‘Yes, like that which Empress Anne constructed on the Neva. But you, who have lived in St. Petersburg, did you never hear of that fête?’
‘No.’
‘There was at Anne’s Court a Prince de G——, who had practically become its jester. The empress wished to get him married, and they chose him a wife more or less likely to fall in with his eccentric habits. In order fitly to celebrate the nuptials, they constructed, as I told you, a palace of ice on the Neva. The columns, the walls, the wainscoting, the furniture in the interior, such as the tables, the lustres, and even the bed of the newly-married couple, was absolutely of frozen water, shaped by cunning artificers. In order to give more variety to this extraordinary construction, blocks of coloured chiselled ice had been employed in the ornamentation of the structure. When sumptuous carpets had been spread in the apartments, and thousands of wax tapers had been lighted, the Court repaired in sleighs to this fantastic place, and the fête commenced. Cossack dances to the strangest music were performed, then there was a supper, partaken of by ever so many guests. In the midst of the banquet four Cossacks brought in with great pomp a whole ox with gilded horns, which had been roasted on the ice in the court of the palace. After having made the round of the table, this monstrous roast was given to the servants. Then came the moment for putting the newly-married couple to bed; the signal was given with a salvo of artillery from ordnance made of ice.
‘Up to that moment everything had gone well with poor G—— and his wife. But when they had been undressed and put to bed, and the ice began to melt around them, their gestures and countenances were not in the least expressive of the tender passion, whether hallowed or not. And as, according to ancient usage, all this was taking place in the presence of the Court, they did not dare to leave their couch, and were by no means pleased with this bit of imperial recreation. Save the wedding-ceremony, however, the tradition of this extraordinary and magnificent palace has been kept up to the present day, and I am sorry the members of the fêtes-committee did not revive the spectacle of an immense castle built of ice.’
While Comte de Witt was telling me all this, I had caught sight of Prince Eugène by himself, and I went up to him. With his usual kindness, he reminded me of my not having been to see him for a long while, although we had frequently met at our friend Comtesse Laura’s. Wherever Prince Eugène was compelled to appear, his calm dignity never forsook him; and in spite of his equivocal situation at Vienna, he made many, many friends. I have already touched upon Emperor Alexander’s sincere affection for him, a friendship redounding to the honour of the deposed prince and the powerful emperor. This friendship and interest of the czar extended to Queen Hortense. Knowing her impulsive disposition, and how much she stood in need now and again of disinterested advice, Alexander had despatched to Paris a diplomatic agent, named Boutiakine, with the mission to take care of her, and to guide her in all things.
Eugène had just received some letters from this cherished sister, who appeared to have inherited all the feminine graces of her mother. Hortense fully unbosomed her griefs, which at that moment were very poignant. The family dissensions, the death of her mother, the threat of being deprived of her children, everything seemed to aggravate the loss of her brilliant position. The prince, in mentioning all these, could scarcely restrain his emotion; and from that moment I promised myself to make those confidences a passport to the friendship of the woman to whom the loss of a crown seemed the least of sorrows. My wish was realised later on, not in Paris, as I had hoped, but in the spot which at the time served her as an asylum. It was in 1819, when she was in exile. I had just returned from Poland, where I had spent several years, and was preparing to go back to France. Being at Augsburg, I was informed that she, who no longer bore any other title than that of the Duchesse de Saint-Leu, was living there. In days gone by she had set some of my romances to music. The latter circumstance, together with the good-will shown to me by her brother during the Congress of Vienna, emboldened me to request the honour of being presented to her; her immediate answer virtually enhanced the favour accorded.
At that time I only knew Queen Hortense by repute, and from the frequent allusions to her made by her brother; but from the very first it seemed to me that I was meeting with an old friend after a long absence, and that I was indebted for her cordial welcome to the bonds of an old friendship. Everything in her harmonised perfectly—the sweet expression of her features, her conversation, the gentleness of her voice and of her character. Every kind and affectionate word that fell from her lips was all the more precious, inasmuch as it was dictated solely by her heart; she imparted such animation to her pictures as to imbue the spectator with the idea of being an actor in, or at least a looker-on at, the real scene. She had a kind of personal magic in communicating information and in fascinating those with whom she came in contact, and that artless power of seduction took deep root in people’s hearts.
It was during the short moments of a confidential conversation that I was enabled to judge of her absolutely genuine qualities. She was deeply moved at all the memories of the past, but one idea—the insatiable craving for another glimpse of France, seemed uppermost.
During the evening tea was served. ‘It’s a custom I brought back with me from Holland,’ she said, ‘but do not suppose that it is in order to remind me of that brilliant and, alas, so far distant period.’
Several visitors came from the immediate neighbourhood, others from Munich. They were cordially welcomed, and she felt, no doubt, flattered by the consideration with which she was treated, inasmuch as that consideration could be due to esteem only, and not to intrigues or adulation, of which she felt so weary both at Saint Cloud and at the Hague. During the evening she showed me some good pictures by painters of the various schools, and a collection of art objects which had been considerably increased by that left by her mother. The majority of those brilliant trifles were connected with certain periods and celebrated people, and they might well have been called a summary of modern history. After that we had some music. The duchesse sang to her own accompaniment, and she put as much soul into her singing as into the compositions themselves. She had just finished a series of drawings for her ballads, and the next morning she sent me the pretty collection, which time will render all the more precious.