hand with all the
submissive deference of a courtier. The most lynx-eyed observer could
not have detected either in his manner or in hers that any intimacy
existed between them, much less friendship; least of all, anything still
closer. His bearing was a most studied and respectful homage,--hers a
haughty, but condescending, acceptance of it; and yet, with all this,
there was that in those around that seemed to say, “This man is more
master here than any of us.” He did not speak long with the Princess,
but, respectfully yielding his place to a later arrival, fell back into
the crowd, and soon after took a seat beside one of the very few ladies
who graced the reception. In all, they were very few, we are bound to
acknowledge; for although La Sabloukoff was received at court and all
the embassies, they who felt, or affected to feel, any strictness on the
score of morals avoided rather than sought her intimacy.
She covered over what might have seemed this disparagement of her
conduct, by always seeking the society of men, as though their hardy and
vigorous intellects were more in unison with her own than the graceful
attributes of the softer sex; and in this tone did the few lady friends
she possessed appear also to concur. It was their pride to discuss
matters of state and politics; and whenever they condescended to more
trifling themes, they treated them with a degree of candor and in a
spirit that allowed men to speak as unreservedly as though no ladies
were present.
Let us be forgiven for prolixity, since we are speaking less of
individuals than of a school,--a school, too, on the increase, and
one whose results will be more widely felt than many are disposed to
believe.
As the evening wore on, the guests bartered the news and _bons mots_;
scraps of letters from royal hands were read; epigrams from illustrious
characters repeated; racy bits of courtly scandal were related; and
shrewd explanations hazarded as to how this was to turn out, and that
was to end. It was a very strange language they talked,--so much seemed
left for inference, so much seemed left to surmise. There was a shadowy
indistinctness, as it were, over all; and yet their manner showed a
perfect and thorough appreciation of whatever went forward. Through all
this treatment of great questions, one striking feature pre-eminently
displayed itself,--a keen appreciation of how much the individual
characters, the passions, the prejudices, the very caprices of men in
power modified the acts of their governments; and thus you constantly
heard such remarks as, “If the Duke of Wellington disliked the Emperor
less; or, so long as Metternich has such an attachment to the Queen
Dowager; when we get over Carini's dread of the Archduchess; or, if we
could only reconcile the Prince to a visit from Nesselrode,”--showing
that private personal feelings were swaying the minds of those whose
contemplation might have seemed raised to a far loftier level. And then
what a mass of very small gossip abounded,--incidents so slight and
insignificant that they only were lifted into importance by the actors
in them being Kings and Kaisers! By what accidents great events were
determined; on what mere trifles vast interests depended,--it were,
doubtless, no novelty to record; still, it would startle many to be
told that a casual pique, a passing word launched at hazard, some petty
observance omitted or forgotten, have changed the destinies of whole
nations.
It is in such circles as these that incidents of this kind are
recounted. Each has some anecdote, trivial and unimportant it may be,
but still illustrating the life of those who live under the shadow
of Royalty. The Princess herself was inexhaustible in these stores of
secret biography; there was not a dynastic ambition to be consolidated
by a marriage, not a Coburg alliance to patch up a family compact, that
she was not well versed in. She detected in the vaguest movements plans
and intentions, and could read the signs of a policy in indications that
others would have passed without remark.
One by one the company retired, and at length Sir Horace found himself
the last guest of the evening. Scarcely had the door closed on the last
departure, when, drawing his arm-chair to the side of the fire opposite
to that where the Princess sat, he took out his cigar-case, and,
selecting a cheroot, deliberately lighted and commenced to smoke it.
“I thought they 'd never go,” said she, with a sigh; “but I know why
they remained,--they all thought the Prince of Istria was coming. They
saw his carriage stop here this evening, and heard he had sent up to
know if I received. I wrote on a card, 'To-morrow at dinner, at eight;'
so be sure you are here to meet him.”
Sir Horace bowed, and smiled his acceptance.
“And your journey, dear Princess,” said he, between the puffs of his
smoke, “was it pleasant?”
“It might have been well enough, but I was obliged to make a great
_détour_. The Duchess detained me at Parma for some letters, and then
sent me across the mountains of Pontremoli--a frightful road--on a
secret mission to Massa.”
“To Massa! of all earthly places.”
“Even so. They had sent down there, some eight or nine months ago, the
young Count Wahnsdorf, the Archduchess Sophia's son, who, having got
into all manner of dissipation at Vienna, and lost largely at play,
it was judged expedient to exile him for a season; and as the Duke of
Modena offered his aid to their plans, he was named to a troop in a
dragoon regiment, and appointed aide-de-camp to his Royal Highness. Are
you attending; or has your Excellency lost the clew of my story?”
“I am all ears; only waiting anxiously to hear: who is she?”
“Oh, then, you suspect a woman in the case?”
“I am sure of it, dear Princess. The very accents of your voice prepared
me for a bit of romance.”
“Yes, you are right; he has fallen in love,--so desperately in love
that he is incessant in his appeals to the Duchess to intercede with his
family and grant him leave to marry.”
“To marry whom?” asked Sir Horace.
“That's the very question which he cannot answer himself; and when
pressed for information, can only reply that 'she is an angel.' Now,
angels are not always of good family; they have sometimes very humble
parents, and very small fortunes.”
“_Hélas!_” sighed the diplomatist, pitifully.
“This angel, it would seem, is untraceable. She arrived with her mother,
or what is supposed to be her mother, from Corsica; they landed at
Spezzia, with an English passport, calling them Madame and Mademoiselle
Harley. On arriving at Massa they took a villa close to the town, and
established themselves with all the circumstance of people well-off as
to means. They, however, neither received visits nor made acquaintance
with any one. They even so far withdrew themselves from public view
that they rarely left their own grounds, and usually took their
carriage-airing at night. You are not attending, I see.”
“On the contrary, I am an eager listener; only, it is a story one has
heard so often. I never heard of any one preserving the incognito except
where disclosure would have revealed a shame.”
“Your Excellency mistakes,” replied she; “the incognito is sometimes,
like a feigned despatch in diplomacy, a means of awakening curiosity.”
“_Ces ruses ne se font plus_, Princess,--they were the fashion in
Talleyrand's time; now we are satisfied to mystify by no meaning.”
“If the weapons of the old school are not employed, there is another
reason, perhaps,” said she, with a dubious smile.
“That modern arms are too feeble to wield them, you mean,” said he,
bowing courteously. “Ah! it is but too true, Princess;” and he sighed
what might mean regret over the fact, or devotion to herself,--perhaps
both. At all events, his submission served as a treaty of peace, and she
resumed.
“And now, _revenons à nos moutons_,” said she, “or at least to our
lambs. This Wahnsdorf is quite capable of contracting a marriage without
any permission, if they appear inclined to thwart him; and the question
is, What can be done? The Duke would send these people away out of his
territory, only that, if they be English, as their passports imply, he
knows that there will be no end of trouble with your amiable Government,
which is never paternal till some one corrects one of her children.
If Wahnsdorf be sent away, where are they to send him? Besides, in all
these cases the creature carries his malady with him, and is sure
to marry the first who sympathizes with him. In a word, there were
difficulties on all sides, and the Duchess sent me over, in observation,
as they say, rather than with any direct plan of extrication.”
“And you went?”
“Yes; I passed twenty-four hours. I couldn't stay longer, for I promised
the Cardinal Caraffa to be in Rome on the 18th, about those Polish
nunneries. As to Massa, I gathered little more than I had heard
beforehand. I saw their villa; I even penetrated as far as the orangery
in my capacity of traveller,--the whole a perfect Paradise. I 'm not
sure I did not get a peep at Eve herself,--at a distance, however. I
made great efforts to obtain an interview, but all unsuccessfully. The
police authorities managed to summon two of the servants to the Podestà,
on pretence of some irregularity in their papers, but we obtained
nothing out of them; and, what is more, I saw clearly that nothing could
be effected by a _coup de main_. The place requires a long siege, and I
had not time for that.”
“Did you see Wahnsdorf?”
“Yes; I had him to dinner with me alone at the hotel, for, to avoid all
observation, I only went to the Palace after nightfall. He confessed all
his sins to me, and, like every other scapegrace, thought marriage was
a grand absolution for past wickedness. He told me, too, how he made the
acquaintance of these strangers. They were crossing the Magra with their
carriage on a raft, when the cable snapped, and they were all carried
down the torrent. He happened to be a passenger at the time, and did
something very heroic, I 've no doubt, but I cannot exactly remember
what; but it amounted to either being, or being supposed to be, their
deliverer. He thus obtained leave to pay his respects at the villa. But
even this gratitude was very measured; they only admitted him at rare
intervals, and for a very brief visit. In fact, it was plain he had
to deal with consummate tacticians, who turned the mystery of their
seclusion and the honor vouchsafed him to an ample profit.”
“He told them his name and his rank?”
“Yes; and he owned that they did not seem at all impressed by the
revelation. He describes them as very naughty, very condescending in
manner, _très grandes dames_, in fact, but unquestionably born to the
class they represent. They never dropped a hint of whence they had come,
or any circumstance of their past lives, but seemed entirely engrossed
by the present, which they spent principally in cultivating the arts;
they both drew admirably, and the young lady had become a most skilful
modellist in clay, her whole day being passed in a studio which they had
just built. I urged him strongly to try and obtain permission for me
to see it, but he assured me it was hopeless,--the request might even
endanger his own position with them.
“I could perceive that, though very much in love, Wahns-dorf was equally
taken with the romance of this adventure. He had never been a hero to
himself before, and he was perfectly enchanted by the novelty of
the sensation. He never affected to say that he had made the least
impression on the young lady's heart; but he gave me to understand that
the nephew of an Emperor need not trouble his head much on that score.
He is a very good-looking, well-mannered, weak boy, who, if he only
reach the age of thirty without some great blunder, will pass for a very
dignified Prince for the rest of his life.”
“Did you give him any hopes?”
“Of course, if he only promised to follow my counsels; and as these same
counsels are yet in the oven, he must needs wait for them. In a word, he
is to write to me everything, and I to him; and so we parted.”
“I should like to see these people,” said Upton, languidly.
“I'm sure of it,” rejoined she; “but it is perhaps unnecessary;” and
there was that in the tone which made the words very significant.
“Chelmsford--he 's now Secretary at Turin--might perhaps trace them,”
said he; “he always knows everything of those people who are secrets to
the rest of the world.”
“For the present, I am disposed to think it were better not to direct
attention towards them,” replied she. “What we do here must be done
adroitly, and in such a way as that it can be disavowed if necessary, or
abandoned if unsuccessful.”
“Said with all your own tact, Princess,” said Sir Horace, smiling. “I
can perceive, however, that you have a plan in your head already. Is it
not so?”
“No,” said she, with a faint sigh; “I took wonderfully little interest
in the affair. It was one of those games where the combinations are so
few you don't condescend to learn it. Are you aware of the hour?”
“Actually three o'clock,” said he, standing up. “Really, Princess, I am
quite shocked.”
“And so am I,” said she, smiling; “_on se compromet si facilement dans
ce bas monde_. Good night.” And she courtesied and withdrew before he
had time to take his hat and retire.