Auprès d’Hélène.[35]
And so the days passed quickly and pleasantly, the only drawback in this happy scene being the state of Hélène’s health, which required an amount of care her youth and love of pleasure made it difficult for her to take. Two accidents had successively destroyed a hope dearly cherished by her husband, and even more by her father-in-law, who was anxious that his beloved Charles should have a son. The waters of Spa, then very much the fashion, were recommended. Hélène went there in the month of May 1782, accompanied by the Chevalier de l’Isle, and her convent friend, Mademoiselle de Conflans, who was now Marquise de Coigny,[36] and on intimate terms with the de Lignes. Hélène wrote to appoint a meeting-place. The Chevalier de l’Isle, who had a ready pen and familiar style, answered as follows: “Madame de Coigny embraces Mouchette,[37] and exhorts her to wait for her to go to Spa till the fifteenth of next month.” Hélène waited for her, and they started together with the Chevalier; he only remained a short time, and on his return wrote to the Prince de Ligne: “I did not write to you from Spa, my dear Prince, because I hoped to see you there, and then because I intended stopping at Brussels, at Bel Œil even; I had begged the Princesse Charles, who talks much better than I can write, to speak to you of me in her spare moments. She has none? So much the better for both her and you, and so much the worse for me. But I had my turn at Spa; twenty times I was on the point of writing, if only to tell you how charming your daughter-in-law was, and then I reflected that you were not the man to ignore it, and that when one has nothing fresh to say, one had better hold one’s tongue.”
Shortly after the Chevalier’s departure the Prince rejoined his daughter-in-law at Spa.
A watering-place at that time was very much like what it is in our days, but the Prince describes it in the most spirited manner: “I arrive in a large hall, where I find the maimed showing off their arms and their legs; ridiculous names, titles, and faces; clerical and worldly animals jumping and running races; hypochondriac milords wandering sadly about; females from Paris entering with roars of laughter, to make one believe they are amiable and at their ease, and hoping thereby to become so; young men of all countries, counterfeiting the English, speaking with their teeth closed, and dressed like grooms, their hair cut short, black, and greasy, with a pair of Jewish whiskers surrounding dirty ears.
“French bishops with their nieces; an accoucheur, decorated with the order of Saint Michael; a dentist with that of the Spur; dancing and singing masters in the uniform of Russian majors; Italians in that of Polish colonels, leading about young bears of that country; Dutchmen scanning the papers for the rate of exchange; thirty so-called Knights of Malta; ribbons of all colours, to the right and the left, at the buttonhole on both sides, orders of all kinds, shapes, and sizes.
“Old duchesses returning from their walks armed with tall canes à la Vendôme, and three coatings of white and rouge; marchionesses, cheating doubly at cards; horrible and suspicious faces, surrounded by piles of ducats, and swallowing up all those that were timidly put on the large green cloth; two or three electors in hunting-dress, striped with gold, armed with hunting-knives; a few princes incognito, who would not produce a greater sensation under their own names; some old generals and officers retired on account of wounds they never received; a few Russian princesses with their doctors, and Palatines and Castilian ladies with their young chaplains.
“Americans and burgomasters of the neighbourhood; convicts escaped from all the different prisons in Europe; quacks of every description; adventurers of all kinds; abbés of all countries. Twenty sick people wildly dancing for their health; forty lovers, or pretended lovers, sweating and agitating themselves, and sixty feminine waltzers of more or less beauty and innocence, cleverness and coquetry, modesty and voluptuousness. All this combined is called a dancing breakfast.”
After leaving the establishment of the mineral waters, the Prince takes us to La Sauvetière, an elegant meeting-place for bathers: “The noise, the buzzing sound of conversation, the uproar of the music, the intoxicating rhythm of the waltz, the passing and repassing of the idlers, the oaths and sobs of the gamblers, both men and women, the weariness of this magic-lantern made me leave the hall. I sit down, and I see some water drinkers religiously counting their glasses and their steps, and congratulating themselves, perhaps rather sadly, on the improvement of their digestion. Some ladies join their group.
“‘Do you digest the waters, Madame?’
“‘Yes, sir, since yesterday.’