‘Nothing as yet has transpired,’ he answered, ‘but it is generally expected that the Principality will receive a slight increase.’
Thereupon he gave us some particulars as to the origin of his house, one of the most illustrious in Germany, both in virtue of its age and of its alliances; though he himself had probably no idea of being one day called upon to play the part of its ruler.
‘The Principality of Hesse-Hombourg,’ he said, ‘presents one of the most curious freaks of modern times. It is a small colony of French Huguenots, which settled there at the time of the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. The Landgraf Frederick cordially welcomed those unhappy victims of their king’s intolerance. He gave them land to till, and sold his silver to come to their aid. They founded a village to which they gave the name Friedrichsdorf. The most curious thing is that for more than a hundred years they have preserved, without the slightest alteration, the language, the manners, the costume, in fact everything connected with their country and their century. It is a kind of republic, governed by their minister. Isolated in their valley in the centre of Germany, these men, though practically at the door of their country, appear to have had no part or parcel in the great events that have just been accomplished. They have simply ignored the French Revolution, or if not that, have heard little or nothing of it. Though French at heart by habits, traditions, and origin, they no longer think of the country which in days gone by expelled their fathers.’
‘In my travels,’ I said, ‘I likewise found a similar colony, but one that pushed further on than the other. It carried its household gods as far as Macarief in Russia, It, also, preserved the language and customs of its time, without even omitting the voluminous wig which everybody knows.’
I had drawn close to Prince Eugène. Most cruelly upset by the events in course of completion, he, as it were, instinctively turned to the past. His memory striding, so to speak, across the decade of Empire, went back with a sort of melancholy regret to the period of the Consulate, which to him was a period of happiness, for it had been that of hope. In truth, those four years constituted a remarkable period; everything seemed eager for a new birth, to emerge altered, if not purified, from the confusion into which the saturnalia of the Directorate had plunged it. At that moment nothing had acquired any stability, but those who had eyes to see perceived well enough that they were advancing with giant steps towards a social regeneration. There was a general, an irresistible, yielding to pleasure. It was not the licence which had preceded it; it was like the distant and expiring sound of that licence assuming a regular cadence day after day. Lavishness was extreme; gold seemed, as it were, to flow; military and administrative fortunes had been made so rapidly as to leave people virtually in doubt as to the real price which had been paid for them. Numberless émigrés setting foot once more in their country, and finding their property practically unimpaired, made up by constant enjoyment for the cruel privations they had experienced in an alien land; others, happy to have escaped either that or proscription, followed suit, and freely scattered their fortunes, which they had been within an ace of losing for ever. Finally, as if everything conspired to the glorifying of that period, consider this further: that it counted, perhaps, the largest number of celebrated beauties. Not that chance had absolutely provided a most remarkable type of woman, but gold flung about by handfuls brought to the fore women who, if they had remained in an obscure position, would have probably passed unperceived; placed on pedestals, they borrowed from the world by which they were surrounded part of the brilliancy which dazzled the beholder. We reviewed all the joys of that remarkable period, and we naturally came to the recollection of the woman who was the queen then—Mme. Récamier. It was at her house that forgathered the best society of the time, and all that Paris held in the way of illustrious strangers. In her seemed incarnated the elegance and pomp of the moment. Prince Eugène had often been a guest at those receptions, which Europe has not yet forgotten.
‘That period,’ I said to the prince, ‘will always remain stamped on my memory, not only in virtue of the brilliance of its fêtes or the glamour of our military glory, but in virtue of a circumstance which formed an epoch in my existence. You know, prince, there are moments when fortune, weary as it were of taking you for its play-ball, suddenly lifts you from the depths of despair to the heaven of glory. At that time I had a very curious experience.’
‘Which is the circumstance?’ promptly exclaimed the Comtesse Laura. ‘You must tell us.’
‘It is a very long episode; nevertheless, if you will grant me your attention for a while, I will obey.
* * * * *
The most unforeseen resolutions are often due to the most trifling causes: it was perhaps one word, a single word, which decided my future. Everybody knows the awkwardness of those pet names that one gives to children, which continue up to a time when what was once pretty and graceful becomes intensely ridiculous. It was formerly the fashion in France, as it was here, and for the matter of that everywhere, to confer upon the very young that second baptism of friendship. Of course it seems the most natural thing in the world to do to-day what we did yesterday. Consequently, in Paris as in Vienna, they called tall, grown-up men, Fanfan, Dédé, Lolo, and other sobriquets, very sweet, but utterly unsuited to the men themselves. I ought to be a good special pleader of that cause, for I also have been called by one of those pet names, and I made a fine thing of it by remembering it on one of the most eventful days of my life. Yes, that rather ridiculous name was for me a talisman worth all the charms of the fairies. Napoleon had overthrown the contemned government of the Directorate. Sufficiently strong to be merciful, he allowed all those who had abandoned their country in order to save their heads to come back again. I had just left my ‘father’ in Amsterdam, he having resolved to send me to Paris in order to see his business man, and to find resources which were absolutely lacking in the alien land. He confided me to one of our countrymen, M. Clément, whose acquaintance we had made in Holland, and who was going back to France. We started together for Paris. We took up our quarters at the Hôtel de Paris in the Rue Coquillière. M. Clément found letters from his family, who had a few days previously left for Dijon, bidding him to follow them instantly. On leaving me, he entrusted me to the care of the manager, M. Chandeau, a pastry-cook by trade, who was willing to keep me there, though my appearance by no means promised a profitable customer, or even one able to settle a little bill. Nevertheless, I had a modest room on the fifth floor at a rental of twelve francs per month, and as for my meals, I arranged them very much in accordance with the slenderness of my purse. I prefer not to dwell upon this more than precarious existence.