[Pg i]

[Pg iii]

MEMOIRS
OF THE
Princesse de Ligne

IN TWO VOLUMES.—VOL. II.

NEW YORK
SCRIBNER AND WELFORD
1887

[Pg iv]

[Pg 1]

The Prince-Bishop at last decided to start for Paris. He had hardly arrived when he received a visit from Madame de Pailly, who informed him of his niece’s inclinations, and explained to him the progress of affairs. The Bishop earnestly requested to see the Princesse de Ligne-Luxembourg herself, but at that moment she was staying with Madame de Brionne at her country place of Limours. Madame de Pailly at once resumes her pen:—

“The Prince-Bishop, Madame, is always inquiring whether you have returned; he is extremely desirous to have the honour of[Pg 2] seeing you, and I should be very glad if you could seriously discuss the matter with him.

“Occasions on which I can prove to you my zeal and entire devotion will not be wanting with so vacillating a mind; you will be able to say through me anything you please. I will see to everything, and render you a faithful account of what happens. But it seems to me that we must settle between ourselves what is to be the point of departure. He has referred several times to the question of settlements, especially with regard to the present. Would it not be better to present him with a copy of the deed of property? It would hurry on the transaction, and be a wise measure.

“The Prince de Salm’s agents are very active; he constantly alludes to him, and he listens to my replies as if they were quite new to him; he goes on confiding to my ear all the proposals that are made to him. We have three fresh rivals, who, for the present, however, give me no anxiety.”

[Pg 3]

The desired explanations at last arrived from Brussels, in the following letter:—

This letter had a wonderful effect on the uncle, but did not move his niece.

“The young lady,” writes Madame de Pailly, “is infatuated with M. de Salm; he has some emissary about her whom we do not know, and who demolishes beforehand all we can say against him. Even the Comte de Horn’s name has been brought forward as an honour, on account of the Regent’s phrase[2] about him.

“The good uncle feels his own weakness,[Pg 6] and carefully endeavours to hide it; he has agreed to everything with me, and, as I have been fortunate enough to persuade him, he fancies I shall have the same success with his niece, as if they were in the same frame of mind. To-day he is going to use all his influence, and at the same time inform her of the visit he wishes me to make, and of the entire trust he desires she should have in me. I shall lend myself to all his wishes, and shall have the honour of sending you a report of this interview. Receive, I pray,” etc.

The uncle did not meet with the slightest success in his efforts to overcome his niece’s resistance. Madame de Pailly was obliged to confess it to her correspondent: “There is one point, Madame, on which I think you will be obliged to give way; the Bishop asserts that he can only overcome his niece’s passionate wish to be married in Paris by pledging his word that she shall spend three winters there under your guidance, so as to[Pg 7] get accustomed to the fashionable world. He appears to attach great importance to this promise; for he feels the great advantage it would be to his niece. You still have time, Madame, to think over this matter, for we can discuss the other points in the meantime; I will tell you what they are when I see you....”

The Princesse de Ligne kept her nephew informed of all these negotiations; as for the Prince’s father, he was still detained with the army, waiting for peace to be signed. Prince Charles wrote a short cold note to his aunt, in which he did not even allude to his marriage:—

The coolness the Prince displayed will be easily understood when we learn that he already felt for a friend of his childhood a love which was never completely effaced. But, accustomed as he was absolutely to respect the paternal or rather the maternal will, it never entered his mind for one moment not to obey.

His mother had eagerly agreed to their cousin’s plans. Hélène’s large fortune, the isolated position of the young girl, which would tend to make her adopt her husband’s family as her own, had quite won over the Princess, who ignored or pretended to ignore her son’s secret affection. She therefore persevered in her efforts, hoping to succeed, though the object in view was not easy to attain.

The Bishop of Wilna had been won over to the de Lignes, but he had many a hard[Pg 9] battle to fight, for an unforeseen circumstance had strengthened Hélène’s resolution not to leave Paris. Her friend, Mademoiselle de Lauraguais, had married the Duc Auguste d’Aremberg, cousin of the de Lignes, who, like him, resided for part of the year at the Court of Brussels. The young Duchess returned to Paris for some time, and at once visited her former companions at the Abbaye-aux-Bois. She had heard of Prince Charles’ proposed marriage, and gave Hélène a most gloomy description of life in Brussels. The latter immediately repeated this to her uncle, making the picture several shades darker. The poor Bishop did not know who to listen to; in the midst of his perplexities he determined to despatch the Abbé Baudeau, who was always at hand, to Bel Œil,[3] giving him instructions to confer verbally with the Princesse de Ligne on the delicate subject of a residence in Paris, as well as on the money[Pg 10] question. He was allowed great latitude on this latter point, and accordingly set off.

Madame de Pailly lost no time, and again wrote to the Princesse de Ligne-Luxembourg: “We have had news of the envoy, Madame, and we hear he is much pleased with everything, but he sends word that Madame la Princesse de Ligne will not hear of a three years’ residence in Paris.

“The Bishop appeared to me very much disturbed at the effect this would have on his niece, as she had always held to this condition. You know there is nothing more difficult to overcome than the fancies of a young person, and unfortunately she has been confirmed in this one by all that Madame d’Aremberg de Lauraguais has told her. The Abbé will arrive perhaps to-day; I shall be there, and we will first work upon the uncle, so as to make him work upon his niece.

“M. de Salm will not give way; he has sent his picture to his friend at the Convent,[Pg 11] and she has invited the Princess Hélène to a collation, given in a room of which this portrait forms the chief ornament.

“I was at the opera with a lady who is much interested in this fine gentleman, and she said: ‘What does it signify whether you are a scamp or not when you have a name and a large fortune? Look, for instance, at so and so,’ etc.

“God forbid that such morality should enter the head of our prelate and his niece. In the meantime I amused myself last night by quietly challenging my free-spoken young friend to tell me all the naughty stories about this charming Prince. The good Bishop bore it with a slightly embarrassed air, which quite amused me.

“I shall have the honour, Madame, to give you an account of the envoy’s return, and of all its consequences. I beg you not to be impatient, and to rely on my zeal and my intense desire to do all that is agreeable to you.

[Pg 12]

“Receive,” etc.

It was not long before the Abbé returned, and, though he had not succeeded in obtaining the promise of a residence in Paris, he had done much to push the matter forward. He brought magnificent fruit and flowers to the young Princess from Bel Œil, and in the description he gave of the almost regal magnificence of the place he neglected none of the details which were likely to charm and flatter her vanity. He had granted handsome pecuniary conditions, and the Princess, on her part, had seemed disposed to accept the marriage-contract proposed by the Abbé.

Madame de Pailly to the Princesse de Ligne-Luxembourg.

The Princesse de Ligne-Luxembourg wrote to her cousin to give her this good news, and to urge her to come to Paris as soon as possible; but she was in no hurry, and, like a prudent mother, wished above all, to settle everything relating to the income and household arrangements of the future young couple, for whom she dreaded certain temptations, from which she herself had suffered. She again sent her steward to Paris with two[Pg 14] letters, one of which was a confidential one to her cousin.

The Princesse de Ligne-Luxembourg told the Bishop of her cousin’s wise advice, but no attention was paid to it. The Congress of Teschen was over, and the Prince de Ligne was returning home slowly, for he always found much to delay him on the road. We will not inquire into the nature of these delays; he, however, found sufficient time to write a few lines from Vienna to his cousin, and to the Bishop of Wilna, which he had neglected doing for the last two months.

[Pg 16]

To the Princesse de Ligne-Luxembourg.

A few days after the receipt of this letter they had agreed upon all points; a draft of the settlement was drawn up, and the Princesse de Ligne and her son announced their arrival.

[Pg 17]

In spite of the very small inclination the young Prince felt for this marriage, he experienced a certain curiosity to see his future bride. As for Hélène, she was far more interested in her outfit, her presents, and her diamonds than in her husband. Among other things, she had been promised “certain girandoles[5] and diamond bracelets of wonderful beauty—old family jewels, that she was most impatient to see, and she was in a great fright lest they should be left behind at Brussels.” Her future aunt undertook to explain this childlike anxiety to the wife of the steward, so that she might remind the Princess to bring these precious trinkets. She answered as follows:—

The Princesse de Ligne’s first visit was to her cousin. She there found the Prince-Bishop awaiting her arrival. After a long conversation and endless compliments on either side, it was settled that the Bishop should escort the Princess and her son to the Abbaye-aux-Bois.

Hélène, who had been warned the day before, was very much vexed at having to make her first appearance in her school dress; but no exception could be made to the rule. She went down to the parlour accompanied by Madame de Sainte Delphine, and very soon perceived that the plainness of her dress did not prevent the Prince from thinking her very[Pg 19] pretty. Though she pretended to cast her eyes modestly down during the visit, she took care to see enough of her future husband to be able to say to her companions on returning: “He is fair, has a tall slight figure, and resembles his mother, who is very handsome; he has a noble mien, but he is too serious, and there is something German about him!”

The Prince’s father arrived three days later.

“I abandon M. de Ligne to your indignation, Princess,” his wife writes to their cousin; “you may prepare her for his arrival, which will certainly be either to-day or to-morrow; it fills me with the greatest joy!”

The Prince-father had his head completely turned by his future daughter-in-law, who did all she could to please him, intuitively feeling that he was the one with whom she could best sympathise.

Having no family in Paris, it was decided that Hélène’s marriage should be celebrated in the chapel of the Abbaye-aux-Bois, to the[Pg 20] great delight of the pupils. The Bishop gave his niece an outfit worth a hundred thousand écus;[6] the wedding casket, offered by the Lignes, was provided by Léonard; the laces, ordered at Brussels and Mechlin, were real masterpieces of work. The jewels offered to Hélène, besides the family diamonds and the famous girandoles, were chosen by herself at Barrière’s and at Drey’s. She gave a trinket to each of her companions in the red class, and a magnificent luncheon, with ices, was given by the Prince-Bishop to all the pupils,[Pg 21] including the little blues, who each received in addition a bag of sweetmeats.

The marriage-contract was signed at Versailles by their Majesties and the royal family, the 25th of July 1779. The wedding took place on the 29th at the Abbaye-aux-Bois.

It is needless to add that Hélène’s nurse, Mademoiselle Bathilde Toutevoix, took part in the festivities. She adorned her pretty mistress to the very best of her ability, and the poor girl’s head was so completely turned with joy that she even forgot her cockades.[7] She came down to the parlour after the bride, and modestly hid herself in a corner. Prince Charles approached her, and slipped into her hand his wedding present—an annuity of six hundred livres.[8] Hélène was much touched with this attention. “I thanked him,” she says, “by a smile and pressure of the hand, the first I had granted him.”

[Pg 22]

The bride was led to the altar by her uncle, and by the Marquise Wielopolska, who took the place of her mother. The Duchesses de Choiseul, de Mortemart, de Châtillon, de la Vallière, etc., were present at the ceremony. The young Princess, exquisitely lovely in her bridal dress, fully satisfied the company by her “decent attitude, which was full of feeling” (style of that day). After receiving the congratulations of the brilliant assembly, Hélène went up to her apartment to change her costume; but, instead of returning immediately to the parlour, she quickly made her way to the choir chapel, where Madame de Rochechouart was buried, and kneeling on the tomb of the one who had been to her as a mother, she offered up to God her last girlish prayer. When she returned to the parlour she was rather pale, and her eyes showed signs of tears; but at the gates of the Abbey a post-chaise, drawn by six chafing horses, was awaiting; the postilions, in the pink and silver livery of[Pg 23] the Prince, being scarcely able to hold them; Hélène, after a rapid farewell, was hurried into the carriage by her young husband, and they started at full gallop for Brussels.

The young couple first established themselves at Bel Œil, the magnificent summer residence of the Prince de Ligne. The Marshal was passionately attached to this regal abode, on which his father had lavished several millions. The property was composed of a succession of gardens, forests, parks, mansions, and shooting boxes, which the Prince de Ligne had designed with the most perfect taste. It was here that he preferred receiving his guests, and that he successively entertained the Prince de Condé, the King of Sweden, the Comte d’Artois, Prince Henry of Prussia, etc. Hélène was dazzled by the[Pg 25] splendour of her new abode. A brilliant reception had been prepared in her honour. On the very day after her arrival, which had taken place in the evening, the young Princess, on opening her windows, perceived an immense park full of villagers elegantly attired as shepherds and shepherdesses, their dresses more like those of Watteau and Lancret than those commonly worn by the Flemish peasants. The Prince’s dragoons were making merry at tables on the lawn; and a little farther off, in a grove, might be seen puppet shows, in another tight-rope dancers; a rural ballroom was established on a green sward; under a leafy bower a magician was distributing sham ointments in little boxes, which contained sweetmeats and trinkets. In another spot a bard was gaily reciting verses, composed by the Prince in honour of the newly-married pair; and if the composition was not brilliant in versification, it yet could boast of grace and art sufficient to compensate for its defects; finally,[Pg 26] Aufresne and Préville, who had arrived that same morning from Paris, were playing improvised proverbs in the private theatre of the residence. The festivities lasted the whole day; after dinner the proverbs were replaced by a comedy in one act, with interludes of song, entitled, Colette and Lucas, composed by the Prince de Ligne in honour of his daughter-in-law.[9] The audience was composed of brilliant officers and fine ladies, who had come expressly from Brussels and even Versailles for the occasion. The play, though worthless, was courteously applauded; but another had been prepared in order to compensate the spectators. Night having come on during the representation, sudden floods of light springing up in brilliant sheaves between the trees greeted the guests as they emerged from the theatre, and in the thickets fairy-like illuminations lit up the arbours; it was impossible[Pg 27] to see the lamps, cleverly hidden under the foliage. “It was not night,” says Hélène: “it was silvery daylight.”

The married couple appeared enchanted one with the other, with a shade more of tenderness on the part of the Prince. Hélène’s beauty, grace, and intelligence surprised and charmed him; he had not expected to find these qualities united in the person of a child of fifteen. Every one was under the same impression, and the Dowager-Princess herself, who was not easy to please, wrote as follows, some time after the wedding, to the Princesse de Ligne-Luxembourg:—

The Prince-Bishop had indeed been delighted with his stay in Flanders; the amiability of the family of Ligne, the harmonious relationship existing between its members, the distinguished intelligence and the kindness of Prince Charles in particular, all contributed to assure him of his niece’s future happiness. He left her thoroughly satisfied.

For the first time Hélène was going to be[Pg 29] acquainted with family life; she could not have had a better beginning, for the Lignes lived together with an intimacy full of ease, gaiety, and tenderness. In her convent life the little Princess, with the selfishness natural to children, had only thought of herself, and was not accustomed to the daily sacrifices made by brothers and sisters, which are made easy and rewarded by a mother’s approval and kiss. She had a serious apprenticeship to undergo. She preferred her father-in-law and the Princess Clary, her sister-in-law, to all the other members of her family. The Princess Clary, the Prince’s eldest and favourite daughter, “his masterpiece,” as he called her, was kindness, grace, and affability itself. Married some four years, gifted with sound judgment and perfect tact, she would have been an affectionate and charming guide to her young sister-in-law at the outset of her married life; but it was not possible for her to assume this position, which naturally devolved upon the Princess-mother,[Pg 30] who, jealous of her rights, would have ceded her authority to no one.

The Princesse de Ligne played an important part, if not in the heart of her husband, at least in his household. The Prince willingly rendered justice to his wife’s qualities; he was full of consideration for her, and treated her always with amiable deference. “My wife,” he said, “is an excellent wife, full of delicacy, feeling, nobility, and in no way selfish. She is often in a pet, but her temper soon passes away, melting in tears and leaving no trace, for my wife has an excellent heart.” It was not difficult for the Prince to resign himself to his wife’s temper, for it affected him very slightly. Such was not the case with her children; it must, however, be admitted that she had often good cause for her unevenness of temper. Not only was her husband constantly and openly faithless to her, but he also squandered his fortune, and in spite of the large revenues he possessed would often have[Pg 31] been involved in serious difficulties had it not been for the watchful care of the Princess, who by her clever administration established a proper balance between their income and expenditure. However, in spite of the Princess’s rather uncertain temper, the unvarying cheerfulness and good humour of the Prince made it a delightful home, for he possessed the rare quality of being as charming at home as in society.

Hélène thoroughly enjoyed her new life, and eagerly threw herself into the pursuit of pleasures entirely new to a little schoolgirl. She at once learnt to ride. Dressed in an elegant riding-habit, made to display her delicate and supple figure to perfection, and accompanied by her husband, she would spring into the saddle the first thing in the morning, as light as a bird, and as pleased with her liberty; then three or four times a day, with childlike glee, she would array herself in new dresses from Léonard or Mademoiselle Bertin; and we may be sure that they in no way resembled[Pg 32] the little black convent-frock. At all the entertainments given in honour of her wedding, she fascinated everybody by her grace and liveliness; she danced with such spirit, acted so naturally and with so much animation, sang with a voice so youthful and fresh, that her husband, though not sharing her worldly tastes, was happy in her pleasure, and allowed her to give herself up to it without restraint.

Immediately after her arrival Hélène was presented at the Court of the Netherlands. The Ligne family possessed a magnificent palace at Brussels, near the Cathedral of Sainte Gudule, and often resided there during the winter. At that time the Viceroy was Prince Charles of Lorraine; he had married the Archduchess Marie-Anne,[10] sister of Marie-Thérèse, and was now a widower.

[Pg 33]

The Prince of Lorraine often came to hunt at Bel Œil. “He could not help being kind, even in his fits of temper, which were rare. One day, for instance, while hunting, on which occasion he gave himself the airs of an old huntsman, enraged at a number of people who disturbed the hunt by overrunning the forest at Bel Œil, he called out: ‘Go to the devil!—if you please, gentlemen,’ he added, taking off his hat.”

The liveliest, wittiest, and most fashionable man at the Court of Brussels was certainly the Prince de Ligne’s father, and he enjoyed his life there extremely. “It was,” he says, “a nice Court, gay and at the same time secure, idle and agreeable, with plenty of drinking and hunting.” However, when the Duke[Pg 34] held a levee, and invited ladies, nothing but the most inoffensive gaiety was permitted, for the Prince hated all license and bad taste.

Prince Charles’s palace at Brussels was an immense and ancient building. Brussels reminded one somewhat of Paris, the town offering every kind of resource. The cours was the favourite promenade, and there the grandest equipages were to be seen. The coachbuilders of Brussels were famous, and the Duke was anxious that the nobility should possess the most elegant specimens of their work. Hélène made her first appearance on the cours in a superb gilt coach made by Simon; all the panels were delicately painted, in the most beautiful vernis Martin,[11] by clever Viennese artists.

In spite of his love for the Court of Brussels and his passion for Bel Œil, the Prince never stayed very long at either; he generally started off at a moment’s notice.[Pg 35] “What a charming existence mine was, in my dear and delightful Bel Œil. In twenty-four hours’ time I could be either in Paris or in London, at the Hague, at Spa, etc. Once I went to Paris to spend one hour there, and another hour at Versailles, after the Queen’s last confinement: I saw her on the fourth day,” he carefully adds.

“On another occasion I took all my company there to the opera in a coach of my own.”

It was natural that the Prince should like Paris and Versailles, for he was the soul and life of the little intimate circle around the Queen; his presence gave animation to everything, and his invariable good humour and sallies of wit always secured him a smiling welcome. He was to be seen everywhere, arranging or disarranging the gardens; presiding at entertainments and directing the illuminations: he took part in the Queen’s lansquenet, Mesdames’ cavagnole, Monsieur’s whist, the Prince de Condé’s quinze, the King’s game of billiards,[Pg 36] and the Prince de Conti’s pharaon.[12] He said everything that came into his head; but although he gave way to much exaggerated merriment, from time to time, under cover of a joke, he would make many serious truths acceptable.

His great friends were the Polignacs,[13] whose intimate society consisted of the Coignys, the Conflans, the Comte de Vaudreuil, and the Chevalier de l’Isle. He always defended the Polignacs against the numerous accusations which were brought against them.

He writes: “There is no one more virtuous and more disinterested than all these Jules, but their company was sometimes[Pg 37] monotonous, so great was their fear of giving rise to prating and gossip; the Comtesse Diane was the only one whose conversation was at all lively.”

The Prince was particularly intimate with the Chevalier de l’Isle,[14] the least known member of the little circle. The Chevalier was an excellent officer, an encyclopedist, and a poet, a correspondent of Voltaire[15] and also of the Prince de Ligne, who held him in great esteem. He was a master of song, and reigned supreme in the art of letter-writing. He had never composed a faulty verse, or written a letter that was not both witty and in excellent style; however, in society he was wanting both in good taste and breeding, giving way to ill-temper and familiarity.[Pg 38] So as to make believe that he dined with the Queen at the Polignacs on Sundays, he would arrive the first after dinner, that those who came after him should be deceived by this manœuvre. He wrote regularly to the Prince about all that went on at Versailles during his absence. The following is an example of his letters:—

The Queen was an object of devotion to the Prince de Ligne. “Who could[Pg 43] see the unfortunate Marie Antoinette without adoring her?” he writes thirty years later.[18] “I only realised it the day she said to me: ‘My mother is displeased at your remaining so long at Versailles; go and spend some days at your post; from thence write letters to Vienna, in order to show where you are, then come back.’ Such kindness, such delicacy on her part, and still more the idea of having to spend a fortnight without seeing her, drew tears from my eyes; but the charming heedlessness, which preserved her from all coquetry prevented her noticing my emotion.

“As I do not believe in a passion which cannot be reciprocated, a fortnight was sufficient to cure me of a sentiment I now admit for the first time, and which, for fear of ridicule, I never should have confessed to any one else.... Have I ever seen in her society anything that did not bear the impress of grace, kindliness, and good taste?[Pg 44] She intuitively knew an intriguer miles off, and hated every kind of deceit; that is why she preferred the society of the Polignacs and their friends—that is to say, Valentine Esterhazi, Bésenval, Vaudreuil, Ségur, and myself.”

If the Prince worshipped the Queen, on the other hand he had little esteem for the King. He writes: “The King—in whom I hoped to find some good qualities, whom it may be said I have protected, whose mind I have endeavoured to elevate by interesting discourses, instead of his hunting topics or idiotic conversation—cares for nothing but tomfoolery. His practical jokes are always aimed at Conflans, Coigny, or the Polignacs’ friends. The Queen has managed to cure him of this habit. It was at bedtime that his Majesty liked to worry us. He possessed, however, a certain tact in the midst of his rough jokes. One day, when he was threatening us with his blue ribbon, which he tried to throw at some one’s head, the Duc de Laval withdrew. The King said: ‘Do not fear,[Pg 45] Monsieur; it has nothing to do with you.’... Coigny, the eternal fault-finder, said to me one day: ‘Would you like to know what these three brothers are? A fat locksmith, the wit of a country public-house, and a street fop.’ The two last epithets applied to Monsieur and the Comte d’Artois.”

When the Prince returned to Bel Œil he delighted his youthful daughter-in-law with these tales; for although she liked Flanders fairly well when not there alone with her mother-in-law, she could not help regretting Paris, when her husband’s duties recalled him to the army, and her fickle father-in-law went off on his incessant travels.

It will be remembered that the Dowager-Princess had absolutely refused to consent to a residence in Paris during the winter months. She was right, for although the officers generally returned to their respective capitals during the bad season, the military profession did not allow much leisure time, and Prince Charles, being in the Austrian service, would[Pg 46] scarcely have been able to spend his leave in Paris. The young Princess would therefore have been left to the care of an aunt, who had no authority over her, or to that of a father-in-law, more absorbed in amusing himself than acting as mentor to his daughter-in-law. This delicate and dangerous position had naturally alarmed the Princesse de Ligne, but Hélène had not such foresight; the pleasure she anticipated of appearing in the brilliant society of which she had only just caught a glimpse outweighed any feelings of prudence, and she quite hoped to obtain her husband’s consent in the matter.

The first step consisted of her presentation at Court. Hélène had gained an ally in her aunt the Princess, who was quite ready to conduct her pretty niece to Versailles; but the latter wished to make her appearance there with all the honours of war—that is, with those of the tabouret.[19] This could only be[Pg 47] obtained by virtue of certain rights. The rank of grandee of Spain was a sufficient title. The Prince de Ligne possessed this rank, and Hélène persuaded her husband to ask the Prince to make it over to him. Such a request was not a small affair. The young Prince was rather embarrassed, the more so that this request would entail another, that of a grant of money. Magnificent costumes and jewels, etc., had absorbed the largest part of the young couple’s income. However, incapable of refusing any wish of his wife’s, Prince Charles took heart, and decided upon writing. He immediately received from his father, who was then at Versailles, the most charming reply:—

The Prince had not spoken lightly when he said to his son that they would go to Poland for the indigénat.[24] In the midst of all the pleasures and amusements of Versailles he suddenly departed. “Family interests,” he says, “obliged me to undertake a long journey. My son Charles has married a pretty little Pole, but her family has given us paper in lieu of hard cash. Their claims were on the Russian Court; it was necessary to go and present them. In June 1780 I started for[Pg 53] Vienna, Prague, Dresden, Berlin, Saint Petersburg, Warsaw, Cracow,—where I had much to do,—Mogylani,[25] Léopol, and Brunn,—where I was in love. I must not forget to add that I started from Paris and the Rue de Bourbon, from the house of the Duchesse de Polignac, who had just been confined,[26] and where I had dined with the Queen. I promised to return at the same hour in six months’ time, and ordered my livery coach and courier in consequence.”

The sum of money the Prince de Ligne claimed in the name of his daughter-in-law was considerable. It amounted to four hundred thousand roubles, which were well worth the trouble of recovering. However, we incline to the belief that these family affairs were merely a cloak for political designs; the journey was probably intended to carry on the preliminaries of a negotiation[Pg 54] begun by Joseph II. and the Empress Catherine in their interview at Mohileff. The Prince started from Vienna, whither he had gone to receive his final instructions. His companions on the journey were his son Charles, and his friend the Chevalier de l’Isle.

“I made de l’Isle a colonel,” he says, “by simply saying when in Austria, Prussia, Poland, and Russia that he was one, and buying him a pair of epaulets. I was also obliged to knight him,” he adds, “in order to distinguish him in foreign parts from the Abbé of the same name.”[27]

The Princes started on their journey a year after the war of the Bavarian succession had ended. “This war entailed on the King of Prussia a large expenditure of men, horses, and money; it procured him an appearance of honesty and disinterestedness,[Pg 55] and some political amenities, but it brought him no military honour, and caused him to entertain very bitter feelings towards us. Without any apparent reason the King forbade Austrian officers to enter his dominions without a special permit signed by him. The Austrian Court retaliated by making the same rule with regard to Prussian officers. This gave rise to mutual discomfort without reason or profit. Being of a confiding nature, I thought I could do without a permit, but the desire to have a letter from the great Frederick, rather than the fear of being badly received, induced me to write to him.”

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

“Having to wait until twelve o’clock, at which hour I was to be presented to the King, together with my son Charles and M.[Pg 56] de l’Isle, I went to the parade ground, and was soon surrounded and escorted by Austrian deserters, especially those from my own regiment, who tried to fawn upon me and ask my forgiveness for having left me. The hour for the presentation arrived, and the King received me in the most charming fashion. The military stiffness of headquarters was exchanged for a tender and benevolent welcome. He said he did not know I had so old a son.

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

“‘May I ask to whom?’

“‘To a Pole—a Massalski.’

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

“‘No, Sire,’ replied Charles.

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

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

[Pg 57]

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

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

“Every day the King had long conversations with me, often of five hours at a time, and completely fascinated me: fine arts, war, medicine, literature and religion, philosophy, moral philosophy, history and legislation, were all reviewed in turn. The great eras of Augustus and Louis XIV.; the refined society of the Romans, the Greeks, and the Franks; the chivalry of Francis the First; the frankness and valour of Henry the Fourth; the revival of learning; anecdotes of clever men of former days, and their failings; Voltaire’s errors,[Pg 58] Maupertuis’s irritability, and I know not what else. In fact, anything and everything. The most varied and wittiest things were said by the King in a soft, low, and agreeable voice, with an inexpressibly graceful movement of the lips. The charm of his manner was, I think, the reason why one did not notice that, like Homer’s heroes, he was rather a babbler, though certainly a sublime one. His eyes, always too hard in his portraits, although strained with work and the fatigues of war, softened in their expression when listening to or relating some noble deed or trait of sensibility....

“One morning, as I arrived at the palace, the King came forward and said: ‘I fear I must be the bearer of bad news; I have just heard that Prince Charles of Lorraine is dying.’ He looked to see what effect the news would have on me, and seeing the tears fall from my eyes, he gradually and gently changed the conversation. The next day, the moment he saw me, the King came up,[Pg 59] and said with an air of the deepest concern: ‘Since you must hear of the death of a man who loved you and honoured mankind, it is better that it should be through some one who feels it as sincerely as I do; poor Prince Charles is no more!’ He was deeply affected as he said these words.”

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

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

“‘How true! Did I not try to plant, sow, dig, and hoe, with the Georgics as my guide? “But, Sire,” the gardener used to say, not knowing who I was: “You are a fool, and your book also; it is not so that one sets to work.” Good heavens, what a climate! would you believe it, God and the sun refuse me everything! Look[Pg 60] at my orange, olive, and lemon trees, they are all dying of hunger.’

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

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

The Prince knew that the King could not bear M. de Ried, and that it was because the latter had mentioned the taking of Berlin by Marshal Haddik that the King had conceived such a dislike for him; therefore, when Frederick asked him if he found Berlin much altered, he took care not to remind him that he was one of those who took possession of it in 1760. “He was pleased with my reticence, for he was an old wizard,[Pg 61] who guessed everything, and whose tact was the finest that ever existed.”

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

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

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

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

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

[Pg 62]

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

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

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

“Her chin, though rather pointed, did not exactly project; nor was it a receding chin, but one nobly proportioned. The oval of her face was not good, and yet it was pleasing, for the expression of her mouth was full of frankness and mirth. She must have had a[Pg 63] fresh complexion and a fine bust, which, however, she got at the cost of her figure; she had been almost too slight, but one becomes very stout in Russia. She was clean, and if her hair had not been drawn so far back, but allowed to surround her face, she would have been better looking. One did not notice she was small; when she told me, in a slow manner, that she had been very vivacious, it seemed impossible to realise it. On entering a drawing-room she always made the same three bows, like a man, in the Russian style; one to the right, one to the left, and the other in the middle. Everything about her was measured and methodical.”

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

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

“‘I fancied your Majesty tall, stiff as a poker, with eyes like stars, and a large hoop. I thought also I should only have to[Pg 64] admire, and constant admiration is very fatiguing.’

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

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

“It was this contrast of simplicity in what she said with the great deeds she performed that made her interesting. A trifle amused her; she was pleased at the smallest joke, and cleverly turned it to account. One day I told her that to silence the reproaches of a lady who was displeased with my scarcity of talk, and looking bored in her house, I replied that I had just heard of the death of an aunt who had brought me[Pg 65] up. When the Empress was bored on the grand reception days, she would say to me: ‘My uncle is about to die.’ Then I would hear it murmured: ‘We are going to have a mourning.’ And all the Court would search up the uncle in the almanac, and of course not find him.”

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

[Pg 66]

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

To this present Catherine added jewels for the Princesse de Ligne and her daughters; Prince Charles received a rich casket for Hélène, and the Princes left for Poland, having forgotten only one thing, viz. the claim of four hundred thousand roubles, for which they had undertaken their journey.[Pg 67] “For,” says the Prince gaily, “it seemed to me a want of delicacy to take advantage of the favour with which I was received to obtain favours.”

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

The Dietine (sub-Diet) of Wilna had assembled to elect deputies for the Diet of[Pg 68] Warsaw. The Bishop gathered round his table eighty-four Polish gentlemen, nearly all wearing the national costume, and having their heads shaved after the Polish fashion. Before dinner each of them came up to salute the Bishop by respectfully kissing the hem of his robe. At the end of the repast healths were drunk; the Bishop proclaimed the name of the person whose health was proposed; then he filled an antique cup, beautifully chased, emptied it and turned it over, showing that he had drained it to the bottom. He then passed it to his right-hand neighbour, and in this way it went round the table. These toasts were always celebrated with champagne or Tokay. After an interesting sojourn at Werky and Wilna, the Princes, accompanied by the Bishop, started for Warsaw. We have seen that in the negotiations for the marriage of the Duc d’Elbœuf with Hélène the Prince-Bishop and the Marquis de Mirabeau had dreamt of the Polish throne for the young Princess’s future husband. This[Pg 69] idea had taken possession of the Bishop’s brain; and the accounts that were given to him of Saint Petersburg, and the peculiarly cordial reception that the Princes had received, confirmed him in it. Persuaded that the Prince was far advanced in the Empress’s good graces, and convinced that the King Stanislaus-Augustus was no longer in favour, the Bishop, ever ready to throw himself into a new adventure, took advantage of the opening of the Diet to propose the Marshal as candidate for the indigénat.

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

Twenty-five candidates came forward to[Pg 70] obtain the indigénat; twenty-four of them were set aside, the Prince alone was retained; but it required a unanimous vote, and three opponents came forward. “They were nearly cut down, and the violence of one of the nuncios,[30] who laid his hand on his sword, uttering very threatening words, nearly broke up the Diet, and my too zealous partisan had a narrow escape of losing his head.

“I sought my opponents; I succeeded in overcoming their prejudices, and that so thoroughly that they said, with a grace and eloquence worthy of their country, that, in favour of an acquisition they considered so honourable, they would, each in turn, solicit the vote of one of their friends. Against all custom, I rushed into the nuncios’ hall, and embraced the mustachios of these three orators. It electrified me, for I began an oration myself—in Latin too! then I took them by the hand, and my advances resulted[Pg 71] in a general sgoda,[31] which rang three times through the hall, nearly bringing it down, so great were the universal acclamations.”

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

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

The Dowager-Princess generally took advantage of her husband’s absence to reduce the expenses of her household, and reestablish, as much as possible, a condition of things too often upset by the Prince, who, like the amiable spendthrift that he was, gaily threw millions out of the window. Hélène would gladly have taken her share in superintending the household; for she had learnt at the Convent how[Pg 73] to keep house, and was naturally proud of her acquirements. She gracefully proffered her services to her mother-in-law, anxious to display her domestic qualities, but the Princesse de Ligne was not disposed to share her authority with any one, and coldly refused her daughter-in-law’s offer. Hélène, rebuffed and humiliated, did not complain, but it left a feeling of rancour in her mind, and from that moment the relations between mother and daughter-in-law became more strained. At last the Prince’s six months’ journey drew to a close, and it was with twofold joy that Hélène hailed her husband’s return, and the end of the harsh tutelage under which she had been living.

The Princes found their family at Brussels, and in the spring went to Bel Œil, where they spent the summer together, with the exception of Prince Louis, who was detained by his service in Paris, and could seldom be with them. The life at Bel Œil was extremely gay and animated; the[Pg 74] stream of visitors was incessant, and poured in from all sides—Brussels, Paris, and even Vienna. The officers of the de Ligne regiment came to stay in turns. Not only did the Prince keep open house—that is to say, that people could come and spend the day there without any previous warning, but there was also a certain number of apartments kept in readiness for any unexpected guests who might come for a longer visit. Among the intimates at Bel Œil were the most charming women of the Court of Brussels.

Although the de Lignes provided ample entertainment and amusement for their guests, a due part of the day was devoted to more serious occupations. The mornings were given up to study. Music, literature, drawing, etc., were cultivated in turn. “Christine pastes and unpastes, Hélène sings and is enchanting,” wrote the Prince. As for him, he was no sooner up than, book in hand, he went to his island of Flora, or worked in his library, or else inspected the[Pg 75] gardens. He already possessed a private printing-press in his house at Brussels; he installed another at Bel Œil, which was a source of great amusement.[32] Prince Charles in particular busied himself with it, but he confined himself to publishing the works of others; his father, the Chevalier de l’Isle, and the Abbé Payez, provided ample material for the small presses of Bel Œil.

Prince Charles, who was an enthusiastic admirer of pictures, had found time, in spite of his studies and military duties, to make a magnificent collection of original drawings, both of ancient and modern masters.[33] He was a thorough connoisseur, and drew well himself, he even undertook to engrave some of the drawings in his collection, and[Pg 76] sent for the celebrated Bartsch to give him lessons at Bel Œil. Hélène interested herself in her husband’s occupations, and, while he was engraving, put the drawings in order, studied under his guidance the different styles of each master, and became quite an enlightened amateur. These intellectual occupations took up the first half of the day, after which the family and numerous visitors assembled for dinner. After an hour’s rest they all went into the gardens, where they wandered about, or indulged in reverie, or gathered together according to taste. There were a hundred different pastimes, and a hundred different ways of enjoying one’s self; the Prince had anticipated every taste and every wish. Sometimes they went long excursions on horseback or in carriages to the beautiful forest of Baudour, adjoining the woods of Bel Œil, or they sailed on the large lake which was connected with the canals, rivers, and smaller lakes of the park. The boats were decked out with streamers,[Pg 77] and manned by small boatmen dressed in the Prince’s livery. “During the lovely summer evenings,” he writes, “our excursions on the water, with music and a bright moonlight, were most agreeable to the ladies.”

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

At this period Brussels presented the most brilliant and animated aspect. Prince Charles of Lorraine had been succeeded by the Archduchess[Pg 78] Marie-Christine, formerly Regent of Hungary, where she had enjoyed the privileges of a queen. She held her court on a grand scale, and did the honours of it with grace and affability. The Archduchess was considered the handsomest of Marie-Thérèse’s four daughters. She danced so gracefully and so lightly that, directly she began, every one stopped to admire. Although pretending to be annoyed, she was, on the contrary, far from displeased at the admiration she provoked. She had married the Archduke Albert of Saxe-Teschen,[34] who was entirely under his wife’s influence, and, unlike Prince Charles of Lorraine, never gained the hearts of the Flemish. Nevertheless, the Archduke’s gentle and easy character made him beloved by all who approached him. He was an intelligent connoisseur in pictures, and formed two[Pg 79] magnificent collections of paintings and drawings.

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

If Belgium had not become the scene of political events, it is probable that the Prince would have founded a school of literature and good taste, for he occasionally evinced in his writings talent of the highest order. Ideas flowed in abundance from his fertile pen,[Pg 80] and he seemed merely to jot them down on the paper at haphazard. His style, which is capricious, incorrect, and even obscure, is always lively and descriptive; each word seems to fall naturally into its place under his pen; wit abounds, unexpected, satirical, and sometimes most daring. He has the greatest contempt for grammar; but this very negligence, this lordly indifference, gives to his writings a most original style.

Moreover, he possessed all the requisites of an excellent critic, but it must be acknowledged that he was blindly indulgent towards his own poetry. Unfortunately gifted with deplorable facility, he never missed an opportunity of rhyming. One evening, when they had all gone for a long walk in the woods, they wandered so far into the forest that they completely lost their way, and only found it, thanks to a star Hélène had noticed. On the following day her father-in-law brought her a ballad, set to a tune then in vogue, and perhaps among[Pg 81] all those he has written, it may be considered as one of the best:—

À Hélène.

Air: Sous la Verdure.

And so the days passed quickly and pleasantly, the only drawback in this happy[Pg 82] scene being the state of Hélène’s health, which required an amount of care her youth and love of pleasure made it difficult for her to take. Two accidents had successively destroyed a hope dearly cherished by her husband, and even more by her father-in-law, who was anxious that his beloved Charles should have a son. The waters of Spa, then very much the fashion, were recommended. Hélène went there in the month of May 1782, accompanied by the Chevalier de l’Isle, and her convent friend, Mademoiselle de Conflans, who was now Marquise de Coigny,[36] and on intimate terms[Pg 83] with the de Lignes. Hélène wrote to appoint a meeting-place. The Chevalier de l’Isle, who had a ready pen and familiar style, answered as follows: “Madame de Coigny embraces Mouchette,[37] and exhorts her to wait for her to go to Spa till the fifteenth of next month.” Hélène waited for her, and they started together with the Chevalier; he only remained a short time, and on his return wrote to the Prince de Ligne: “I did not write to you from Spa, my dear Prince, because I hoped to see you there, and then because I intended stopping at Brussels, at Bel Œil even; I had begged the Princesse Charles, who talks much better than I can write, to speak to you of me in her spare moments. She has none? So much the better for both her and you, and so much the worse for me. But I had my turn at Spa; twenty times I was on the point of writing, if only to tell you how[Pg 84] charming your daughter-in-law was, and then I reflected that you were not the man to ignore it, and that when one has nothing fresh to say, one had better hold one’s tongue.”

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

A watering-place at that time was very much like what it is in our days, but the Prince describes it in the most spirited manner: “I arrive in a large hall, where I find the maimed showing off their arms and their legs; ridiculous names, titles, and faces; clerical and worldly animals jumping and running races; hypochondriac milords wandering sadly about; females from Paris entering with roars of laughter, to make one believe they are amiable and at their ease, and hoping thereby to become so; young men of all countries, counterfeiting the English, speaking with their teeth closed, and dressed like grooms, their hair cut short, black, and greasy, with a[Pg 85] pair of Jewish whiskers surrounding dirty ears.

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

“Old duchesses returning from their walks armed with tall canes à la Vendôme, and three coatings of white and rouge; marchionesses, cheating doubly at cards; horrible and suspicious faces, surrounded by piles of ducats, and swallowing up all those that were timidly put on the large green cloth; two or three electors in hunting-dress, striped with gold, armed with hunting-knives;[Pg 86] a few princes incognito, who would not produce a greater sensation under their own names; some old generals and officers retired on account of wounds they never received; a few Russian princesses with their doctors, and Palatines and Castilian ladies with their young chaplains.

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

After leaving the establishment of the mineral waters, the Prince takes us to La Sauvetière, an elegant meeting-place for bathers: “The noise, the buzzing sound of[Pg 87] conversation, the uproar of the music, the intoxicating rhythm of the waltz, the passing and repassing of the idlers, the oaths and sobs of the gamblers, both men and women, the weariness of this magic-lantern made me leave the hall. I sit down, and I see some water drinkers religiously counting their glasses and their steps, and congratulating themselves, perhaps rather sadly, on the improvement of their digestion. Some ladies join their group.

“‘Do you digest the waters, Madame?’

“‘Yes, sir, since yesterday.’

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

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

[Pg 88]

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

Just at this time they received news of the Comte d’Artois’ arrival in Flanders,[39] and[Pg 89] the Princes de Ligne started off at once to receive and accompany him on his progress through Rocroi and Spa, bringing him back with them to Bel Œil.

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

After the departure of the Comte d’Artois, the Chevalier de Boufflers and Madame de Sabran came to Bel Œil. Hearing that the[Pg 90] Chevalier was garrisoned at Valenciennes, the Prince wrote and proposed his joining him at Tournai, and from there returning with him to Bel Œil. The Chevalier replied: “I am very much tempted, my dear Charlot, by all you suggest; but on closely examining your marching orders, I believe that my regiment is the very thing I should miss. Tell me when you go to Tournai; I intend going there, and defying you at the head of your army, and if I find it on two Lignes (lines), I shall try to break through them.

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

[Pg 91]

The Chevalier arrived at Bel Œil in time to take part in the representation of the Mariage de Figaro, which was given with great success in the pretty theatre at Bel Œil. Hélène took the part of Suzanne; Madame de Sabran that of the Countess; Elzéar, Chérubin, and Boufflers, Figaro; as for the Prince-father, he had to content himself with the modest part of Doublemain, the notary’s clerk; we must confess that, though he gave others[41] good advice, he acted very badly himself. He was generally given the part of the notary who draws up the marriage-contract, or that of the lackey who brings in a letter, and would invariably come in at the wrong moment; but on the other hand, once on the stage he would not leave it, but say in a supplicating whisper to the[Pg 92] other actors: “I am not in your way, am I?”

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

Prince Charles willingly lent himself to his wife’s amusements, though he took no active part in them; but his serious mind required occupations of a different order. He took a keen interest in all scientific discoveries, and at that moment was much taken up with the new process of aerostation invented by Charles Pilatre de Rozier and Montgolfier. He witnessed the first experiments made in Paris, and among others the[Pg 93] ascension of a fire balloon, in the gardens of La Muette, on the 21st of November 1783, made by Pilatre de Rozier and D’Arlandes. The aeronauts were in the greatest danger, their balloon having caught fire; they managed to extinguish it, and made their descent at Gentilly in safety. At that time a balloon ascension was looked upon as a most daring undertaking, and no one cared to accompany the aeronauts. But Prince Charles, whose courage and coolness were proof against everything, determined to take part in the third ascent, which took place at Lyons on the 19th of January 1784. The seven passengers were: the elder Montgolfier, Pilatre de Rozier, Fontaine, Prince Charles, and three other persons who at the last moment wished to ascend. Although the balloon was of enormous size, the number of passengers was too great; De Rozier had foreseen this, and did not wish the two last persons to enter the car. Montgolfier persuaded him, however, to let things be; but[Pg 94] they were hardly off, and had only run about five hundred fathoms, when the balloon began imperceptibly to tear, and they were obliged to make a hasty and perilous descent at a distance of about a league from the town. On their return to Lyons they were received with acclamations by the whole population. In April 1784 Prince Charles sent off from the public square in front of the hôtel des États, at Mons, a magnificent balloon, constructed at his own expense. He had invited the Duke and Duchess of Aremberg and a great many distinguished personages of the Courts of Brussels and Versailles, who, after the ascent of the balloon, all returned to Bel Œil.[42]

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[Pg 96] 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[Pg 97] 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.[Pg 98] 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[Pg 99] 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[Pg 100] 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[Pg 101] 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]

[Pg 102]

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[Pg 103] 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[Pg 104] 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[Pg 105] 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[Pg 106] 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[Pg 107] 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,[Pg 108] 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.

[Pg 109]

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[Pg 110] 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[Pg 111] 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[Pg 112] 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[Pg 113] 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[Pg 114] 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[Pg 115] 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[Pg 116] 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[Pg 117] 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[Pg 118] 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[Pg 119] 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.

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[Pg 121] 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.

[Pg 122]

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[Pg 123] 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[Pg 124] 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[Pg 125] 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.[Pg 126] 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[Pg 127] (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[Pg 128] 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[Pg 129] 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.’

[Pg 130]

“‘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[Pg 131] 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[Pg 132] 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.

[Pg 133]

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,[Pg 134] 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!

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.

The news of the taking of Sabacz had[Pg 141] 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[Pg 142] 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[Pg 143] 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[Pg 144] 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[Pg 145] 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.

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.

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[Pg 155] 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[Pg 156] 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[Pg 157] 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.

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[Pg 159] 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[Pg 160] 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,[Pg 161] 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[Pg 162] 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[Pg 163] 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.[Pg 164][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[Pg 165] 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.

[Pg 166]

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[Pg 167] 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[Pg 168] 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[Pg 169] 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[Pg 170] 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[Pg 171] 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[Pg 172] 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.[Pg 173] 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[Pg 174] 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:—

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[Pg 178] 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[Pg 179] 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[Pg 180] 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[Pg 181] 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[Pg 182] 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[Pg 183] 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.

[Pg 184]

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

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

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

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

About this time, that is, towards the end of 1790, the Comtesse Vincent, who had completely recovered her health, left Ukrania, and joined her husband at Warsaw. It was impossible to prevent her return, and equally impossible to conceal from her the growing intimacy between the Lord Chamberlain and[Pg 185] the Princesse de Ligne, whose reputation of coquetry and beauty had already reached her ears.

The Comtesse Anna adored her husband, and in spite of all his efforts to hide the truth from her she soon discovered it, and absolutely refused to admit the Princess within her doors. “I shall never consent,” she said to her husband, “to receive the woman who has robbed me of your affection, whatever may be the nature of your intimacy.” The Count, very much surprised at this unexpected resistance on her part, vainly endeavoured to dispel his wife’s suspicion, but when Hélène called on the Countess she found the door closed. Mortally wounded by this affront, she gave way to all the violence of her character; she declared to the Count that she insisted on his compelling his wife to receive her, adding that she could never rest under an insult that dishonoured her in the eyes of the world. The Count, after trying in vain to calm her, finally flew into a[Pg 186] passion, and after a terrible scene abruptly left her. Utterly upset by the manner in which the Count had left her on the previous day, Hélène sent him the very next morning these few lines, written in such a state of agitation as to be almost illegible:—

“I am writing to you without knowing how to begin. What a scene! I am still quite unnerved by it; you have left me, abandoned me, and nothing remains to alleviate my despair. I am alone in the world. I have neglected my friends, broken all ties, burnt under your eyes all the proofs of the affection which my husband once bestowed on me. I have destroyed secrets, confidences, assurances of tenderness from the friends of my childhood, and yesterday you retracted the few words of affection which have at times escaped your lips. Who will console me in my affliction? I leave it to you to imagine what remains after this. Good-bye, my dear Vincent; in any case, should I meet you again, you will always be the eternal object of my affections,[Pg 187] and should nothing bring you back to me, that of my eternal regrets. In any case you alone will occupy all my thoughts, and possess till death all my affection.

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

This note was returned to the Princess, a few minutes later, by the messenger who had taken it. The seal was unbroken,[89] but on it were traced two lines, in the Comtesse Anna’s own handwriting, with the following words: “The Count left this morning for Niemirow.” This news filled Hélène with dismay; she fancied the Countess rejoicing at her grief, triumphing in his departure, and preparing to join her husband and her children. A mad idea shot through her brain; she rang at once, and[Pg 188] ordered a post-chaise to be brought round immediately. Half an hour later the Princess threw herself into the carriage, accompanied by only one of her women, and after a journey of astounding rapidity arrived at Niemirow a few hours after the Count.

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

The Princess, dreading lest the Count should change his mind, urged that their plans should be carried out without delay, and the very next day three letters were[Pg 189] despatched from Niemirow, the first addressed to the Comtesse Anna, the second to the Prince de Ligne, and the third to the Bishop of Wilna. The Count offered his wife the custody of their two sons, besides a large annuity, if she would consent to the divorce. The Princess requested that her daughter Sidonie should be sent back to her, and that the Prince-Bishop and a trustee appointed by her, and invested with her full authority, should settle all questions of interest with the de Ligne family. Then, in a letter to her uncle, she informed him of her intended divorce, asking him not to withdraw his sympathy from her, and help her in the settlement of her affairs.

The Comtesse Anna was in total ignorance of what had taken place; her husband’s letter told her the sad truth. The unhappy woman could as yet hardly believe in the reality of the blow which had fallen upon her. She had scarcely been married four years, and her unvarying gentleness and blameless character[Pg 190] ought to have secured to her the lasting affection of the husband she adored, and whose fondest wish had been fulfilled by the birth of two sons. She still hoped that this intimacy would be but a passing fancy, and refused to consent to a divorce.

Her answer was simple and touching:—

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

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

[Pg 191]

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

“Your very humble and very obedient servant,

Anna Potocka.”

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

While these romantic events were taking place in Ukrania others of a more serious nature were occurring in Flanders. Van der Noot, uniting his efforts to those of Vonck and Van der Mersch, had issued a manifesto exhorting the people of Brabant to rebellion, and on the same day, the 24th of October 1789, the little army of patriots assembled at Hasselt had invaded the Belgian territory.[90] The Emperor, suddenly[Pg 193] alarmed, tried to arrest the movement by making useless concessions; the violent irritation he felt at the defection of Flanders caused him to suspect every one belonging to the country of taking part in the rebellion. The Prince de Ligne himself, then at the siege of Belgrade, did not escape his displeasure, and it was then that he wrote him the harsh letter we have already mentioned. But Joseph soon recognised the injustice of his suspicions, and the Prince de Ligne was recalled. The latter obeyed at once, and wrote the following charming letter to the Emperor:—

Whilst the Prince de Ligne was returning to Vienna the insurgents seized Ghent and Brussels, and on the 2d of December 1789 they proclaimed that Joseph II. had forfeited the sovereignty of the Netherlands. Two months later the Emperor succumbed to a chronic disease, aggravated by grief and[Pg 196] anxiety.[92] The Prince de Ligne wrote to the Empress Catherine: “He is no more, Madame,—he is no more, the Prince who honoured the man, the man who still more honoured the Prince. He said to me a few days before his death, on my return from the Hungarian army which I had led into Silesia: ‘I was not fit to see you yesterday; your country has killed me.... The capture of Ghent is my agony, and the abandonment of Brussels my death. What an outrage’ (he repeated that word several times). ‘I am dying of it: one would have to be of stone to survive it. I thank you for all you have done for me. Laudon has spoken very well of you; I thank you for your fidelity. Go into Flanders;[Pg 197] bring back the country to its allegiance. If you cannot succeed, remain there; do not sacrifice your interests to me—you have children....’”

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

To the Five Ladies who so kindly received Me into their Society.

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

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

It was under Souvarof’s orders in Bessarabia[Pg 199] that Prince Charles fought his campaign. He was selected to conduct part of the operations at the famous siege of Ismaïl.[1]

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

1 Ismaïloff, a town of Russia in Europe (Bessarabia), situated on the Danube. The storming of Ismaïl is one of the most celebrated in history. The Russians, numbering 30,000, took possession of the town on 22d November 1790, and pillaged it for three days. The Russians, exasperated at the resistance they had met with, massacred two-thirds of the inhabitants.[Pg 200] Turks were massacred, and the town was given up to pillage. Prince Charles received a wound in the leg, which, however, did not stop him.

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

[Pg 201]

At the moment of Prince Charles’s entry into Ismaïl, and in the midst of the fire and pillage and the fearful carnage, he saw a child three or four years old standing alone under the doorway of a fine-looking house, and uttering the most heartrending cries; his beauty and the richness of his attire attracted the attention of the Prince; he took up the child in his arms; it ceased crying, and looked at him with eyes full of astonishment; then, terrified at the tumult and the horrible scenes going on around them, he hid his face on his deliverer’s breast, clinging to his neck with all the strength of his little arms. Much moved, the Prince hastily carried the child to a place of safety, and had it questioned by some prisoners who had escaped the massacre. All he could say was that he was called Norokos, and that his mother and the women who took care of him had been killed. The Prince chose among the prisoners a Turkish man and woman, gave the child into their keeping,[Pg 202] and commanded that he should receive every possible care, as he had decided to adopt him, and take him to Vienna on his return.

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

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

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

Almost immediately after the peace of Ismaïl the Empress began secretly to negotiate a treaty with the Turks. Preoccupied by events in France, and especially in Poland, she was anxious to be rid of a war which absorbed the[Pg 205] greatest part of her army. Prince Charles, aware of what was going on, asked and obtained his discharge. He announced his return to Vienna to his father, and came back escorted by a numerous retinue. He brought with him the little Norokos and his attendants, a Turkish band of twelve musicians, and magnificent presents of arms and horses that Marshal Souvarof and Prince Potemkin had given him.

The Prince de Ligne to his Son.

P.S.—To the bravest and prettiest fellow among the Volunteers.[95]

The Flemish rebellion was drawing to a close. After shaking off the Austrian yoke the first act of the Flemish people had been to divide into two hostile factions,[Pg 208] one of which was anxious to preserve the ancient, aristocratic, and sacerdotal constitution, to retain which had been the motive of the revolution, while the other faction supported the new doctrines of the constituent assembly in Paris. Leopold, who had learnt the art of negotiating in Tuscany, and was an astute politician, cleverly took advantage of the division of opinions, and on coming to the throne[98] promised to restore to Flanders all her ancient privileges, but at the same time despatched an army strong enough to subdue her if necessary. The country offered no resistance.[99]

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

[Pg 209]

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

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

Hélène’s sudden departure and prolonged stay in Ukrania had created a great sensation in Warsaw. The Princesse Maréchale and other great ladies, who were spending the winter in Vienna, related the adventure, and commented upon it. The Lignes, as may easily be supposed, were greatly offended at Hélène’s imprudent escapade, and, far[Pg 210] from favourably receiving her request for a divorce, they absolutely refused to consent to it. It may be supposed that if the lady whom he loved had been free, Prince Charles would have sent a different answer, but there existed, evidently, some insurmountable obstacle to their union. Meanwhile the Count, who directed all Hélène’s affairs, started for Paris, invested by her with full powers to treat with the Lignes; for the Princesse Charles was still under the delusion that her request would be granted. On his arrival in Paris he had a first interview with the Prince de Ligne’s steward, and gave him a copy of his deed of authorization.

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

The following is the letter the steward had brought.

[Pg 211]

Letter from the Prince de Ligne.

Prince Charles wished to send back at once all the diamonds, furniture, and effects left by Hélène at Bel Œil and at Brussels, and he wrote to his mother urging her to forward them at once to their destination. It will be remembered that Hélène had left Brussels hurriedly at the time of the insurrection,[Pg 213] and therefore had not had time to discharge a few personal debts contracted at her own expense. The Princesse de Ligne wrote to her daughter-in-law the following letter:—

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

“Your letter has made me very sad. There is no more question of your return than if you were never coming back. MM. de Ligne will listen to nothing; what can I do? What line of action can I take? What do they want of me? What is their object? They apparently hope that want will make[Pg 216] me submit to their will, and imagine they are granting me a favour by shutting me up in a Convent with a pension.[100] But even should they be willing to receive me back into their family, I would never return to them; all is at an end between them and me, and I should even prefer the Convent to the trial of living with people whom I do not love, and who would despise me; the word alone makes me shudder.

“As to the money question, it would be most painful to me to be a burden to anybody in the world; I would sooner live by manual work, and would not hesitate to begin by discarding all my household, and keeping only one servant.

“The few effects I possess, such as books, music, and some pieces of furniture, I no longer consider as my own; you will be good enough to take them into account in the sum[Pg 217] I owe you for table expenses, washing, etc.; for, as regards money, I can give you none. I have made a purchase this month, which I should have avoided had I known my affairs were in such a bad state. I spent forty ducats in buying linen to make chemises, for I required some, and it was difficult for me to do without them. I was shown some fine linen, and as it is often difficult to procure, I bought it. If I become a prey to absolute misery, I shall yet have the necessary courage to bear it. You will care as much for me in sackcloth as in silk, and I shall be quite happy. I do not wish even to return into society. I became acquainted early in life with its most brilliant attractions, and soon wearied of them; I shall never get weary of a quiet life, even attended with poverty, if you love me.”

The Princesse Charles was a prey to all kinds of anxiety; her imagination was constantly inventing dangers: “I am far from being reassured,” she wrote to the Count; “on the contrary, it seems to me that each[Pg 218] moment increases my anxiety and worry. I was told that on his return from Vienna the Krajczy had gone to Dubus. If you meet him I fear that he will encourage you to separate from me; he will certainly have known MM. de Ligne at Vienna; their cause will have interested him, and he will try to oblige them by urging you to abandon me. This idea tortures me. Answer me directly on this subject. Since Thursday I have been abandoned to the melancholy tenure of my thoughts, and that without any hope of consolation; I am in great dread lest your absence should be taken advantage of to get you to give up all idea of our union; do not ever expect my consent to this. Should it be necessary for your happiness, I am ready to release you from your vows, but nothing will induce me to break those by which I have bound myself to love you always.”

The Princess had received a very short answer to the letter she had sent to the Prince-Bishop. He had not written himself,[Pg 219] but had replied through his steward that he would reflect on the subject, and that he refused for the time being to treat with his niece’s delegate. Hélène wrote to the Count, and added:—

“If my uncle will not abide by the settlement, he has only to cancel it, and give me back my lands. But to take possession of my estates, and give me nothing in return, is really too unjust, and I cannot believe my uncle will let me die of hunger. It would be infamous if, with the immense fortune I possess, I were reduced to poverty by so cruel an injustice, notwithstanding every law to the contrary. God grant that I may escape the clutches of Silvestrowicz[101] with a sufficient income to be a burden to no one! But where is my uncle? Can I despatch any one to him, to explain my position and the ill-will of Silvestrowicz? I shall find myself without a sol,[102] and then what shall I do? tell me. But[Pg 220] how could it be possible for my uncle to rob me so completely, without my obtaining any redress? It is only in this country that such a thing could take place. I am indeed very unhappy, but I am so affected by your absence that it prevents my dwelling upon my other griefs, which, at this moment, are but a minor part of my sorrows. Good-bye, Vincent; love me, for your love is all I have left.”

The Count had just arrived in Poland, but seemed in no hurry to return to Ukrania.

He wrote to Hélène that his own business kept him away from her, but that she had nothing to fear from the influences she had mentioned in a former letter. “I am greatly relieved,” she answers, “to hear at last that you are in Poland, and to know that I have nothing to fear from the Krajczy; his wife, his daughter, and his sons are all intimate friends of MM. de Ligne, and I dreaded lest he might meddle with our affairs. As for myself, I consider the engagement which bound us to have been a fatal error, seeing we[Pg 221] were so young, and that our only fitness consisted in a mere similarity of birth and fortune. To you alone I have given my pledge, my real love, the most chaste and sacred of all ties.”

A short time after Hélène had fresh cause for anxiety. “Fancy,” she writes to the Count, “I have read in the Gazette de Hambourg that Prince Charles is about to return to the Russian army by Léopol; he must therefore pass by Niemirow, or at least quite near it. I assure you that your Cossacks are barely a sufficient protection to reassure a coward like myself.”[103] But the Prince passed through without troubling himself about her.

At last the Count announced his arrival.[Pg 222] “How my heart beats,” writes Hélène, “when I think that the moment is drawing near which will bring you back to me. I am so taken up by your return that whether you have successfully or unsuccessfully settled my business is a question which does not interest me as it would at any other time. I count the minutes, and can only speculate on the hour at which you started, and the hour at which you may arrive, and it seems to me as though I had centuries to wait.

“I hope you will receive this letter on your way. I have just received one from my uncle; it appears that he is not angry with me, and, with the exception of helping me by his influence or his money, is entirely devoted to me. What irony! But what can I do? If my family is indifferent to me, I am quite the same towards them; provided that you always love me, I shall have no wish left in the world; I have neither vanity nor ambition, I have only love.”

The Count arrived at Niemirow very much[Pg 223] dissatisfied with his journey, and anxious about the future. He had thought, from what Hélène had said, that he would meet with no opposition to a divorce on the part of the Lignes, and instead of the consent he expected, he had only received a very decided refusal, accompanied by a severe criticism of his own conduct, and of the interested motives which, rightly or wrongly, were attributed to him.

He had also fancied he would easily obtain his wife’s consent by leaving her his two sons; instead of this, his schemes were baffled on all sides by very serious difficulties.

On the other hand, the position of the Princess, who was living an isolated life, almost hidden, it may be said, in one of the Count’s residences, in the neighbourhood of Niemirow, could no longer be endured without serious inconvenience. The Comtesse Anna was very much beloved in the country, her two children inhabited Niemirow, and everybody was beginning to wonder at her[Pg 224] prolonged absence; how much more extraordinary would it appear when her husband should return! All these reflections threw the Count into a gloomy state of mind; he made a short stay at Kowalowska, but Hélène was pained by the coldness of his manner, and the embarrassment he showed during their first interview; he briefly narrated the unsatisfactory results of his journey, intimating that he could not remain at Niemirow, and advising her to go to her uncle’s and wait there for a solution which was probably very remote.

Although the Count made these announcements with a certain precaution, they produced a terrible impression on the Princess. She had behaved with the utmost good faith, persuaded that, to obtain a divorce and marry directly after, was the easiest thing in the world. Her marriage would cover the imprudence of her flight, and make every one forget the conclusions they had drawn from it. Suddenly she saw her dearest hopes[Pg 225] vanish, her honour compromised, and the man for whom she had sacrificed everything calmly suggest that she should leave him, perhaps for ever. The strain on her over-wrought mind was too great, and she fainted. When she came to herself her women only were around her bed, for the Count had returned to Niemirow. She wrote to him at once: “When you left me I was in the greatest despair, yet you never showed the slightest feeling of pity. I can only say that I shall find my life odious if you persist in your intention of abandoning me. I appeal to you for an account of my destiny thus committed to your charge. Is it possible you could dispose of it with so little reflection?”

Hélène in vain waited all day for a reply; the Count did not answer. The next day she received a few lines, saying that he was ill. The Princess was not in the habit of leaving Kowalowska, and had never entered the residence where the children of the Countess Anna were living. But in her[Pg 226] anxiety she forgot all prudence, and wrote as follows: “I am in despair at hearing you are ill; if you had sent me word sooner I should have perhaps found means of coming to see you. If you are unable to assist me otherwise, send me the key of the small garden gate; Saint Charles will follow me, and I will come, for it is impossible for me to let to-day pass without seeing you; I am in agony, and besides I have letters I must show you.”

The Count’s illness was only too genuine. The worry he had gone through during his journey, the awkwardness of his position, added to bodily fatigue, were probably its cause. At the end of three days a putrid fever of an alarming character declared itself, and for three months he was in danger of death.

The unhappy Hélène did not dare to take her place at his bedside; she only went secretly to his room in order to be certain that every care was bestowed on him. The Bishop of Wilna, on hearing what was taking[Pg 227] place, decided at last to write to his niece. He urged her to come and settle near him at Werky, and promised to forget her past imprudences if she would renounce her mad infatuation for the Count.

The Princess answered:—

[Pg 229]

After a convalescence which lasted as long as his illness, the Count started for Galicia. He had been touched by Hélène’s despair, and by her devotion to him. On leaving her he promised that he would again make every effort to obtain the divorce so ardently desired, and he left her, if not easy in her mind, at least somewhat reassured.

The pacification of Flanders was an accomplished fact, and in 1791 the Prince de Ligne, accompanied by Prince Charles, officially entered Mons as Grand Bailiff of Hainault. A magnificent banquet, followed by a concert and a ball, was given in their honour by the States of Hainault, in the Town Hall.[104]

Several poems were presented to the Prince de Ligne by the students of the college of Houdain and others. It is unnecessary to say that the virtues of the[Pg 231] Prince and the glory of his son were the chosen theme.

However, in the midst of this concert of praise, one discordant note was heard. A certain lawyer from Nivelle, called Masson, published a libel on the occasion. “Amongst several other things I have forgotten,” writes the Prince, “he said that at my entry as governor of Hainault I looked like an old Sultan, surrounded by women, to whom I devoted the whole of my attention, and that I had been stupid enough to accept in good faith acclamations of ‘Long live the Patriot Prince.’ This last statement is true. It was in a church, where I was either taking or administering the oath. I accepted this cry with the rest, without suspecting that its utterer had any malicious intention. As for the Sultan, he does me too much honour; it is true that, during my tedious progress, some very pretty girls threw bouquets into my carriage, and the crowd obliging them to stop near the door, I thanked them very much,[Pg 232] and told them they were charming. The only reproach which might be considered not quite unfounded was that concerning my entry. The war had just ended, as well as the rebellion in the Netherlands, both of which had cost me a great deal of money. I might have made debts and covered my followers with gold lace; but I thought, on the contrary, the people would be grateful to me for not making too great a display. As I had two Turks, four Hussars, several bearded Russians, a Tartar with two dromedaries, and a Turkish band, he might very well compare me to Tamerlane or the Emperor of China, though I do not remember exactly which of the two I was supposed to resemble.”

The Princes were very heartily received by the inhabitants of the good town of Mons, where they were much beloved; on the following day they started with their family for Bel Œil.

As soon as he was settled the first thing[Pg 233] the Prince did was to erect a monument in honour of his beloved son Charles, to perpetuate the memory of his brilliant conduct at Sabacz and at Ismaïl. He designed it himself, chose the site, and laid it out so as to imitate a spot in the Empress’s gardens at Czarskoë-Celo. “By following the left bank of the river,” he says, “you come upon an obelisk dedicated by Friendship to Valour. It is not my fault if Charles is the hero of it; it is not my fault if Charles distinguished himself in the war; it is not my fault if I am the father of such a perfect being. The father disappears, the man remains, and the hero is celebrated; I must not be accused of partiality, but I may be accused of pride.”

This obelisk, in marble, is forty-five feet high. On one side is inscribed, in gold letters, the following: “To my dear Charles, for Sabacz and Ismaïl;” on the second, “Nec te juvenis memoranda silebo;” and on the third, “His glory is my pride, his friendship my happiness.”

[Pg 234]

The de Lignes spent the summer at Bel Œil, happy to be quiet and united once more in the country they loved so well; but to an attentive observer the tranquillity which reigned in Flanders was not to be of long duration; threatening symptoms might be discerned on every side. The frightful progress of the French revolution, and the presence of the émigrés in the Netherlands, caused anxiety in many minds.

Savoy, Switzerland, the Black Forest, Liege, Treves, Luxemburg, and the Netherlands were the first asylums of the persecuted; it was only later on, when they had lost all hope of a speedy return, that they went to Vienna, London, Poland, and Russia. The Archduchess Marie Christine, regent in the Netherlands, was the sister of the Queen of France; it was natural she should protect the émigrés; but Leopold was not favourably disposed towards them, and in the very beginning of his reign he requested the Archduchess Christine and the Electors of[Pg 235] Mayence, Cologne, and Treves to do all in their power to prevent the refugees and the Princes from doing anything rash. “Do not allow yourselves to be led into anything,” he wrote; “do nothing the French or the Princes ask you to do; meet them with civilities and dinners, but give them neither troops, money, nor help of any sort.” He entirely separated the cause of the King from that of the émigrés.

The Prince de Ligne was extremely ill-disposed towards the Emperor Leopold; he reproached him with having sucked the milk of Italian dissimulation, and he would not have anything to do with his pretended political calculations. He adored the Queen, and his heart leaped with indignation at the thought of the dangers which daily threatened her more and more.

He had vainly solicited a command in the Austrian army. Leopold had carefully avoided granting his request, for he feared the imprudences his vivacity, his opinions,[Pg 236] and his chivalrous devotion might lead him to commit.

We must admit that the Prince de Ligne was no passionate admirer of liberty; he very soon foresaw the tendencies of the revolution, and in 1790 wrote to the Comte de Ségur concerning the National Assembly: “Greece had her philosophers, but they were only seven; you have twelve hundred of them at eighteen francs a day, having no mission but what they arrogate to themselves, no knowledge of foreign countries, no general plan of operations, and not even the sea, which is a sort of protection to the makers of empty phrases, and to the laws of the country it surrounds.”

The Prince never missed an opportunity of showing his sympathy for the royal family. One day he was present at a representation of Richard Cœur de Lion at the small theatre at Tournai. The public was chiefly composed of French émigrés, who were full of hope and illusion, impatiently[Pg 237] awaiting the time when they should return to their country. The Prince could not hear without emotion the air of: O Richard! Ô mon roi! l’univers t’abandonne.[105] Tears came into his eyes, and the audience, perceiving his emotion, frantically applauded. “At that part,” says the Prince, “where the promise is made to avenge the poor captive king, I advanced, applauding as though I too wished to contribute my efforts. I was in earnest at the time, and it seemed likely that my services would be accepted. Suddenly the French ladies, both young and old, in the excitement rushed out of their boxes, and the whole of the pit, mostly consisting of young French officers, jumped on the stage, crying out: ‘Long live the King! Long live the Prince de Ligne;’ and they only stopped clapping their hands to wipe their eyes over-flowing with tears.”

Among the young refugee officers who[Pg 238] were the most cordially received at Bel Œil was M. de Villeneuve Laroche. He writes in his Memoirs:[106] “The Prince de Ligne at this time was residing with all his family at Bel Œil, a fine estate distant one league from the town of Ath; he took pleasure in conversing with us about the principles of honour that were the basis of our conduct, and he commended us with enthusiasm.

“He was good enough to invite me several times to dine at his magnificent residence; I may even go so far as to say that I formed quite an intimacy with his eldest son, Prince Charles, an officer of the very greatest promise; he was a colonel major in the artillery, and had lately distinguished himself in the war against the Turks....

“The son sympathised with our feelings as much as his father. He told me one day that he had just written to the Emperor asking to be employed in the coalition war,[Pg 239] and added that if his request was rejected he would serve as a mere volunteer with the French nobility.”

Prince Charles had in fact urgently requested to be allowed to return to the Austrian army, with the rank of colonel in the engineers. After the death of the Emperor Leopold, which took place on the 27th of February 1792, the Prince was given an appointment in General Clairfayt’s army corps. The Austrian general-in-chief was the Duke Albert of Saxe-Teschen, husband of the Archduchess Christine.

The campaign was opened against the armies of the French republic; and already, on the 27th of May, Prince Charles had distinguished himself by his daring valour in a fight that took place near Condé; but no great battle was yet imminent. The enemy confined himself to skirmishes; the Duke Albert’s headquarters were at Mons, and the inauguration of the new Emperor, François II., as Count of Hainault, was to[Pg 240] take place in that town. Prince Charles de Ligne was chosen to represent the sovereign on this occasion.[107]

We read in the Journal du Palais et historique of the councillor Paridaens the following paragraph:—

Prince Charles, who would not have missed this fight for anything in the world, started off in the middle of the night at the head of his regiment, despite the Archduke Albert’s opposition. He fought with his usual bravery, was very nearly taken prisoner, having imprudently ventured too far amidst the enemy; and at seven in the morning, black with powder and heated with the fight, he arrived on horseback, post haste, barely in time to put on his full dress uniform and get into his coach.

The ceremony of the Emperor’s Inauguration as Count of Hainault is as old as the days of Charlemagne, but this was the last time that the traditional custom was to be celebrated. We have seen the importance attached to it by the States of Hainault at the time of the Flemish insurrection.

[Pg 243]

At half-past eight all the clergy of Mons, the ladies of the Chapter of Sainte Waudru, following the shrine of the saint, who was the patroness of Mons, all the magistrates, the deputies of the town council, the chief councillor of the Provinces in his State robes, and the twenty-six deputies of the chief towns in Hainault, preceded by magnificent banners from all the parishes, embroidered in gold and silk, took their places in the theatre. At nine o’clock his Highness the Prince Charles de Ligne left his hotel in a coach drawn by six horses and preceded by a detachment of dragoons, by the members of the order of the nobility, each one in a coach drawn by two horses, and by a herald-at-arms on horseback, named O’Kelly, bearing his coat-of-arms, and the cap and wand of his office. The guards and officers of his house closed the procession. On reaching the theatre his Highness seated himself on an arm-chair under a canopy, above which was placed a portrait of his Majesty.

[Pg 244]

When all the different orders were placed and seated, the trumpets sounded, Murray’s regiment fired a volley of musketry, the artillery on the ramparts answered by a salute, and the herald-at-arms, advancing to the front of the theatre, called Silence three times. Then the Prince rose, and, laying his hand on the Gospels, first took the oath to the Chapter of Sainte Waudru, of which he was named Abbot. The Princesse de Croy, first lady of the Chapter, presented to him the crozier, and a salute of artillery and music and trumpets, etc., announced to the people that the first act of the ceremony had taken place. The Prince afterwards took the oath to the States, in the same manner; and finally, a third time to the town of Mons, after which he solemnly received the oaths of allegiance from the said Chapter, States, and Town.

“During the ceremony,” says the councillor Paridaens, “some national guards, taken prisoners in that night’s encounter, had been[Pg 245] brought to the square, and just as the procession was threading its way to Sainte Waudru, at the entrance of the road, it was met by the generals who were returning from fighting the French. At the head of these generals was the Duc Albert de Saxe, with his nephew the Archduke Charles,[109] who had been under fire for the first time in his life. At that very moment the news arrived that M. de Gouvion, Commander-in-Chief of the French army, had been killed. It was vaguely known that the French had been repulsed, after having made, however, a good stand for the first time. Indeed the cannon had been heard without interruption from two o’clock till six in the morning. On the 12th of June H.R.H. Madame arrived about ten o’clock in the morning. “On entering the rooms of the Government House she heartily and repeatedly[Pg 246] embraced her nephew, the Archduke Charles, as one might a friend whom one sees for the first time after he has encountered a great danger. I saw this from my dining-room windows.”

The Prince gave a banquet that evening to the principal town authorities; the Archdukes, the Prince de Lambesc, and other generals were present. On the following day he returned to the camp, only too glad to have done with a part so little in keeping with his natural modesty. Two months went by, events were succeeding each other in France with the most startling rapidity, the position of the royal family was becoming daily more critical, till the terrible 10th of August induced the Duke of Brunswick, commander-in-chief of the allied forces, to alter his plan of campaign. He decided to move on the army in the direction of the gorge of Argonne, so as to enter Champagne by Sainte Menehould, and march on Paris by Châlons. He gave orders to General Clairfayt to join him with[Pg 247] twenty-five thousand men, who were to form the right wing of his army. This change of position on the part of Count Clairfayt decided Dumouriez, then at the camp of Maulde, to proceed to the plains of Champagne with the greater part of his army.

During the three months that had elapsed since the inauguration at Mons no important battle had afforded Prince Charles an opportunity of distinguishing himself; but, gifted with a sound judgment and an observant mind, he had employed the interval in forming a just estimate of the illusions entertained by the émigrés, and of the very imperfect description they had given of the state of France. He wrote from the camp at Boux a letter, which fell into the hands of the republicans, and was read at a public sitting of the Convention.[110]

“We are beginning to get tired of[Pg 248] this war, in respect of which MM. les émigrés had promised us more butter than bread. We have to fight against troops of the line who never desert, and national troops who remain at their posts. The peasants, who are armed, fire on our men, and if one of them is found alone or asleep in a house he is murdered. The weather, since our entry into France, has been horrible; it rains in torrents every day, and the roads are so bad that at the present moment we cannot move our cannon; moreover, we are almost in a state of famine. We have the greatest difficulty in obtaining bread for the soldiers, and meat is often wanting; many of the officers remain for five or six days without warm food. Our shoes and cloaks are rotten, and our men are beginning to fall ill; the villages are deserted, and provide neither vegetables, nor brandy, nor flour; I do not know what we shall do, nor what will become of us.”

This letter expresses a discouragement[Pg 249] that must have been general, and circumstances were favourable to Dumouriez in preparing for the attack; but it was indispensable that he should at any cost prevent the allied army from occupying the Argonne pass. The forest was impenetrable except by five passages, which it was necessary to guard and hold against the enemy. These passes were the Chêne-Populeux, the Croix-au-Bois, the Grand-Pré, the Chalade and the Islettes. A camp placed at the Islettes and a position taken up at the Chalade would close the two principal roads to Clermont and to Varennes, and General Dillon was despatched for the purpose. Dumouriez established himself at Grand-Pré, to close the roads to Rheims and to the Croix-au-Bois. He sent orders to General Duval, then at Pont-sur-Sambre, to break up his camp at once and advance by forced marches to the pass of the Chêne-Populeux.

Dumouriez felt certain of success, but an act of imprudence frustrated his hopes.

[Pg 250]

The pass of the Croix-au-Bois had been considered less important than the others, and was only defended by a couple of battalions of infantry and two squadrons of cavalry. Dumouriez, in the stress of the moment, had not had the time to see and judge personally of the importance of this pass, but the German spies, employed to inspect the different French posts, informed the Duke of Brunswick of the advantages of this badly-guarded pass. Clairfayt confided the attack to Prince Charles de Ligne, who started on the 13th of September at early dawn to seize it. The abatis intended to bar the road had been carelessly made, the half-buried branches not offering any resistance to the enemy; the imperialists easily forced a passage, and the roads had been so slightly damaged that they made their way at once. They met with hardly any resistance, and easily carried the position. The men who held it hastily fell back on Dumouriez’s camp; the latter, anxious at the[Pg 251] turn things were taking, immediately despatched two brigades of infantry, and six squadrons of cavalry, to General Chazot, with orders to recapture the pass at any cost. Chazot spent the day without attacking, but, on receiving fresh and urgent orders to risk an attack, he opened fire on the morning of the 14th.

The attack and the defence were vigorous; six times the post was carried by the French, and as often recaptured by the Austrians. Prince Charles sees that in order to keep the position it is necessary to capture a French battery, which, cleverly placed, is inflicting heavy losses on the Austrians. A vigorous charge is necessary; the Prince in person leads the attack on the battery; eight men in the front rank are shot dead. He dashes forward himself, the ninth, but, shot through the head by a bullet, he reels for a moment in the saddle, and falls back dead.

The French regained possession of the[Pg 252] pass, and raised the body of the unfortunate Prince. They found two gold chains with a locket round his neck, and in his pocket an unfinished letter.

Clairfayt, in despair at the cruel loss the army had sustained, hastened to avenge it, and took possession of the Croix-au-Bois.

He immediately claimed the body of the Prince, and it was at once given up. Mass was celebrated in the camp the following morning, and the coffin started for Mons. At that moment M. de Villeneuve Laroche, a guest at Bel Œil, and a friend of Prince Charles, arrived on the scene.

“On the battlefield,” he says, “where yesterday the republicans were defeated, I met a funeral procession, escorted by a few foreign troops, going in the direction of Hainault. It was that of the young Prince de Ligne, who was killed in the fight, and the body was being taken to his unhappy father at Bel Œil.”

Prince Charles’s death was universally deplored;[Pg 253] his brilliant military qualities caused him to be regretted by the whole army; the Baron de Breteuil wrote from Verdun to the Comte de Fersen: “Yesterday Clairfayt’s army came in for a sharp fight at the outposts, in which, however, it was victorious. Clairfayt’s army lost in the attack five or six hundred men, but what deeply affects me is that Prince Charles de Ligne was killed. I loved him from a child; he was the most distinguished amongst the Austrians of the same age. His father will feel the loss terribly.”

Prince Charles’s body was conveyed to Bel Œil, after passing through Mons[111] at night, but his father was no longer there; he had been recalled, with Marshal de Lascy, to Vienna.

When the terrible news arrived no one dared to tell him of it, and the Marshal alone had the courage to undertake the delicate mission. He sent the Prince word that he had received[Pg 254] bad news from Clairfayt’s army, adding that he would himself come and inform him of it. “My son is wounded!” said the Prince as the Marshal entered. The latter remained silent. “But speak, good God!...”—“Alas! I would not, or I could not, understand,” he writes, “when he said that dreadful word: Dead!... I feel crushed by the news, and he had almost to carry me away in his arms. I see it still, the spot where I was when the Marshal told me that my poor Charles was killed; I see my poor Charles himself, as he welcomed me every day with the sunshine of his happy and good face. I had dreamt a few days before that he had received a mortal wound in the head, and had fallen dead from his horse. For five or six days I was anxious, but as one always treats as a weakness that which is often a warning, or perhaps a feeling of nature when there are ties of blood, I cast from my thoughts the fatal foreboding which was only too soon to be realised!”

[Pg 255]

The Prince never got over his son’s death, and he entirely lost all enjoyment in life. This sad recollection had made in his heart a deep and incurable wound. “That so light-hearted a man,” says Count Ouvaroff, “who had lived through so much and was so careless of misfortune, should ten years after this calamity break down at the bare mention of the beloved name! No one dared utter it in his presence; if he happened to speak of his son his voice would betray the intensity of his grief, and his eyes fill with tears.” There is something strangely touching in this picture of the old man, formerly so worldly and sceptical, as we should say nowadays, who would not be comforted because he still thought of the child of his heart who was no longer. “There is,” said the Prince with admirable philosophy, when shortly after he lost all his fortune, “there is a terrible method of rising above circumstances. It is bought at the cost of a great grief. If the soul[Pg 256] has been wounded by the loss of all that is dearest, I defy minor misfortunes to touch it; loss of wealth, total ruin, persecutions, injustice, everything sinks into insignificance.”

The unhappy Prince de Ligne had immediately sent to Bel Œil the necessary instructions for his son’s last wishes to be fulfilled, but the victory of Jemappes, which ceded the whole of Belgium to the French, prevented the de Ligne family from returning to Bel Œil, now in the hands of the enemy. Prince Charles’s wishes were contained in a will written shortly before his death. We shall see that he instinctively felt he would fall a victim in the course of this war. Perhaps, indeed, weary of life, he sought death, for he seemed to brave it; at all events the deepest melancholy overshadows the following pages:—

[Pg 258]

Prince Charles de Ligne’s Will.

“As I shall most probably be killed, if not in this war at least in some other, I wish my body to be recovered and my funeral to be conducted with all the honours of war, and with the greatest pomp—military, of course.

“I wish my body to be carried to Bel Œil, after having been embalmed, so as not to incommode any one, for I desire to be laid with my good ancestors, who from father to son have all been honest men.

“I desire that my heart be wrapped up separately in a handkerchief which shall have belonged to her I love, and which I beg her to give for that purpose. As she has always possessed my heart during my lifetime, I wish it, after my death, to be as happy as a heart can be in the absence of the beloved one, that is to say, in company with something that has been her’s. I beg her to embroider on the first corner of the handkerchief Alona;[Pg 259] on the second Tendresse delicieuse; on the third Indissoluble; and on the fourth the 21st September 1787, and the date of my death.

“I.—The whole of my collection of engravings, my collection of original drawings, and in general all the contents of my portfolios, are to be sold to the best purchaser. One will have to see in what country the sale will be most advantageous, whether in Paris, Vienna, London, or Amsterdam.

“Nota bene.—Should any of my family wish to have these, he can take them at the estimated value, which, however, cannot be less than a hundred thousand German florins; for the drawings are really priceless, as I have none of inferior value, and all are recognised originals. This will, therefore, bring in a clear sum of a hundred thousand florins, which will be completely my own, and quite independent of the succession due to my natural heirs, which I leave to them according to law. This sum of a hundred thousand florins is to be divided into two[Pg 260] parts: eighty thousand are to be sunk in an annuity for the benefit of my natural daughter Christine, so that there will be eight thousand florins a year for her keep and education, which, up to the age of fifteen, may be five hundred florins, and a thousand florins up to the age of twenty, at which time she will probably be married, and can then spend her money as she chooses: In such a manner, however, that she shall not spend more than eight thousand florins; and that all the money saved on this sum, up to the age of twenty or five-and-twenty, if she does not marry before, shall be placed out at four or five per cent interest; this will become her children’s property, care being taken always to add the interest to the capital.

“II.—Should she die without children, Norokos is to be her heir. As I am the adopted father of Norokos, the Turkish child I found abandoned during the war, the remaining sum of twenty thousand florins out[Pg 261] of the hundred thousand realised by the sale shall be sunk in the same way on his account. The directions as to its use are the same as for little Christine. Should he die without children, Christine is to be his heir. I recommend their marrying, if they have any inclination one for the other; it is my greatest wish, and I beg my sister Christine to encourage this. I appoint her their guardian, and in default of my sister Christine, I appoint Madame la Comtesse Thérèse Dietrichstein, formerly married to Comte de Kinsky. I bequeath also to little Christine the portrait of her mother, painted by Le Clerc, and the chain I wear round my neck, with the following words on the clasps: ‘Ces liens me sont chers’ (these ties are precious to me). I beg her never to part with it, but always to wear it as a remembrance of myself and of the person who gave it to me.

“III.—My dispositions for the servants.

“I bequeath to Norokos my damaskeened[Pg 262] Turkish gun with gold mountings, and my sabre with the steel guard—the one I carried during this war, in order that he may remember that it is to war he owes his condition; that he must look upon a military career as his fortune, his element; and upon the army as his country.

“IV.—I bequeath to my father the small painting by Le Clerc and M. Duvivier’s drawing, both representing the fight at Pösig, and I beg that my crosses of the orders of Merit and that of Saint George be suspended from them, since I won them by my father’s example; and as also I owe the happiness of having acquired some friends in the army through listening to all Lieutenant Wolff said to my father when dying, and remembering it all my life.

“V.—I bequeath to my sister Christine all my framed drawings, with the miniatures, cameos, and small frames.

“VI.—I bequeath to my daughter Sidonie her mother’s portrait, so that she may remember[Pg 263] not to follow her example, and the Turkish sabre given me by Prince Potemkin, which she is always to keep in her room, so that her children may understand that I intend them to become soldiers; when her son fights his first battle, in which, I trust, he will distinguish himself, she will give him this sabre from me.

“VII.—I bequeath to Madame de Kinsky, who was Countess Dietrichstein by birth, all the framed engravings I have in my apartment at Bel Œil, and also the chain I wear round my neck which was given me by her dearest friend; I venture, on this account, to beg that she will wear it all her life, in remembrance of one whose happiness was bound up with that of Madame de Kinsky; this I positively affirm.

“VIII.—I bequeath to Madame la Princesse de Lichtenstein, a Mandesch by birth, several things I have at Brussels, which will be described later on, and besides these my watch, as a token that the happiest[Pg 264] hours it has told are those I spent with her, and that to the very last I thought of her as a friend whose place in my heart was next to the one I have always adored.

“IX.—I bequeath to the Princess Jablonowska, Countess Czaski by birth, several things I have at Brussels, which will hereafter be named, and also the ring I always wear with the motto ‘Indissoluble,’ the small portfolio with the chain, and the other portfolios or caskets containing letters and manuscripts written by myself. I give this last proof of my confidence to her who has most claims on my gratitude for past kindness, who has best understood the nature of my thoughts, of my troubles,—in short, to a true friend, whom I am sure not to forget even in the other world.

“X.—I bequeath to the Princess Linowska, Thun by birth, my fine edition of Shakespeare’s works, and the best English horse in my stable, on condition that it will be kept exclusively for her use.

[Pg 265]

“XI.—I bequeath to Mademoiselle Caroline de Thun my eight handsome silver candlesticks, and my handsome coffee-pot, and besides this an annuity of twenty ducats, in order that she may procure for herself wherever she goes, and even in the house which she most frequents, the best arm-chair or couch that can possibly be made.

“XII.—I bequeath to Madame de Woina[112] a table and a tea-service, in order that she may remember the pleasure I had in going to take tea with her; also two Turkish sabres for her children, Maurice and Felix.

“XIII.—I bequeath to my good friend Poniatowski, my sabre set with Marshal Laudon’s stone, and also the shoulder belt, requesting him to wear it should he meet the enemy, in honour of one who to save his life would willingly have sacrificed his own. Also my fine horse Winer, so that he may be cared for all his life.

[Pg 266]

“XIV.—I bequeath to my brother Louis the King of Poland’s sabre and Marlborough’s pistols.

“XV.—I bequeath to my friend François, Comte de Dietrichstein, the arms found with me if I am killed, or that belong to me should I die a natural death, excepting those disposed of by special legacies; I beg him to collect and distribute the above-named legacies, and I am certain that he will not leave my body to the enemy. Should, however, an accident intervene, such as his being wounded himself, he must neglect nothing in having it reclaimed, with the chains and other things I wear on my person.

“XVI.—The portraits of Mesdames de Kinsky, Lichtenstein, Jablonowska, Linowska, and Caroline, as well as Poniatowski’s and that of Madame de Woina, which I request may be obtained, shall be placed in my apartment in the tower at Bel Œil, where I have already placed the coloured prints belonging to Madame de Kinsky. My wife’s portrait[Pg 267] is to be previously removed and placed in the lumber-room. This chamber is to become a Temple to Friendship, and over the door shall be inscribed the words: Abode of the inseparable.

“I request that my bust shall be placed on a pedestal in the centre of the tower, and turned in the direction of Madame de Kinsky’s portrait, and I beg my father to compose and have engraved on this pedestal some verses describing the happiness I have enjoyed in her society; but they must not contain any praise of myself; under each portrait he will write in verse a description of the person represented.

“XVII.—Arrangements for my household (not copied).

“XVIII.—I bequeath to Madame de Kinsky my good dog Tristan, that he may be taken good care of; he has been treated by me as I was by her, like a good and ever-faithful dog.”

Note added by the Countess Dietrichstein.—“The body was embalmed, and, considering[Pg 268] the circumstances, sent to Bel Œil by mail coach. A Mass was said at the headquarters at Boux, in the presence of all the officers; and orders were given that the last honours should be rendered to his memory on the passage of the coffin through Mons, where he was well known and beloved.

“In order to carry out his wishes as much as possible, the handkerchief will be placed in his coffin; the date he asks for is unfortunately from the 21st of September 1787 to the 14th of September 1792.”

Notwithstanding the mysterious reserve with which the Prince expresses himself, it is difficult not to believe that Madame de Kinsky was the secret object of his deep attachment. On reading his last wishes, so imbued with nobleness, tenderness, and generosity, we wonder how Hélène could have so misunderstood him, and obliged him as it were to transfer his affection to another. Perhaps she was not entirely responsible for their disunion; a mother or a friend like[Pg 269] Madame de Rochechouart might have guarded her at the outset from many an imprudent step. It was impossible to expect experience and wisdom in a child of fifteen. During the last two years she had begun to feel how dearly they are purchased.

All this time Hélène had remained alone at Kowalowska. Notwithstanding the imprudences her passion for the Count had led her to commit, she had never for one moment entertained any other idea than that of marriage, though she knew in what light her conduct was judged by the world.

Mortified and discouraged, Hélène was giving herself up to the gloomiest ideas, when she suddenly received the news of her husband’s death. The sudden transition from despair to joy stunned her at first; but soon only one feeling possessed her soul, that of her freedom, and she hurriedly wrote these few lines to the Count:—

“A cannon-ball has carried off Prince Charles. I am free; it is God’s will: This[Pg 270] cannon was loaded from all eternity!”[113] And absorbed in the selfishness of her passion, she did not for one instant regret the first companion of her life, or shed a tear for the father of her child. His glorious and touching end did not inspire her with an atom of pity.

And then, as if, indeed, death had received from God the mission of removing all possible obstacles to Hélène’s happiness, a few days later the second son of the Countess Anna died of a gangrenous sore throat, before his unhappy mother was able to reach him; and that nothing might be wanting to complete the romance, the Princess heard almost at the same moment of the death of her brother Xavier, leaving her heiress to an income of six hundred thousand livres.[114]

The Count had reached Niemirow in time to see his son, of whom, it must be added, Hélène had taken the utmost care. He wrote[Pg 271] in all haste to the Countess Anna to tell her the fatal news, and then in another letter he announced to her Prince Charles’s death, and offered to give her back at once her eldest son, François, in exchange for her consent to their divorce. The unfortunate woman resisted no longer, she only begged that the legal forms should be carefully observed in obtaining the consent of the Court of Rome, hoping that in the interval her husband might return to her before the last step was taken. Directly after his mother’s answer the little Count François, accompanied by his governess and servants, started to meet her.

Without loss of time Hélène wrote to her uncle, whose character she well understood; she told him of her husband’s death, and implored his aid for the settlement of her brother’s affairs; she ended by asking him to see Count Vincent, who would be able to explain many important details difficult to negotiate in writing. She sent this letter to the Prince-Bishop by Major Hoffman, a[Pg 272] Polish gentleman attached to the service of the Lord Chamberlain.

The embassy was a complete success. The prelate, calculating that Count Vincent Potocki living would be infinitely more useful to him than the Prince de Ligne dead, wrote to the Count, and begged him to come and see him when he should next go to Warsaw, and in the meanwhile offered to receive his niece at Werky. Hélène sent the following reply:—

Then she wrote to the Count Vincent: “I do not advise you to await the arrival of the Prince-Bishop before writing to him, for he is one of those persons who never know when they will start or when they will arrive. You could send a messenger to Werky, who would wait for an answer, which might perhaps hurry on matters; but if the Prince-Bishop could see you, he would do every thing you wish, and we should be happy.”

The Count did not make up his mind to go, and Hélène, fearing his capricious and irresolute character, went to Werky herself. She entreated her uncle to apply to the Pope, so as to hasten the formalities necessary for the divorce, for she was in[Pg 274] daily fear that the project on which she had set her heart should fall through.

Everything took place in accordance with the Princess’s wishes, and three months after the death of Prince Charles de Ligne the marriage of Hélène and Count Potocki was celebrated at midnight in the Chapel of the Convent of the Bernadines near Werky. The apparent motive of this secrecy was the Princess’s mourning, as yet too recent to allow of an official wedding; but it must be added that the permission for a divorce had not yet arrived from Rome, and only came three months later. It required all the influence of the Prince-Bishop to obtain a priest that should celebrate the marriage under such conditions.

On entering the Chapel, and at the moment of realising the happiness she so ardently desired, Hélène experienced the deepest emotion, mingled with a vague sense of terror. She knelt beside the Count, and remained motionless, her eyes fixed on the ground, and absorbed[Pg 275] in her thoughts. When the Count gave her his hand to lead her to the altar she rose to her feet, but suddenly stopped short, with a fixed and terrified gaze, a prey to the most terrible hallucination. By the flickering light of the wax tapers she fancied she saw three coffins laid across her path, which she would have to step over on her way to the altar. The Count, appalled at Hélène’s terrified look, inquired in a low voice the cause of her alarm; the sound of his voice recalled her to herself, and, chasing away the horrible vision by a strong effort of will, she resolutely ascended the three steps of black marble, which a moment before had presented such a sinister appearance. The bridal pair returned to Werky, and the terrible moment was soon forgotten.

After a prolonged stay in Lithuania, during which the Lord Chamberlain visited his wife’s extensive domains, they both returned to Ukrania, and Hélène triumphantly entered the Count’s abode, whither she had gone in[Pg 276] such fear and trembling at the time of his illness. The past and all its sorrows were forgotten, and, radiant with happiness, she wrote to her husband, who was absent for a few days: “To-morrow I shall see you again, and see you still the same, for I do not want you ever to change in the smallest degree: virtues, attractions, wit, faults, caprices, all are precious to me; if you were more perfect, you would no longer be the Vincent for whose sake I should have been guilty of the greatest folly, if kind heaven had not permitted that all should be for the best in the end.”

THE END

Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh.

S. & H.