At this period Brussels presented the most brilliant and animated aspect. Prince Charles of Lorraine had been succeeded by the Archduchess Marie-Christine, formerly Regent of Hungary, where she had enjoyed the privileges of a queen. She held her court on a grand scale, and did the honours of it with grace and affability. The Archduchess was considered the handsomest of Marie-Thérèse’s four daughters. She danced so gracefully and so lightly that, directly she began, every one stopped to admire. Although pretending to be annoyed, she was, on the contrary, far from displeased at the admiration she provoked. She had married the Archduke Albert of Saxe-Teschen,[34] who was entirely under his wife’s influence, and, unlike Prince Charles of Lorraine, never gained the hearts of the Flemish. Nevertheless, the Archduke’s gentle and easy character made him beloved by all who approached him. He was an intelligent connoisseur in pictures, and formed two magnificent collections of paintings and drawings.
The Archduchess and her husband took pleasure in encouraging art and literature, and Brussels soon became a lively literary centre. All that appeared in France—novels, poetry, travels, etc.—was eagerly read. Several reviews were started. The Prince de Ligne welcomed young Belgian authors, and helped them in every way to the best of his ability. Happy to avail themselves of the lordly hospitality he so graciously offered, they constantly came to submit to him their essays. It is needless to say that they extolled the beauties of Bel Œil and Baudour in verses which were reproduced in the gazettes of the day.
If Belgium had not become the scene of political events, it is probable that the Prince would have founded a school of literature and good taste, for he occasionally evinced in his writings talent of the highest order. Ideas flowed in abundance from his fertile pen, and he seemed merely to jot them down on the paper at haphazard. His style, which is capricious, incorrect, and even obscure, is always lively and descriptive; each word seems to fall naturally into its place under his pen; wit abounds, unexpected, satirical, and sometimes most daring. He has the greatest contempt for grammar; but this very negligence, this lordly indifference, gives to his writings a most original style.
Moreover, he possessed all the requisites of an excellent critic, but it must be acknowledged that he was blindly indulgent towards his own poetry. Unfortunately gifted with deplorable facility, he never missed an opportunity of rhyming. One evening, when they had all gone for a long walk in the woods, they wandered so far into the forest that they completely lost their way, and only found it, thanks to a star Hélène had noticed. On the following day her father-in-law brought her a ballad, set to a tune then in vogue, and perhaps among all those he has written, it may be considered as one of the best:—
À Hélène.
Air: Sous la Verdure.
Un sombre voile
Nous dérobait notre chemin;
Nous errions à la belle étoile,
Mais nous arrivons à la fin