His consternation notwithstanding, Galitzin soon perceived that he had been duped by an adroit scoundrel, who at the moment of handing him the ring had cleverly substituted a paste imitation of it, but an imitation calculated to impose upon all but the most expert. A hue-and-cry was raised after the Italian in Moscow, but immediately after securing the amount of his voucher, he had left. As for the prince, in addition to the loss of his money, he had the mortification of being pitied by no one; he was simply looked upon as ‘the biter bit.’
The affair of Z—— made a great noise in Vienna. The enormous amount of his loss, the circumstances under which it was sustained, the place itself of the gambling transaction, everything pointed to a diabolically conceived combination, scarcely to be reconciled with the age of the gamblers, the oldest of whom was only three-and-twenty. The sequel fully confirmed my prediction to S——. Alexander had the deepest aversion to gamblers and gambling. From that moment he withdrew his favour from S——, and eight months afterwards in Paris, in the private room of the Emperor at the Elysée Bourbon, S—— was forced to admit that he would willingly part with half of his fortune if the affair had never occurred, or if he had taken my advice about hushing it up.
Z—— and the Comte B—— fought a duel with swords, in which the latter was worsted, and the sum paid in settlement of his winnings was comparatively a modest one. The Emperor Alexander would neither forgive nor forget the affair. A few years later the young comte, knowing that in Russia it is not sufficient to be somebody, but that it is necessary to be also something, wrote to the emperor to be attached to the legation at Florence; but Alexander sent a refusal in the following terms:
‘In consideration of the services rendered to our august mother by the Comte B——, your father, I excuse the glaring presumption of your request.’
Under the painful impression of that scene in the morning, I spent a sad day, full of depressing thoughts. The rapid ruin of Z——, the callousness of his two adversaries, the inevitable consequences of such a startling affair, did not make me feel disposed to enjoy any of the daily gaieties of the Congress. The arrival of Ypsilanti put an end to my serious mood. He came to take me to the masked ball given by the Court in the small hall set apart for routs, which was to be preceded by ‘living pictures.’ I at first refused, but was finally persuaded to accompany him.
The entertainment differed but little from similar ones that had gone before; at that period there was one almost every week. After a few turns through the magnificent rooms, which, as usual, afforded the most complete and animated example of everything that wealth could procure and the constant craving for pleasure could relish, we went into the room arranged for ‘the living pictures.’ In the front rows, the emperors, the sovereigns, and queens, had already taken their seats; behind them were the political celebrities of the Congress. In a few minutes the curtain rose.
The first picture was ‘la Conversation Espagnole,’ and the second ‘la Famille de Darius aux pieds d’Alexandre,’ after the handsome painting of Lebrun. The Comte de Schönfeldt represented Alexander, and the charming Sophie Zichy impersonated Statira. The features of the male character were stamped with the gentle pride of the victor, still further tempered by the kindness and modesty of the hero; the comtesse, even more beautiful than the figure of Lebrun’s painting, expressed both admiration and grief. The youngest and most charming women of the Court represented the daughters of Darius and the attendants of Statira. The heroic and touching expression of the principal personages, the numerous delightful figures, the fidelity of the attitudes, the arrangement of the light—in short, everything gave to the picture a completeness both elevated and sensuous, and it was not surprising to hear it unanimously applauded. It was followed by a performance of the sparkling comedy Le Pacha de Surêne, by M. Etienne. The principal parts were played by the Comtesses Zichy and Marassi, the Princesses Marie de Metternich and Thérèse Esterhazy, the Comte de Wallstein, the Prince Antoine Radziwill, and a few other distinguished personages. This pretty piece, interpreted with the ability of experienced actors, was greatly applauded.
After that we went to the ball-room. One of the first persons that caught my eye on entering was the Prince de Ligne. He was beaming with happiness, and his step was as elastic and graceful as that of any young man. It was not the same man who had confided his griefs to me on the previous night. On his arm hung a woman in a blue domino. Her figure, her voice, and the whole of her bearing fully explained the disappointment and regret of the prince at finding himself alone at the love-tryst. I brushed gently past him, and whispered in his ear: ‘It appears that you were lacking in patience last night.’ ‘You are right,’ was the answer. ‘The great art of life is the exercise of patience.’
I went away, but I fancied I recognised the prince’s companion. It was, unless I made a mistake, Mme. A—— P——, the young and charming Greek, who was attracting so much attention in Vienna. An unhappy love affair, of which the Prince de C—— was the hero, had aroused the interest of the fair and most impressionable half of the Austrian aristocracy; her great beauty had easily obtained for her many friends among the other half of the European celebrities. Her romantic story, which was told in whispers, was simple and touching. Having fallen a victim to the Prince de C——‘s blandishments when she was still very young, she almost immediately became a mother. Both her existence and her heart were broken by desertion. There was no lack of would-be consolers; but doubtless her experience had taught her that a first lapse is only condoned on condition of its not being repeated. Unable to dispense with a protector, she judiciously chose the Prince de Ligne, whose great age, she probably thought, would silence all adverse comment. The liaison, it was said, remained strictly within the limits of a platonic correspondence; the young Greek contributing her share by epistles such as all women of all countries and conditions know how to write; the illustrious old man replying with effusions of which he alone had preserved the secret. The latter contained the expression of a sentiment more intense, perhaps, than that of mere friendship, but tempered by the gentle logic of a wholly paternal affection.
Contrary to the invariable etiquette prevailing at state balls, where only the polonaise was danced, quadrilles were speedily organised. A few moments later I caught sight once more of the Prince de Ligne, but this time he was alone. As a matter of course, I went up to him. ‘Just watch that pretty bayadère figuring in the quadrille close to us,’ he said. ‘Would you not take her for one of the most tantalizing girls at the ball? Well, before she had spoken three words I guessed her identity. It’s young Alfred, the Comte de Woyna’s brother.’