Everybody knows the sequel of this comedy, and how the pledges were kept. When that dream was over, Potocki simply studied to make the woman he idolised thoroughly happy. The art, the talent, the pomp and splendour of various parts of the world were all called into requisition to add to her happiness. To satisfy her desires and her slightest fancies, he absolutely realised all that the imagination may conceive in the way of fairy tales. One day she expressed a wish for a set of pearl ornaments. The count asked for a twelvemonth to offer one worthy of her. He sent to every capital of Europe and Asia the drawing of a pearl, and informed the jewellers that he would pay a thousand louis for each one that equalled the model in size and brilliancy. They gathered a hundred, and at the next St. Sophia’s day he clasped round the charming neck of his wife a necklace worth a hundred thousand louis.
At the death of Comte Potocki, Sophie practically found herself at the head of his colossal fortune, either in virtue of direct personal gift or as the trustee of the children born of her second marriage. It was shortly after this that I made her acquaintance at St. Petersburg, and accompanied her to her estate at Tulczim. Even at that period the celebrated Sophie was a most ravishing creature. Her beauty was really marvellous, and reminded me of nothing so much as the models the Greek statuaries of old must have employed to create their divinities.
It would require volumes to convey an idea of the life led at Tulczim. Sophie saw life from so high a point that she no longer seemed to belong to the world surrounding her, which her beauty kept incessantly at her feet. It was not that she was vain or imperious, but she was beautiful, and she knew it. This never-ceasing worship had made an idol of her, and from the altar on which they had placed her, she paid the incense with a look and the praise with a smile. Queen in virtue of her beauty, she seemed to say, ‘The world—I am the world!’ Her palace was the temple of hospitality. The stranger who came to ask an asylum was royally put up for a fortnight: horses, carriages, and servants were placed at his disposal, without his being obliged to show himself to his hostess, but on the sixteenth day he was to present himself, if only in order to take his leave. And that sort of thing, be it remembered, was practised, not under the tent of the Arab of the desert, nor in the hut of a Laplander, but in an enchanted palace of which Sophie was the Fairy Queen. No wonder that she often said, ‘People have paid me visits at Tulczim which have lasted for three years.’ I remember, among others, a fête she gave to Madame Narischkine, Alexander the First’s friend. It lasted for three days. About the same period I accompanied her on a journey to the Crimea, to take possession of some territory which had been granted to her by an imperial favour, and on the site of which she wished to found a town named Sophiopolis.
At the eastern point of the Crimea there uprises a double promontory. On that spot stood the temple whose priestess was Iphigenia. Between those two promontories lies the delightful valley where reigns eternal spring. The olive- and orange-trees grow wild. The Greeks, fitly to render homage to the beauty of the spot, called it Kaloslimen. It was there that Sophiopolis was to be erected. We got to the summit of Cape Laspi. The countess built a pavilion there whence she could inspect the works. It was on the same spot that Catherine II. was struck with admiration at the sight of the picture unfolded before her, regretting that the Euxine, which rose to the horizon, hid Constantinople from her.
Wishing to perpetuate the memory of the woman whom he had so deeply loved, Comte Potocki decided that the gardens should bear the name of Sophie, and should surpass in magnificence, as well as in taste, all that antiquity and modern times had that was most remarkable. To realise this project he chose a vast space, where savage nature could lend itself to the embellishments of art. He employed two thousand peasants as navvies for ten years, and spent twenty millions. Enormous masses of rock were transported and rivers turned out of their courses. Finally, near a spot which is only known by the exile of Ovid, he realised among the steppes of Yedissen what the imagination of Tasso could lend to the gardens of Armida.
During my stay at Tulczim, I often visited that beautiful garden, and I always remained in ecstasies before that unique creation. I did not wonder that it had revived the septuagenarian muse of Trembecki. Seduced by the hope of acquitting towards that noble family of Potocki a debt of gratitude, I attempted, during my stay at Tulczim, to translate into French verse the beautiful inspirations of the Polish bard. When my task was finished, I desired to enhance the work, by investing it with a splendour that might complement its literary merit. The Comte Jean Potocki came to my aid with his profound knowledge, and Mr. William Allan, an English landscape-painter, to-day the President of the Royal Academy of Painting in Edinburgh, lent me the magic of his brush. I intended to publish the work in France, when the desire to witness in Vienna the unique scenes being enacted there brought me to the capital of Austria. Having witnessed the success obtained by the Comte de Rechberg, thanks to the assistance of King Maximilian, surrounded by all the masters of art grouping themselves around this gathering of sovereigns, I bethought myself of placing my verses under the patronage of the European celebrities whom the Congress had brought together. I began to take steps, and to solicit, with the hope of inscribing them at the head of my translation, names of celebrity which should serve it as an ægis. The familiar footing on which everybody was living with every one else in Vienna obviated much of the difficulty which my efforts would have cost elsewhere. With nearly all the sovereigns it was sufficient to present oneself to be received, without asking for a special interview. In a few days my subscription list was full. The Emperor and Empress of Russia were the first to put their names down for several copies. The Kings of Prussia, Denmark, Bavaria, and, in short, every illustrious personage in Vienna, followed suit. I had Polish type cast. The printing was confided to the presses of the celebrated Strauss. Krudner did the engravings. Nothing was spared to invest the publication with all the beauty to which it could lend itself. The first copies had just been ‘pulled’ when the news reached us of the landing of Napoleon at Cannes. From that moment people troubled very little about literature and poetry, but there were a great many diplomatic conferences, declarations, and preparations for war. Nearly all the subscribers left Vienna without taking their copies. I myself left the city a little while afterwards to go to Paris; and of the whole of my attempt there only remained the recollection of the gracious reception of the sovereigns, and one of the most curious collections of autographs in the hands of any author. Men in Vienna—Russians and Poles—without distinction subscribed for the publication of the songs of Trembecki. People little dreamt that, fifty years later, that beautiful garden would be taken away from the family of its founder, confiscated in consequence of the last revolution of Poland. Sophieowka has been added to the domains of the Emperor of Russia. They have even taken away its name, which it owed to love. To-day it is called Czaritzine-Gad (the garden of the Czarina). There is, however, something more powerful than arms, than conquests, than the decrees of kings. It is the empire of memory and of poesy. The beautiful verses of Trembecki will endure, and in ages to come people will always pronounce the name, and the only name of Sophieowka.
CHAPTER XIX
A Luncheon at M. de Talleyrand’s on his Birthday—M. de Talleyrand and the MS.—The Princesse-Maréchale Lubomirska—The New Arrivals—Chaos of Claims—The Indemnities of the King of Denmark—Rumours of the Congress—Arrival of Wellington at Vienna—The Carnival—Fête of the Emperor of Austria—A Masked Rout—The Diadem, or Vanity Punished—A Million—Gambling and Slavery: a Russian Anecdote.