Z——ki and I got separated from each other in the crowd. As I was crossing the by no means deserted ball-room, I caught a glimpse of him and of a companion, a tall, slight, and elegant woman. Their conversation seemed most animated. I waved my hand to him from the distance, wishing him all the compensations love is supposed to reserve for unlucky gamblers.
In the morning, the Comte de Witt was true to his appointment. ‘You promised to explain to me,’ he said, ‘the meaning of his Majesty of Denmark’s words about your progress in the German language.’ ‘You know,’ I replied, ‘that often a word, a movement, or a simple inflection of a voice suddenly recalls scenes of our life which had practically vanished from our memory. The past starts up vividly with all its colours; the impressions that had gone to sleep awaken there and then, and their power is such as to give a kind of voluptuous or sensuous delight in retracing the most painful episodes and the most cruel losses. Nay, the very tears caused by these seem sweet. That’s what I felt yesterday.
‘During the course of the French Revolution, my father, or the one who stood me in stead, had constantly refused to emigrate. Proscribed for being guilty of (the wrong) patriotism and devotion, he only managed to save his head from the guillotine by hiding in a friend’s house. When the delirium of blood was over, he considered himself justified in claiming his nationality, which he had never forsaken by abandoning his country. But placed once more on the fatal lists of émigrés, pursued by blind and relentless hatred, once more proscribed after 18th Fructidor, he was obliged to fly in order to escape an equally horrible death. We managed to get as far as Hamburg, where we experienced all the privations attached to that kind of voluntary and hurriedly projected exile. Invited by the Comte de Fersen to come to Sweden, we left the Hanseatic city, and made our way on foot across the flats of Holstein to Copenhagen. Our exceedingly restricted resources did not admit of any other mode of travelling.
‘My “father,” at the period of his tenure of the portfolio of Foreign Affairs, had been most intimate with the Comte de Lowendahl in Paris, and he welcomed us with every mark of goodwill. In his former diplomatic relations with Denmark my “father” had been enabled to make himself particularly agreeable to that Court, and on the strength of this he ventured to request from the prince royal some pecuniary assistance, urgently needed in consequence of our precarious position. The comte offered to present me to his royal highness and to second our petition as far as lay in his power. On the day previous to the promised audience, I was strolling by myself in the park of the royal residence, Fredericksborg. At the bend of a path, I suddenly caught sight of a young man dressed in light grey, skipping about rather than walking, carrying an umbrella under one arm, the other being held by a very pretty young woman. The face of the young man seemed so peculiar to me that, my French levity and my schoolboy gaiety getting the better of me, I stopped to contemplate him at my case, and immediately a fit of uncontrollable laughter ringing out loud informed him of the result of my examination. His angry look ought to have told me of his resentment of this impertinent scrutiny on my part, but the angrier he got the more ridiculous his face became to me, and my insolent laughter did not cease until the couple were fairly out of sight.
‘Next morning, on the recommendation of the Comte de Lowendahl, I was to have my audience at the palace. The guards let me pass, and in a little while, crossing a series of resplendent galleries, I reached a velvet curtain giving access to a drawing-room. A page-in-waiting led me into the throne-room, adjoining the private audience-chamber of the prince, and then, my petition in my hand, I waited to be admitted to his royal highness’s presence. In a few moments the doors were thrown open, and a chamberlain called out my name and beckoned me across the threshold. All at once, at the end of the apartment, I beheld, standing upright, the young man I had so grossly insulted the previous day. There could be no mistake about it. It was the same face, the same grey Court dress, but the embroidered star on his breast and his wide blue sash left no doubt about his being the Prince Royal of Denmark. I need not try to depict my feelings to you. Struck with terror, as if I had stepped on a serpent, I recalled both my unseemly laughter and the anger it had aroused. Standing stock-still, and undecided whether I ought to advance or retreat, I was almost expecting immediate punishment for my ill-timed levity of the previous day. I cannot say how long I should have remained in this position, notwithstanding the repeated signals of the chamberlain to draw closer to his highness. Luckily, the young girl to whom the prince had given his arm the previous day, and who was none other than his charming sister, the Princesse d’Augustembourg, just then crossed the room on her way to the inner apartments of her brother. More or less reassured by her angelic face. I practically followed in her footsteps, trusting to make her, as it were, a shield against a stern reprisal, which, in our condition, would have absolutely filled the cup of our misfortunes.
‘Crimson with confusion and with drooping eyes, I tremblingly held out the petition given to me by my “father.” The prince looked fixedly at me and undoubtedly recognised me, but not a muscle of his face testified as much. On the contrary, he attentively read the document, then handing it to his sister he said, “One more victim of that French Revolution.”
‘After that he asked for some particulars about our situation, and equally kindly inquired about our resources and plans. Emboldened by his kind tone, I told him all we had suffered since our departure from France, our painful pilgrimage across Germany, our intention to get to Sweden, and our hope of securing the goodwill of the Comte de Fersen in my “father’s” behalf.
‘The princess had listened with the utmost attention to the recital of our misfortunes. When I came to the description of the journey on foot and to the enumeration of all our privations, the prince asked me, “But, no doubt, you know German?” “Alas, no,” I was obliged to answer, “and that’s what made our travels so terrible.” “Poor child,” said the princess, “you are somewhat too young to have suffered so much, and those dreary roads across our sandy plains must have seemed wellnigh endless to you.”
‘There were tears in her voice as she asked me other questions about my family, my education, and recollections of my country. The prince himself had meanwhile written some words on my petition. “I’ll reply to-morrow to your father,” he said, returning the document to me. “If you will go from here to my ‘privy purse office,’ they’ll give you a hundred golden Fredericks, which will enable you to proceed a little more comfortably.” “And I, monsieur,” added the princess, “I wish you every happiness; but should you fail to find some of it in Sweden, return to Denmark for an asylum, and you will, at any rate, find rest.”
‘The prince called his chamberlain to intimate that the interview was at an end, and told him to take me to his treasury. You may imagine that this lesson of a prince thus avenging himself for the impertinence of a stranger was not lost upon me. Young though I was, I promised myself never to give way again to such exhibitions of offensive hilarity, and I have kept my word.’