The palace of Prince Razumowski was blazing with light; every room was crowded with guests. Emperor Alexander had borrowed his ambassador’s residence for a fête offered to the sovereigns in honour of his sister’s birthday. The utmost interest was always evinced in the charming Catherine of Oldenburg, and perhaps the more because the Prince Royal of Würtemberg was constantly by her side. At every gathering, these two young people, rarely far apart, reminded one of the couple figuring so conspicuously in the opening pages of Mme. de Genlis’s novel Mademoiselle de Clermont.
Marie Dowager Empress of Russia.
Love unquestionably owed a good turn to this sweet, pretty, and graceful young woman, to indemnify her for the very unpleasant episodes of her first marriage. In 1809, there had been a question of an alliance between France and Russia, an alliance which would have consolidated peace in Europe. The young sister of the Czar was to be the pledge of that alliance. Napoleon, who at that period was justified in looking upon Alexander as a friend, caused diplomatic overtures to be made. The Russian monarch freely gave his consent,[83] but all at once a hitherto unthought-of obstacle arose, in the shape of the invincible repugnance of the dowager-empress to Napoleon, a repugnance that ought to have been removed by Napoleon’s magnanimous conduct to her son. When Alexander wished to sound his mother on that marriage by evincing a kind of partiality for it, she replied that it was henceforth out of the question, that two days previously she had given her word to the Grand-Duke of Oldenburg, to whom Catherine’s hand was promised. Alexander was a most respectful and submissive son. He offered no objections; negotiations were broken off; the marriage of Napoleon with an Austrian arch-duchess was concluded, and there was a prospective sovereign for the island of Elba.
Sacrificed to a feeling of political repugnance, Catherine became Grand-Duchess of Oldenburg and established her Court at Tiver, a pretty town between Moscow and St. Petersburg—a small Court, recalling those of Ferrara and Florence during the most brilliant days of their artistic glory. Art, however, does not invariably contribute to a woman’s happiness. United to a man whom she could not love, the grand-duchess fretted under her lot. At first people sympathised with her, finally they took no heed of, or became used to, her grief. Then, as if to realise sweeter dreams, came on the one hand the death of her husband, and on the other the love of a prince, young, handsome, brave, and amiable—a prince placed on the steps of a throne.
By a strange coincidence, the Prince Royal of Würtemberg had been similarly compelled to contract a marriage against his inclination. Napoleon’s will, all-powerful at that time over the king’s mind, united the son, in spite of himself, to a Bavarian princess, a political alliance intended to make an end of all dissensions between the two states. From the first day of their union an unconquerable estrangement and a constant coolness had sprung up between the young couple, and consequently, at the fall of Napoleon, they were divorced. The Princess Charlotte of Bavaria returned to her father’s Court. Unappreciated by a husband whose affection she had been unable to gain, she never uttered a word of reproach; her angelic temper and her unalterable kindness never failed her. Later on, the imperial crown of Austria was offered to her,[84] and eventually she shared one of the most powerful thrones of Europe. When her first husband learnt the news of the unexpected elevation of the woman he had neglected, but whose noble heart he had never misjudged, he exclaimed, ‘I’ll have, at any rate, one more friend at the Court of Vienna.’
Catherine of Russia and Wilhelm of Würtemberg both became free. From that moment a mutual and strong affection took possession of their hearts, which, constrained so long by the will of others, had learnt to appreciate the delights of natural attraction. How often in the shady glades of the Prater, or on the banks of the majestic stream flowing at its foot, have I seen them, emancipated for a little while from the etiquette of Courts, and yielding like ordinary mortals to the feeling that animated them. Far from the pomp and splendour of their ordinary surroundings, they perhaps confidentially made plans for the future, in the hope of a union which bade fair to be happy—the prince, young, manly, with a noble disposition and reputed for his brilliant courage; the grand-duchess conspicuous for her intellectual and physical grace. Now and again a third came to interrupt this ‘dual solitude’; but his presence evidently made no difference; for the third comer was not only a brother, but a friend—no less a personage than Alexander himself, who appeared to be supping full with glory and happiness.
The fête given by the czar in honour of his charming sister was worthy in every respect of his brotherly affection and of its object. All the sovereigns, all the illustrious guests of the Congress, had repaired to it, and with him had come all the Russians of distinction: Nesselrode, Gagarine, Dolgorouki, Galitzin, Capo d’Istria, Narischkine, Souvaroff, Troubetzkoy, the two Volkonskis, Princesses Souvaroff, Bagration, Gagarine, and many others equally remarkable for their birth, wealth, beauty, and their distinguished manners. Practically, I found myself among all those magnificent Muscovite beings who had compelled my admiration at Moscow, St. Petersburg, and at Tulczim, at the Comtesse Potocka’s, where the year seemed to be made up of three hundred and sixty-five fêtes.
The rooms at Prince Razumowski’s were lighted with a profusion that reminded one of the resplendent rays of the sun. A vast riding-school had been converted into a ball-room; and to impart variety to the entertainment, the corps de ballet of the Imperial Theatre had organised a Muscovite divertissement, the minutest details of which were carried out with scrupulous exactness. Towards the middle of the ball, they made their appearance dressed as gipsies, and performed dances with which those supposed descendants of the Pharaohs enhance the fêtes of the rich and sensuous boyards. These dances, in virtue of their graceful movements and the picturesqueness of the postures, are, according to that great traveller Griffiths, much superior to those of the bayadères of India.
The ball was opened by the inevitable and methodical polonaise. The fête was, however, marked in particular by a Russian dance, by one of the Court ladies of Empress Elizabeth and General Comte Orloff, one of the aides-de-camp of Emperor Alexander.[85] Both wore the Russian dress, the comte that of a young Muscovite, namely, a close-fitting caftan, tied round the waist by a cashmere scarf, a broad-brimmed hat, and gloves like those of the ancient knights; his partner was dressed like the women of Southern Russia, whose costumes vie in richness with those of all other nations. On her head, the hair arranged in flat bands in front and falling in long plaits behind, she wore a tiara of pearls and precious stones. The ornament harmonised perfectly with the rest of the costume, composed, as usual, of exceedingly bright-coloured material.