“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 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 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, 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 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 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 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:—