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.’”
The Emperor was fond of receiving confidences, and was safe and
discreet, though he was fond of meddling. His manners were agreeable,
he had some brilliancy of conversation, a great deal of natural wit,
and was a pleasant narrator. The following is an anecdote he was fond
of repeating. When Marie-Thérèse was so closely pursued by her enemies
that hardly a town was left to her in Germany, not knowing where to go
for her confinement, she retired to Presburg and assembled the States.
She was young and handsome, with a dazzling complexion, and appeared
before the Hungarian _paladins_ clad in a long mourning garment, which
set off the radiancy of her beauty; her son, two or three years of age,
was clasped in her arms. “I confide him to you,” she said, presenting
the child, who began to cry. The Emperor, in telling this story, always
added that his mother, who knew the way to produce an effect, gave him
a sly pinch as she presented him to the Hungarians; touched by the
cries of the child, who seemed to implore their compassion, “my bearded
heroes drew their swords, and swore on their Turkish blades to defend
both mother and son to the last drop of their blood.”[53]
The little group that met at the Belvédère did not represent the only
society in Vienna; many other houses threw open their doors. The
Princesse Lubomirska,[54] commonly called the Princesse Maréchale,
held some of the most brilliant receptions. Her original and ready wit,
and the piquancy of her manner, imparted a certain liveliness to the
character of her “salon.” She forebade all talk of war or politics at
her house. “No politics,” she said, “in the drawing-room, where the men
are more women than we are.”
A great many balls were given in Vienna, and they were always very
animated, for the Viennese were passionately fond of dancing. They
waltzed so furiously and with such rapidity that at first Hélène,
though a beautiful dancer, was made quite giddy by the pace. She,
however, soon became accustomed, like others, never to rest for a
moment as long as the waltz lasted.
The balls of the Princesse Lubomirska were delightful; they always
began and ended with a polonaise, a kind of measured march,
interrupted at intervals by a graceful _balancé_ or swinging movement.
“When the elderly people wish to join in the dance they ask for a
polonaise,” says the Prince de Ligne, “and then the good people perform
the figures, and move round with a contented smile on their faces, as
they recollect the good old times, and the way they used to smile. The
young people are entirely taken up with the present, of which they
do not care to lose a moment.” This dance displayed to advantage the
elegance and grace of the figure. Hélène excelled in it, and took a
patriotic pride in carrying off the palm.
The Princesse Charles was passionately fond of music, and had a box at
the Court theatre. _Don Juan_ had just been given with great success
at Prague, in honour of the visit of the Duchess of Tuscany, the wife
of Leopold. Mozart had in person directed the rehearsals. The Emperor
Joseph, about to leave for the army, pressed Mozart to return to
Vienna to get up the opera there at once. The rehearsals were rapidly
got through, and the representation was given before a large audience.
Hélène was present, and all the Viennese nobility witnessed the
performance. _Don Juan_ was admirably sung, but the public, with few
exceptions, of which Hélène was one, remained cold throughout. The
Emperor, who thought the music admirable, was vexed at the indifference
of the audience.
“It is a divine work,” he said to Mozart, whom he had summoned to his
box, “but it is not the sort of thing for my Viennese!”
“We must give them time to appreciate it,” modestly replied the author.
“It suited the Prague people better; but I composed it only for myself
and my friends.”
On leaving the theatre some of the spectators went to the house of
the Comtesse de Thun, and they were warmly discussing the new work
when Haydn entered. Every one was of a different opinion, and though
admitting for the most part that the music bore the impress of genius,
all declared that in some parts it was obscure and incomprehensible.
Haydn was chosen as judge. “I am not in a position to decide in such a
learned dispute,” said he with malicious humility; “all I know is that
Mozart is the greatest musician living.”
The concerts at Vienna were numerous and most magnificent. The Emperor
had a passion for instrumental music. Mozart and Haydn’s[55] symphonies
were played with rare perfection by an excellent orchestra, led by
Salieri.[56] It was likewise in the spring of 1787 that the _Seven
Words_ were given for the first time--an oratorio which is looked upon
as Haydn’s masterpiece.
It is evident that Hélène might have spent a most agreeable winter in
Vienna, but she did not like Viennese society. A Parisian at heart,
she felt there entirely out of her element. Her husband, on the other
hand, who had known all the families about Court from childhood, was
infinitely more at home in Vienna than in Paris. He was on the most
intimate terms with all the young married women who were friends of his
sisters. One of them in particular treated him with the affectionate
familiarity of an old playfellow; this was the Comtesse Kinsky, born
a Dietrichstein, and daughter-in-law to the Princess presiding at the
Belvédère. It would have been difficult to meet with a more fascinating
woman, and her romantic story added greatly to her charm. Comte
Kinsky’s parents and her own had agreed on a marriage between their
children without consulting them on the subject. The young Count was
garrisoned in a small Hungarian town, and only arrived in time for
the marriage ceremony. Immediately afterwards he conducted his young
wife home, kissed her hand, and said: “Madame, we have obeyed our
parents; and I must confess it is with regret that I leave you; but
my affections have long been engaged to a woman without whom I cannot
live, and to whom I must now return.” A post-chaise was at the door of
the church; the Count drove off and never returned. Comtesse Kinsky
was therefore neither maid, wife, nor widow, and the dangers of this
peculiar position were enhanced by her extreme beauty, which it would
have been difficult to outrival. She united to her external charms a
cultivated mind and an excellent heart. Hélène often met her at the
Comtesse de Thun’s, who was an intimate friend of the de Lignes, and
whose house was their habitual rendezvous.
Comte François de Dietrichstein,[57] Madame de Kinsky’s brother, was
a great friend of Prince Charles, with whom he had been brought up.
The peculiar position of the Countess rendered this intimacy very
hazardous, and Prince Charles’s tender affection for her partook very
much of the nature of love. With a woman’s quick instinct, Hélène
divined between her husband and the beautiful Countess a secret tie,
the nature of which she could not make out, the strictest propriety
being observed on both sides. We must admit that, in spite of little
Sidonie’s birth, which for a moment drew the pair more closely
together, they were becoming very indifferent towards each other. The
Prince had not forgotten the contemptuous manner with which his wife
had treated him in Paris, and he was not sorry to show her that in
Vienna he played quite a different part. In short, neither one nor
the other had made a love match. Social conventions and a similarity
of tastes had conduced to a certain degree of friendship; but would
that suffice to guard either against any warmer sentiment that might
intervene?
And so the winter passed. The revolution in Flanders had assumed
alarming proportions, and there could be no question of returning to
Bel Œil. Prince Charles, who had rejoined his regiment, served under
General de Lascy’s orders, and had left Vienna for some time. No sooner
had he taken his departure than Hélène wrote to ask his permission
to join her uncle at Warsaw, where the Diet was about to meet. Some
important business with the Prince-Bishop served as a pretext for the
journey. The authorisation was easily granted, on condition that she
should leave little Sidonie under the care of her grandmother; and
Hélène left Vienna in September 1788.
FOOTNOTES:
[43] This hotel occupied the whole of the space between the Rue de
Provence and the Rue de la Victoire.
[44] Amongst others, the privileges of Hainault were most curious. We
find there the formula of the ancient oath which the Emperor took at
his inauguration as Comte de Hainault.
[45] The States of Hainault took an active part in the rebellion,
and refused in October 1788 to vote the subsidies demanded by the
Emperor. They had been mortally offended when an Austrian Commissioner
superseded their former governor and grand bailiff, the Prince of
Aremberg.
[46] The House of Lorraine had greatly contributed to banish the severe
etiquette which till then prevailed at the Viennese Court.
Francis the First, father of Marie-Antoinette, invited to his table
the principal Crown officials, and allowed the most perfect freedom.
Marie-Thérèse admitted to her intimacy most of the ladies of her Court;
she even during the summer paid frequent visits to several of them.
She might be seen, knitting and walking in the gardens, or reading
in an arbour, unattended by any of her ladies. Marie-Antoinette had
therefore from her infancy been accustomed to those habits of ease and
familiarity which she carried to France, and which caused her to be so
severely censured.
[47] The Princesse Euphémie de Ligne married, 11th September 1798,
Jean-Baptiste Gabriel, the eldest son of the Comte de Palfy.
[48] The guard of Hungarian nobles only escorted the Emperor on great
state occasions. It was supported by the Hungarian States, who took
great pride in the beauty of the horses and splendour of the uniforms.
The Polish guard, created after the first Polish division (1772), was
composed of young noblemen, and vied in brilliancy with the Hungarian
guard.
[49] Seventy-two thousand pounds.
[50] Mother-in-law of the Princesse Christine de Ligne.
[51] A small palace built by Prince Eugène in one of the suburbs of
Vienna.
[52] Daughter-in-law of the famous Prince de Kaunitz, Chancellor of the
Empire under Marie-Thérèse. He had retained office under Joseph, and
was one of the most influential persons at Court.
[53] Fragments of the Prince de Ligne’s _Unedited Memoirs_, published
in the _Revue Nouvelle_, 1840, and by Albert Lacroix at Brussels.
[54] The Princesse Lubomirska was a cousin of the King
Stanislaus-Augustus. He frequently mentions her in his correspondence
with Madame Geoffrin under the name of Aspasia. She was a Czartoryiska
by birth, and alternately resided at Vienna, Warsaw, and at her
magnificent estate of Lancut. A large part of the Princess’s lands was
situated in Austrian Galicia.
[55] Mozart was appointed to the Emperor’s chapel in 1780. Joseph II.
was very fond of him, and although his salary was very small, he always
refused the advantageous offers made by other sovereigns, among others
the King of Prussia. Haydn was also attached to the Emperor’s chapel.
[56] Salieri, chapel-master and music-director to the Emperor at Vienna.
[57] The Comte François-Joseph de Dietrichstein, born 28th April 1767,
was private counsellor and chamberlain to the Austrian Emperor. He
filled the post of Major-General in the Engineers during the first wars
against the French republic, and it was he who in 1800 concluded with
Moreau the armistice of Parsdorf.
IX
The Prince de Ligne’s departure for St. Petersburg--Journey
through Tauris--Interview at Kherson--War declared against the
Turks--Alliance between Austria and Russia--The Prince de Ligne as
Russian General--Potemkin and Romanzoff--The taking of Sabacz--Prince
Charles at the storming of Sabacz--Letters from the Emperor Joseph to
the Prince-father--Letters from the Prince de Ligne to his son--The
Governor of Kaminiecz--The Prince’s return to Vienna--Siege of
Belgrade.
In the autumn of the year 1786 the Prince de Ligne received an
invitation from the Czarina, asking him to join her at St. Petersburg,
and accompany her in a journey she was about to undertake in the
Crimea. This invitation was secretly intended to prepare an interview
that was to take place at Kherson between Catherine and Joseph II.
Turkey had ceded the Crimea and Kouban to Russia in January 1784.
These acquisitions had only aggravated Catherine’s thirst for
further conquest. She already betrayed her ambition in the smallest
details: one of her grandsons had been named Alexander, and the other
Constantine; the Crimea was now again called Tauris; but her ambitious
designs did not end there. The Empress received the Prince de Ligne as
if he had only left her the day before, informed him of her plans, and
at the end of December sent him back to Joseph with the itinerary of
her journey and the result of his secret mission.
Under the pretext of visiting her new dominions the Czarina undertook
on the 15th of January 1787 a journey through the southern provinces of
her empire. She was accompanied by her favourite, Count Momonoff, and
by the ambassadors of France, Austria, and England, and by the Prince
de Ligne, who met her at Kief. “I occupied,” he says, “the position of
a diplomatic jockey.”
She was also accompanied by a considerable number of princes and
Russian lords. Her flotilla consisted of eighty-four ships, manned by
three thousand seamen.
The King, Stanislaus-Augustus, awaited the Czarina at Kanew. She
slowly descended the Borysthenes in a galley as magnificent as that of
Cleopatra. The Prince de Ligne left the flotilla in a small Zaporavian
canoe to announce Catherine’s arrival to the King. An hour later the
great lords of the empire came to fetch him in a gunboat brilliantly
decorated. Whilst stepping on board he said, with the inexpressible
charm of manner and pleasant tone of voice so peculiar to him:
“Gentlemen, the King of Poland has requested me to commend to you Comte
Poniatowski.” The dinner was very gay, and while the King’s health was
drunk, three salutes were fired by the artillery of the whole fleet.
Afterwards the King gave a supper to all the nobles of his retinue. The
fleet had cast anchor before the palace improvised for him; no sooner
had night closed in than a general conflagration on the neighbouring
shores of the Borysthenes simulated an eruption of Vesuvius, lighting
up the valleys, the mountains, and the river in a most glorious
manner. The glare of the fires lit up the fantastic display of the
brilliant squadrons of Polish cavalry. Stanislaus had spent three
months and three millions in order to see the Czarina for three hours.
She had loved him, but, long ago, this love had been replaced by
others; and now she slowly and cruelly tore from him the shreds of
the kingdom she had formerly bestowed. They separated with all the
appearance of friendliness, but during their short meeting the King had
had time to perceive that there was no hope of reviving the past.
This was the last interview that took place between Catherine and
Stanislaus. Eight years later she dethroned him with her own hands.
The Emperor Joseph met the Czarina at Kherson, and they continued
together on their travels, which resembled those of a fairy tale. “I
still fancy I am dreaming,” says the Prince de Ligne, “when I recall
that journey, in an enormous coach large enough for six people, quite
a triumphal chariot in fact, studded all over with precious stones,
and drawn by sixteen horses of the Tartar race. How, as I sat between
two persons, on whose shoulders I would sink at times, overcome by the
heat, I would be startled by such snatches of conversation as these:--
“‘I have thirty millions of subjects, I am told, counting only the
males.’
“‘And I, twenty-two,’ replied the other, ‘counting all.’
“They made imaginary conquests of towns and provinces, as if that
were nothing at all, whilst I kept on saying: ‘Your Majesties will
reap nothing but worry and misery,’ to which the Emperor would reply,
addressing himself to the Empress: ‘Madame, we treat him too well;
he has no respect for us. Did you know, Madame, that he had been in
love with one of my father’s mistresses, and at the time of my first
successes in society he outwitted me in the affections of a marchioness
who was an object of adoration to both of us, and as beautiful as an
angel?’”
During the journey the Empress had made a gift of the site of
Iphigenia’s rock to the Prince de Ligne. All those who possessed land
in the Crimea, such as the Mourzas, took the oath of fidelity to
Catherine, and the Prince de Ligne followed suit. The Emperor came up
to him, and taking hold of his order of the Golden Fleece, said: “You
are the first one of this order who has sworn allegiance together with
the long-bearded lords.”
“Sire,” said de Ligne, with a malicious air, “it is better both for
your Majesty and myself that I should take it with the Tartar lords
than with those of Flanders.”
The Emperor had just heard of the rebellion in that country, of which
we shall speak later on.
After their return from this fairy-like journey the war against
the Turks was decided, and the Austro-Russian alliance concluded.
Preparations for war were being quietly carried on when, all at once,
Turkey assumed the offensive by arresting the Russian ambassador, M.
de Bulgakoff, and confining him in the Castle of the Sept Tours (Seven
Towers). On the 18th of August 1787 Catherine declared war.
The Empress thoroughly relied on the alliance she had just concluded
with Joseph II.; nevertheless she inquired of the Prince de Ligne:--
“What do you think the Emperor will do?”
“Have you any doubt, Madame? He will convey to you his good intentions,
perhaps even his best wishes; and as neither will cost him anything, I
am sure his first letter will be full of them.”
The Prince was mistaken; the Emperor was ready to appear on the field
with a hundred thousand men,[58] and had just appointed the Prince
General-Commander-in-chief (feldzeugmeister) of all the infantry.
Unfortunately the letter bringing this news crossed one the Prince had
written to the Emperor asking his permission to serve as a general in
the Russian army, and at the same time offering to keep His Majesty
well informed of the Russian plans of campaign and military operations.
The Emperor granted this request.
The Prince began preparing for his departure in October 1787. “I
received,” he says, “from the Emperor a letter concerning his ally that
showed both his kindness and genius; I made a summary of it that served
as a plan of campaign, for none had as yet been conceived at Saint
Petersburg. They had no idea by what end to begin.”
Before starting to join Potemkin[59] the Prince wished to give a
ball to the prettiest women at Court, according to their request, but
was unable to do so, as the war operations were already far advanced.
“The army,” he was told, “may perhaps be already under the walls of
Oczakoff; five thousand Turks have been killed by Souvaroff at Kinburn.
The Turkish fleet is retiring; start at once.”
He left on the 1st of November 1787. “Good heavens!” he writes, “what
weather! what roads! what a winter! what headquarters! By nature I am
confiding, and always believe I am loved. I thought the Prince, judging
by his own words, would be delighted to see me. I only observed six
months later the embarrassed manner in which he received me on the day
of my arrival. I threw myself into his arms and said:--
“‘When shall we take Oczakoff?’
“‘Who knows!’ he said; ‘the garrison numbers eighteen thousand men; I
have not as many in the whole of my army. I am short of everything, and
the most unhappy of mortals, unless God helps me.’
“‘What!’ I replied, ‘the story of Kinburn, the departure of the fleet,
has all that been of no use? I have travelled day and night, for they
told me you had already begun the siege!’
“‘Alas,’ he answered, ‘God grant that the Tartars do not get here,
and lay waste the whole country with fire and sword. God has saved me
(I shall never forget it). He allowed me to collect behind the banks
of the Bog what remained of the troops. It is a miracle that I have
retained till now as much of the country as I have.’
“‘Where are the Tartars?’ said I.
“‘Everywhere,’ he replied, ‘and among them is a séraskier,[60] with a
large number of Turks, near Ackermann, twelve thousand men in Bender,
the Dniester is guarded, and there are six thousand men in Choczim.’”
There was not a word of truth in all this. Five months were spent in a
state of inactivity which would have been inexplicable had it not been
intentional. The Prince de Ligne was not long in perceiving that this
was the case, and punctually warned the Emperor of Austria.
During the long days of _far niente_ the Prince amused himself by
scribbling down his thoughts on little squares of paper, which, though
he appeared to attach no importance to them, he took care to preserve.
They were well worth keeping, to judge by the following:--
“Europe is in such a perfect mess at the present moment that I think
it a good time to reflect on the position of affairs. France writes,
but, unfortunately, the Empire reads. The soldiers of the Bishop of
Liege are at open war with the bankers of Spa. The Netherlands have
risen against their sovereign without knowing why. Soon, no doubt,
people will kill one another in the hope of gaining more freedom and
happiness. Austria, exposed to dangers at home, timidly threatens
both friend and foe, and is unable to distinguish one from the other.
England, who is never entirely of the same opinion, has a majority in
favour of Prussia, who has already fired a few shots in Holland! Proud
Spain, who formerly owned the invincible fleet, gets anxious as soon as
a single English vessel leaves port. Italy fears the lazzaroni and the
free-thinkers. Denmark watches Sweden, and Sweden watches Russia. The
Tartars, the Georgians, the Imarets, the Abyssinians, the Circassians,
kill the Russians. The journey to the Crimea alarms and irritates the
Sultan. The Egyptian and Scutari bashaws are warring with the Turks,
who, from two other sides, at a thousand leagues’ distance, are at the
same time attacking the two most powerful and important empires that
exist. We are called to arms, and I join the fray. Without ceasing to
be a spectator, I become an actor in the play. In my opinion all that
is taking place around me is nothing more than a kick in an anthill.
Are we anything better ourselves, poor mortals that we are?”
During this time the corps under Marshal Lascy[61] had opened the
campaign; the Emperor commanded in person, and Prince Charles, who had
not accompanied his father to Russia, served as major in the engineers.
The Prince soon distinguished himself at the siege of Sabacz, where he
superintended the opening of the trenches, and directed the batteries
which attacked the fort.
On the day of the assault, by means of a plank, he crossed the wide
deep moats which protected the approaches of the fortress; he was the
first to dash forward and scale the wall, and once on the top of the
ramparts, in spite of the efforts of the Turks, he held out his hand to
the soldiers who had followed him, helped them up, and was the first
to enter the town. The Emperor, who witnessed this brilliant exploit,
conferred on the Prince the rank of Colonel, and decorated him with
the order of Marie-Thérèse, without holding a chapter of the order--an
honour which was entirely without precedent. It so happened that the
garrison of Belgrade was carrying on such a heavy cannonading during
the ceremony that the Emperor Joseph, addressing the Prince, said:
“Even the Turks are taking part in your initiation, and celebrating
your valour and my justice.”
The Emperor himself announced to the Prince de Ligne his son’s
brilliant conduct: the pride and emotion of the father can only be
described in his own words. He writes to the Comte de Ségur:--
_8th May 1788._
“Ah! my friend, let me weep awhile; and read the following!
“‘THE EMPEROR JOSEPH TO THE PRINCE DE LIGNE.
“‘KILENACK, _25th April 1788_.
“‘We have just taken Sabacz:[62] our loss was small. The
feldzeugmeister, Rouvroy,[63] a brave man, as you know, received a
slight wound in the chest, which does not prevent him from dressing
himself or going out. Prince Poniatowski was shot in the thigh, and
though the bone is not injured the wound is somewhat serious. But
I must, my dear Prince, inform you of something else, which will
please you all the more that in it you will recognise the spirit
of your race; it is that your son Charles contributed for the most
part to the success of this enterprise, by the infinite pains that
he took in marking out the trenches for the batteries, and he was
_the first_ to scale the parapet and help up the rest. So I have
named him Lieutenant-Colonel, and have conferred on him the order
of Marie-Thérèse. It is a real pleasure to me to send you this
intelligence, as I am aware of the satisfaction it will give you,
knowing, as I do, your patriotism and your affection for your son.
“‘I leave to-morrow for Semlin.
“‘JOSEPH.’
“What modesty! The Emperor does not mention himself, though he was in
the midst of the firing. And how graciously and kindly expressed is
the account he sends me. On reading it over again I burst into tears.”
_8th May (continued from the above)._
“The messenger saw the Emperor himself firing musket shots with hearty
goodwill into the suburbs of Sabacz; and Marshal de Lascy tear up
some palings to point a cannon, which should protect my Charles by
attacking a turret from which a continual fire was being directed
against him. The Marshal would, I believe, have done it for any other,
but it had the appearance of personal and almost paternal kindness.
“The Marshal being rather exhausted, the Emperor fetched a barrel and
made him sit down, while he himself stood surrounded by his generals,
thus paying him a kind of homage.
“Here is a letter from Charles himself:--
“‘We have taken Sabacz. I have the cross. You may be sure, papa,
that I thought of you on going up the first to the assault.--Your
submissive and respectful son,
“‘CHARLES.’
“Could there be anything more touching! Would I had been there to give
him a hand! I can see that I have his esteem by the words, _I thought
of you_, but I should have deserved it still better. I feel too much
affected to write more. I embrace you, my dear Count.”
But it is with his son that the Prince gives himself up to all the
intensity of his feelings.
FROM POTEMKIN’S HEADQUARTERS AT ELISABETHGOROD.
_12th May 1788._
“What can I tell you, my dear Charles, that you do not already know of
my feelings on receiving from His Majesty a letter so full of kindness
and graciousness? This letter is worth more to you than any parchments
containing titles, diplomas, or patents--mere food for rats. It
contains such touching words for us both that, though I am getting
rather old to cry, it is impossible for me to refrain from doing so
whenever I read over that paragraph. All the Circassian generals and
officers, the Zaporogues, Tartars, Cabardians,[64] Germans, Russians,
Cossacks, etc.,--all came to me in crowds, to congratulate me with a
warmth I can never forget.
“The father and most tender friend of my Charles are assuredly deeply
touched at the honour you have won, and which surpasses anything I
have ever done in my life. But the General de Ligne has suffered
abominably.
“Imagine, my boy, what a delightful moment for both of us had I been
the first to accept your aid in clambering up that parapet, where you
arrived before any one else!
“Good heavens, what a fool one is at a distance! I, who at
Hühnerwasser would have calmly seen you shot through the arm--I am as
nervous as any woman,--a condition which is not far removed from that
of minister.[65] However, I have agreed with some regiments of light
horse to make a good slashing charge. I have never done anything of
the kind, except at the head of ten Uhlans against five or six drunken
Prussian hussars. You will admit that it was not the most memorable
action of this century. I cannot shut myself up in those squares, as
in a box, where one opens a door to come in or go out.
“One can always manage to command if one chooses on the day of
battle, so that I am perfectly certain, though I have not an army,
that nothing will happen where I am but what I choose; I have already
learnt all that is necessary, and am beginning to understand Russian.
Do you think now, my Charles, that I was right in always wishing you
to be an engineer? You have now shown genius,[66] as I knew you
would. But are you sure you are not slightly wounded, though you do
not say so?
“Do not let any of His Majesty’s messengers come to me without sending
me a letter. A thousand messages to my comrade Rouvroy, whose fate and
wound I envy. Poor Poniatowski![67] I tremble lest he should follow
in his father’s footsteps. He has already the same courage, the same
military intelligence, personal devotion to His Majesty, generosity,
etc., but I trust he will not have the same fate. Embrace him for me.”
The news of the taking of Sabacz had made a welcome break in the weary
existence the Prince’s father was leading; but Potemkin’s apathy made
him relapse into bad humour and impatience. He tried in vain to sting
his pride by making constant allusions to the storming of Sabacz,
but he had rightly guessed “that, either out of policy, ill-will, or
incapacity, the marshals were resolved, even before the campaign was
begun, on doing nothing.”
At last, wearied by this determined inaction, he wrote to Prince
Potemkin that he should leave the next day for Marshal Romanzoff’s[68]
camp in Ukrania.
“At last,” writes the Prince, “I have left those filthy entrenchments
which, in virtue of a few projecting angles, are supposed to represent
a fort; eight days more and I should have died of it. Potemkin nearly
drove me mad. Sometimes on good terms, sometimes on bad, at daggers
drawn or prime favourite, speaking or not speaking, but sitting up
sometimes till six in the morning to induce him at least to say one
word sensible enough to report,--I could no longer endure the whims of
such a spoilt child.”
Wearied to death by this horrible inaction, the Prince went to see why
Marshal Romanzoff was no better employed than Potemkin.
Romanzoff, as amiable as Potemkin was the reverse, loaded the Prince
with promises and attentions, all equally, false. At the end of a few
days Ligne was fully convinced that the two Commanders-in-Chief of the
Russian army were agreed on one point--“to play a trick on the Emperor
Joseph, and only begin the campaign in July, by which time the whole of
the Turkish forces would have been directed against the Austrians.”
The Prince de Ligne redoubled his efforts to stir up Potemkin. He wrote
to the Austrian ambassador at St. Petersburg, and to the Comte de
Ségur, urging them to inform the Empress of the situation; but though
himself in such favour at Court he never once wrote to Catherine. She
knew the motive of his silence, and was irritated at it; but she would
not complain, in case that, in a fit of frankness, the Prince should
say too much. “If I had chosen,” he says, “to write only once in praise
of Prince Potemkin and his operations,[69] I should have received
showers of presents in diamonds and serfs. Catherine would have been
very well pleased if I had deceived her; it would have been more
convenient for her to believe that all was going on well.”
In spite of his anger against the Russian Marshals the Prince de Ligne,
who was a connoisseur, sincerely admired the Muscovite nation and
soldiery.
“I see that the Russians,” he writes to the Comte de Ségur, “learn
the liberal arts in the same way that _le médecin malgré lui_ (the
doctor in spite of himself) took his degree. They are foot-soldiers,
sailors, sportsmen, priests, dragoons, musicians, engineers, actors,
cuirassiers, painters and surgeons. I see the Russians sing and dance
in the trenches, though they are never relieved, and remain in the
midst of shot and shell, of snow or mud, clever, clean, attentive,
respectful, obedient, trying to forestall their orders by divining them
in the eyes of their officers.”
The greatest pleasure the General de Ligne had was to write and receive
news of absent friends. His letters are so wonderfully graphic, the
slightest detail is invested with so much charm, that one is never
tired of reading them. Those he wrote to his son Charles are a perfect
diary of his life.
FROM MARSHAL ROMANZOFF’S HEADQUARTERS IN POLAND.
_8th June 1788._
“If you inquire, my dear Charles, how I am, I shall reply: Always the
same. I am continually with the armies and the marshals, trying to
make them do something. But the devil is with them, in spite of all
their Russian signs of the cross.
“The best thing I have done is to have left that quiz, that maker of
compliments, my admirer, as he calls himself, for Kaminiecz. Ah! if I
still had a heart, how terribly in love I should be! The governor’s
wife,[70] that magnificent Greek, known and admired all over the
world, drove me in a berlin within half a cannon’s range of Choczim,
from whence a few shots were fired over our heads.
“I confess that I felt more inclined to find out her weak point of
attack than to reconnoitre that of the fortress.
“I stay at her house; but what an infernal row goes on! A rattle of
chains all night; I thought there were ghosts. The fact is that her
husband, who is commandant of Kaminiecz, has all his work done by
convicts. What a contrast between their rascally countenances and the
beauty of her whom they serve, under the sway of the rod! Even the
cook is a convict; it is economical, but dreadful.
“I wish, my dear Charles, that Oczakoff (I must return to Potemkin,
for I am still more incapable of moving this man) may procure me
something glorious in your style. I shall be killed on your account,
for you must have a father worthy of you. _You thought of me_, you
say; you are sublime and touching. You have worked for me; I will work
for you. I send you a tender farewell from these five or six hundred
leagues distance.”
The Prince found Potemkin and his army just as he had left them, and he
writes to his son, who had recommended a Prussian officer to him:----
FROM THE CAMP IN THE DESERTS OF TARTARY.
Before OCZAKOFF, _30th July_.
“I will place your Prussian officer. I cannot make Prince Potemkin
advance as far as the Liman, but I can advance officers. I have made
generals, majors, etc.; but you have made your crop of laurels, and
can laugh at me.
“Always the same inaction, one-third through fear, one through spite,
and one through ignorance. I would wish, at the end of the war, to
have one-quarter of your glory in this campaign. Your letters are gay
and brave, like yourself; they bear your image.
“A fearful storm obliges me to go to bed. A cloud has burst over the
camp, and inundated the two pretty little houses I have erected under
my immense Turkish tent, so that I do not know where to put my foot.
Oh, oh! I am this moment informed that a major has been killed by
lightning in his tent; it falls nearly every day, catch it who may.
“The other day the arms of an officer of light cavalry had to be
amputated on account of the bite of a tarentula; as for lizards, no
one is in a better position than I am to assert that they are the
friend of man; for I live with them, and can trust them better than
my friends in this country. Sometimes I hear the wind rising, and have
my tent opened, but I shut it up again quickly; for the wind seems
to blow off a furnace. Oh! we do enjoy every sort of advantage here.
Shall I give you a specimen of Prince Repnin’s good taste? You know
the habits of the service here, the baseness of the inferiors, and the
insolence of the superiors. When Prince Potemkin makes a sign or drops
anything, twenty generals prostrate themselves to earth. The other day
seven or eight of them tried to help Prince Repnin off with his cloak:
‘No, gentlemen,’ he said; ‘the Prince de Ligne will kindly do it.’ A
good lesson! They have more refinement of mind than of heart, and they
felt it.
“Nevertheless, I rather play the victim; but Sarti[71] is here with an
excellent orchestra, and he has brought that music you know so well,
in which there are thirty C’s, thirty D’s, etc. Sometimes we have no
bread, only biscuits and macaroons; no apples or pears, but pots of
jam; no butter, but ices; no water, but every kind of wine; no wood
for the kitchen fire sometimes, but logs of aloës to burn for perfume.
We have here Madame Michel Potemkin, who is extremely beautiful;
Madame Skawrowski, another niece of the vizier or patriarch Potemkin
(for he arranges his religion also), very charming; and Madame
Samoiloff, another niece, still more lovely. I played a proverb for
her in this desert, and she seemed to like it, for she has since said:
‘Do play another _riddle_ for me.’
“I presented the other day to the Prince a blockhead sent to me
by a fool. One is called Marolles, the other is M. de X----, who
recommends him as head of the engineers, and destined to take Oczakoff.
“‘Good morning, General,’ he said, on entering, to the Prince, ‘I will
take that place for you in a fortnight. Have you any books here? Do
you know in Russia those of a M. Vauban and a certain Coëhorn?[72]
I should like to look them over before beginning.’ You may fancy
Potemkin’s astonishment. ‘What a man!’ he said to me, ‘I do not
know if he is an engineer, but I know he is French. Ask him a few
questions.’ I did so, and he admitted he was an engineer for roads and
bridges.
“Baron de Stad, who is here, delights me. He also is a thorough
Frenchman; annoying the Prince, unpleasant to every one, writing
charming verses, hating the petulance of Roger,[73] with whom he is
perpetually quarrelling, and going gallantly into action, though
declaring all the time that he is dying of fright. ‘Behold,’ says he,
‘how nature suffers; my horse himself trembles, and cares no more for
glory than I do.’ We have seen another personage, as ridiculous as
his name, which is Gigandé, a lieutenant in the guards of the Abbé de
Porentruy. Yesterday he was robbed. Furious, he exclaimed, with his
Swiss accent: ‘_Che me lèfe, che m’égorge les pieds pour aller tout
te suite faire mes blaintes à un chéneral et il me tit: ‘Si c’est un
soltat, che vous ferai rentre, mais, si c’est un officier, cela sera
tifficile._’[74]
“Another Frenchman, whose name is M. Second, came to consult me
about an affair of honour. ‘For I see, sir,’ he said, ‘that I shall
be forced to fight!’ I assured him that if he spoke in that way to
everybody he would have no need of a man of his own name; that was a
good piece of nonsense, was it not?
“Shall I tell you one of my innocent amusements? I place my
dromedaries in the way of the gilded staff, when by chance
‘_Marlborough s’en va-t-en guerre_’ (Marlborough goes off to the
wars).[75] The other day two or three generals were thrown, half the
escort upset, and the other half sent flying.
“Ah, Charles, when shall we meet again, at Stamboul or at Bel Œil?
If only the Emperor and my Russian General would not stand on such
ceremony about crossing the Save and the Bog as they would do to go
through a door, we should soon upset the _Sublime Porte_, and should
meet where I said. _Then, my dear Cinéas_, etc., etc. In the meanwhile
let us love each other wherever we are.”
On the Russian side the situation remained the same till October, and
during this time things went as badly as possible for Austria. This
disastrous campaign cost her thirty thousand men, killed in various
engagements, forty thousand carried off by the plague, the invasion of
the Banate, and several defeats in Bosnia. Ill with fatigue, in despair
at his want of success, alarmed at the complete rebellion in Flanders,
Joseph returned to Vienna almost broken-hearted. He determined to call
to his side the Prince de Ligne, and to give him, with Marshal Laudon,
the command of his army during the ensuing campaign. He sent Prince
Charles to carry the order to his father. We can imagine how welcome
was the arrival of the conqueror of Sabacz, and with what transports of
delight he was received. His father immediately prepared to depart, and
they arrived in Vienna at the end of November. Potemkin took Oczakoff
a fortnight later. It seemed as though he had waited Ligne’s departure
before deciding on the attack, and his jealous character justifies the
supposition. The winter was peacefully spent at Vienna, and Prince
Charles, absorbed in his new passion, did not seem afflicted at his
wife’s absence.
In the spring of 1789 the two Princes joined Marshal Laudon’s army.
General de Ligne commanded the right wing, and played an important part
at the siege of Belgrade, during which he displayed an indefatigable
energy. “I was all on fire myself,” he writes, “urged on by that
being,[76] who is more like a god than a man. Urged on by him, I urged
on the others. Bolza watched, and danced attendance. Funk fired,
Maillard[77] advanced. I thanked, begged, thundered, threatened,
commanded; all was done, and well done, in the twinkling of an eye.”
Prince Charles, who was Colonel, was in command, and energetically
seconded his father, who caught a violent fever during the siege, and
was confined to his bed for some days, at which he was very furious.
He writes to Marshal Lascy: “The Turkish Caïques have been venturing
too near Krieg-Insel (my headquarters). ‘We must give them a lesson,’
I said to my son, who at times engaged with my own, at others with
Marshal Laudon’s column of attack; Charles, with his usual liveliness,
immediately threw himself into a boat with my aides-de-camp, and,
followed by about forty other small boats, went off to attack the
Turkish Caïques.
“I directed the battle from my window, in spite of a diabolical attack
of fever, and almost killed myself screaming to an Italian, who
commanded my frigate, the _Marie-Thérèse_: ‘_Alla larga!_’ and words
which I dare not write. Out of patience I finally went myself to end
this very peculiar naval engagement.”
Belgrade was taken on the 8th of October 1789; Prince Charles had again
the honour of being first at the assault. Marshal Laudon, who was not
lavish of praise or flattery, wrote to the Prince de Ligne the most
complimentary letter, in which he said: “More than half the glory won
by the taking of Belgrade by right belongs to your Highness.”
The Emperor sent the Prince the cross of Commander of the Order of
Marie-Thérèse, accompanied by a dry and cold letter, whose purpose de
Ligne could not unravel; but he was still so ill with fever that both
cross and letter made but a slight impression. He solved the riddle
later on: Joseph II. had unjustly suspected him of having encouraged
the rebellion in Flanders.
FOOTNOTES:
[58] On 9th February 1788 Austria, in fulfilment of her alliance with
Russia, declared war with Turkey.
[59] Potemkin (Grégoire Alexandrowitch), Russian Field-Marshal, and the
most renowned favourite of Catherine II. He was born in September 1736,
in the suburbs of Smolensk, and died on 16th October 1791.
It is said that during the famous journey in Tauris he ordered
theatrical scenery to be constructed at intervals on the road along
which the Empress was expected to pass. This scenery represented in
the distance villages, towns, and cities, and he organised troops of
supernumerary actors, who simulated the rural population peacefully
pursuing their avocations. Although he was invested with offices and
dignities more profitable one than the other, he helped himself to
the State monies, and accepted bribes from foreign powers. Joseph II.
and Frederick the Great loaded him with presents and pensions, and
in consequence of their rivalry with regard to the Russian alliance,
the first created him Prince of the Holy Roman Empire, and the second
offered to assist him in obtaining for himself the Duchy of Courland.
He had no talent as a general in command, but was fortunate in having
under him good officers, who were able to carry on the war operations
against the Turks.
[60] Seraskier, general-in-chief in the Turkish army.
[61] Joseph-François-Maurice, Comte de Lascy, born at St. Petersburg
on 21st October 1725, and educated at Vienna. He was colonel when the
Seven Years War broke out. The services he rendered ensured him rapid
promotion; he distinguished himself during the campaign of 1778, and in
1788, as field-marshal, conducted the war against the Turks. He died at
Vienna on 4th November 1801.
[62] A fortified town in Servia, situated on the Save; 4000 inhabitants.
[63] Theodore, Baron de Rouvroy, born at Luxembourg in 1727. He entered
the Austrian service in 1753, and in 1765 received the cross of
commander of the order of Marie-Thérèse. He died 31st September 1789.
He was one of the most distinguished artillery generals in the Austrian
army.
[64] Inhabitants of Cabardia, a country situated on the northern slopes
of the Caucasus, and which, at that time, was not yet under Russian
dominion.
[65] The Prince was both General-in-Chief without an army corps and
Minister-plenipotentiary _in partibus_.
[66] A play upon words; “genius” and “engineer” in French being
expressed by the same word, _génie_.
[67] Prince Joseph Poniatowski was at that time lieutenant-colonel and
aide-de-camp to the Emperor of Austria. He entered the Polish army as
general in 1789. He had command of the army at Warsaw in 1809. The
Emperor Napoleon made him a Marshal of France.
At Sabacz the Turks took him for the Emperor Joseph, as he wore
the same uniform--a green coat with red facings, and a brilliant
decoration. He was killed by a shot while crossing the Elster on 19th
October 1813.
[68] Romanzoff (Pierre Alexandrowitch), born in 1725, was one of the
most celebrated Russian generals. He defeated Frederick the Second
at the battle of Kunersdorf. Appointed Commander-in-Chief of the
Russian army in 1770 during the war against the Turks, he obtained
several brilliant successes, and was named field-marshal. He was so
dissatisfied at sharing the command with Potemkin in 1787 that he did
not continue the campaign, and resigned his post. This motive may also
explain his inaction. He died on 17th December 1796.
[69] The Prince de Ligne relates that Prince Potemkin had only one
idea--that of forming a regiment of Jews, to be called Israelowsky.
“We already had a squadron whom I delighted in; for their long beards,
which reached to their knees, on account of their short stirrups,
and the fear they were in on horseback, gave them the appearance of
monkeys. The anxiety they felt could be read in their eyes, and the
long pikes they carried in a most comical manner made them look as
if they were trying to mimic the Cossacks. I do not know what cursed
_Pope_ (Russian priest) persuaded our Marshal that a corps of Jews was
contrary to the Holy Scriptures.”
[70] The famous Sophie de Witt was a Greek slave, stolen from the
Island of Chio. She attracted the notice of the French ambassador in a
street of Constantinople, and he had her taken care of and educated.
On his way to St. Petersburg the ambassador stopped at Kaminiecz; he
had brought Sophie with him. General de Witt, Governor of Bessarabia,
entertained the ambassador, and was so struck with the beauty of the
Greek slave that he fell desperately in love with her.
In order to deceive his guest, he arranged a hunting party, which was
to meet at a great distance from the fortress, and, excusing himself
on the ground of a sudden order, remained behind. Hardly had the
ambassador left than de Witt closed the gates, and celebrated his
marriage with Sophie. On returning in the evening, the ambassador
was much surprised to find the gates closed; an envoy was sent, who
informed him of what had taken place; he thought it useless to contend
against an accomplished fact, and philosophically resigned himself to
his ward’s marriage.
[71] Sarti (Joseph), a celebrated Italian composer, born at Faënza in
1730. In 1785 he was called to St. Petersburg by Catherine II. Under
the protection of Potemkin he was appointed in 1793 Director of the
Conservatorium at Catherinoslaff, with an annual revenue of thirty-five
thousand roubles; he was allowed free lodging and fifteen thousand
roubles for travelling expenses. Admitted into the ranks of the Russian
nobility, he died at Berlin in 1802.
[72] Coëhorn (Menno, Baron de), celebrated engineer, contemporary
and rival of Vauban. He defended Namur against Vauban, and for two
days repulsed the attack on Fort Wilhelm, but at last succumbed to
superior numbers. He directed, under the Prince de Nassau-Saarbruck’s
orders, the sieges of Venloo and Ruremonde, which, owing to his skilful
operations, were obliged to capitulate. He had a great reputation in
Germany. Born in 1641 in Friesland, he died on 17th March 1704.
[73] Comte Roger de Damas (born in 1765, died in 1823). At the age of
fifteen he was already an officer in the French army; his bravery,
his chivalrous character, his quick intellect, made him the observed
of all. “François First, the great Condé, and the Marshal de Saxe,
would have wished to have a son like him,” says the Prince de Ligne.
“In the midst of the heaviest cannonade he is giddy as a cockchafer,
noisy, the most relentless singer, shouting the finest opera airs,
making the maddest quotations in the midst of the firing, and yet
judging perfectly all that goes on. War does not intoxicate him, but
he is full of a genial ardour, such as one feels after a supper ...
amiable, beloved by all, what is called a nice Frenchman, good-looking,
an excellent fellow, and a well-bred gentleman of the Court of France:
such is Roger de Damas.”
[74] “I get up, I become footsore with running about to complain to the
general, and he says to me: ‘If it is a soldier, your things will be
returned; but if it is an officer, it will be difficult.’”
[75] Popular French song.
[76] Marshal Laudon.
[77] MM. Bolza, Funk, and Maillard were the Prince’s three
aides-de-camp.
X
The four years’ Diet--The Court at Warsaw, and the Princesse
Charles--Festivities of the great Polish lords--Count Vincent Potocki
and his two wives--The Princesse Charles and Count Potocki--Flight to
Niemirow--Two divorce suits.
The Turkish war had seemingly caused a happy diversion from Polish
affairs, and for the last two or three years that country had enjoyed
a most unusual state of peace. Russia, entirely absorbed by her
important wars in Turkey and in Sweden, was apparently oblivious
of her existence. Austria, on her side, took little heed, and was
satisfied with the large share that had been ceded to her in the first
dismemberment that had taken place. But this lull could not continue.
Prussia was secretly making overtures to the Poles, and trying to
prevent Stanislaus from sending his promised reinforcements to the
Russians.
The Polish nobility, always restless and disunited, were anxious to
take advantage of Russia’s difficulties, but could not agree on the
course likely to ensure success. The majority, however, tempted by
Prussia’s secret promises, were disposed to listen to her advances, and
conclude with her a defensive alliance. A new constitution, more in
harmony with the actual state of Poland, was also a question of debate,
and the public mind, now thoroughly roused, anticipated with increasing
interest the meeting of the Diet.[78]
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.”