At Vienna, all the European celebrities solicited the distinction of reproduction by his brush, and he could scarcely comply with all their requests. The number of portraits he painted at that period is positively surprising, and supplies a proof of his talent having been as fertile as it is graceful. Whenever there was a question of organising this or that entertainment for which the Congress was the pretext, the artist who had drawn the designs for Napoleon’s coronation was, as may be imagined, considered in the light of a ‘God-send.’ Nothing was done without consulting him.
According to Isabey himself, it was M. de Talleyrand who had prompted the idea of his going to Vienna; and art is indebted to that journey for his remarkable and historical drawing of a ‘Sitting of the Plenipotentiaries at the Congress.’
The fall of Napoleon deprived Isabey of nearly all his functions. One day, in the study of the statesman who at that time was supposed to have mainly contributed to that catastrophe, the artist spoke regretfully of a restoration which, as far as he was concerned, spelt ruin. On one of the walls of the room hung an engraving of the ‘Peace of Munster,’ after Terburg. Pointing to it, Talleyrand said, ‘A Congress is to be held at Vienna. Why not go there?’ The few words were as a ray of light in the darkness to Isabey, and from that moment his mind was made up. Talleyrand did more than give a hint. He gave him a most cordial welcome, and proved a kindly and appreciative patron.
On Prince Eugène’s arrival in Vienna, one of his first calls was upon Isabey. In his equivocal position, he felt only too glad to see somebody reminding him of his younger days. The painter by his bright recollections often dispelled the sadness of the prince. It was Eugène who shortly afterwards took Isabey to Emperor Alexander. Isabey’s conversation was always interesting, but it became positively sparkling and historically valuable when recounting the marvellous details of the coronation, which, as has been said, were arranged by him. Isabey was not less delightful when recalling the familiar and every-day life at Malmaison.
Already in 1812, during a tour through Germany, Isabey, being in Prague, had made a sketch of the Prince de Ligne, which sketch he carefully preserved and which hangs to this day (1830) in his studio. Notwithstanding the seventy-and-eight years of the model, the sketch shows the noble and delicately cut features which to the end were the object of everybody’s admiration. At that period the Prince de Ligne only knew Isabey by reputation. One morning he called upon the artist, who happened to be out. But his album lay open near his easel. Instead of leaving his card, the prince took up a pen and wrote a dozen tripping and sparkling lines, describing Isabey’s talent, finishing up with:
‘He constitutes as great an honour to art as to his country;
And in virtue of this impromptu, I also am a painter.’
This tribute to Isabey’s talent on the part of the Prince de Ligne is only one of the valuable testimonies contained in Isabey’s album. Every important personage in Europe, ministers, generals, artists, ladies of high degree, have equally considered it a pleasure to testify to their admiration and their esteem.
Isabey had been quartered magnificently, like Benvenuto Cellini in days of yore, at the Louvre. His studio, hung from floor to ceiling with sketches, drawings, and portraits in a more or less advanced stage of completion, impressed one with the idea of a magic lantern, representing in turns all the notable personages who at that moment had forgathered in Vienna.
The hour taken up with the prince’s sitting seemed short to me. Every now and again the work was interrupted by this or that subtle remark or lively reminiscence. The conversation ran principally on a little adventure in connection with the game of ‘leap-frog,’ which caused such a stir in Paris at the period of the Consulate, and which was obstinately believed in, in spite of Isabey’s denials. Here it is in its original version.
Bonaparte, as is well known, was in the habit of walking with his arms crossed upon his chest, and his head slightly bent forward. Isabey was at Malmaison, and he and some of the First Consul’s aides-de-camp were having a game of leap-frog on the lawn. Isabey had already jumped over the heads of most of them, when, at the turning of a path, he espied the last player who, in the requisite position, seemed to be waiting for the ordeal. Isabey pursued his course without looking, but took his flight so badly as only to reach the other’s shoulders, and both rolled over and over in the sand, and to Isabey’s consternation, his supposed fellow-player turned out to be Bonaparte. At that period, Bonaparte had probably not pondered the possibility of a ‘fall’; hence, it was said, refractory at this first lesson, he got up, foaming at the mouth with anger, and drawing his sword, pounced upon the unfortunate leaper. Isabey, luckily for himself better at running than at leaping, took to his heels, and jumping the ditches dividing the property from the high road, got over the wall and never stopped until, breathless, he reached the gates of the Tuileries. Isabey, it was added, went immediately to Mme. Bonaparte’s apartments, and she, after having laughed at the mishap, advised him to lie low for a little while. It was still further reported that it wanted all Josephine’s angelic goodness of heart and cleverness, besides her usual influence over Bonaparte, to appease the latter’s anger and to obtain the painter’s pardon. Bonaparte at that moment was only ‘Consul for Life,’ but people already foresaw the Empire, and the section of Paris society which was not too well pleased at the prospect of a possible return to former ideas naturally made the most of the anecdote of Malmaison. The denials of Isabey, who took good care to make short work of all the detailed rumours, found little or no belief; the adventure was considered extremely diverting, and Isabey’s contradiction of it had no effect.