But all I have said did not hinder St. Petersburg from being a pleasant as well as profitable place of sojourn for a painter. The Emperor Paul loved and patronised the arts. A great admirer of French literature, he munificently subsidised the actors to whom he owed the pleasure of seeing our dramatic masterpieces performed.
Doyen, my father's friend and the historical painter I have already mentioned, was distinguished by Paul as he had been by Catherine II. Though very old at the time, Doyen, who had imposed a simple and frugal manner of living upon himself, had accepted but a portion of the Empress's generous offers. The Emperor continued in the path of Catherine, and ordered a ceiling for the new palace of St. Michael, as yet unfurnished. The room where Doyen was working was close to the Hermitage. Paul and all the court passed through it on their way to mass, and the Emperor rarely returned without stopping to chat for more or less time with the painter in quite amiable fashion. I am hereby reminded how, one day, one of the Emperor's gentlemen-in-waiting stepped up to Doyen and said: "Permit me, sir, to make a slight observation. You are painting the hours dancing round the chariot of the sun. I see one there, in the distance, smaller than the rest; the hours, however, are all exactly alike." "Sir," replied Doyen with cool self-possession, "you are perfectly right, but what you point out is only a half-hour." The first speaker nodded in assent, and went off greatly pleased with himself. I must not forget to record that the Emperor, wishing to pay the price of painting the ceiling before it was finished, sent to Doyen a bank-note for a large sum—how much I do not now remember. But the bank-note was enclosed in a wrapper, upon which Paul had written with his own hand, "Here is something to buy colours with; as for oil, there is a lot left in the lamp."
If my father's old friend was pleased with his life at St. Petersburg, I was none the less pleased with mine. I worked without relaxing from morning till evening. Only on Sundays I lost two hours, which I was obliged to grant people wishing to see my studio, and among these there were frequently grand dukes and grand duchesses. Besides the pictures I have already spoken of, and an endless succession of portraits, I had sent to Paris for my large portrait of Queen Marie Antoinette, one in which I had painted her in a blue velvet dress, and the general interest it provoked yielded me the sweetest delight. The Prince de Condé, then at St. Petersburg, on coming to see it, uttered not a word, but burst into tears.
In respect of social amenity St. Petersburg left nothing to be desired. One might have believed oneself at Paris, so many French were there at the fashionable gatherings. It was thus that I saw the Duke Richelieu and the Count de Langeron again. They were really not residents, the first being Governor of Odessa and the other always travelling on military inspections, but it was different with a host of other countrymen of mine. For instance, I made acquaintance with the amiable and dear good Countess Ducrest de Villeneuve. Not only was this young woman very pretty and very well built, but she had a special charm coming from her great goodness of heart. I often saw her at St. Petersburg, as well as at Moscow, by which I am reminded that one day, when I went to dine with her, an instance occurred of a kind not rare in Russia, but which frightened me excessively. M. Ducrest de Villeneuve came for me in a sledge, and it was so cold that my forehead was quite frozen. I exclaimed in terror, "I shall be able to think no more!" M. de Villeneuve hurried me into a shop, where my forehead was rubbed with snow, and this remedy, employed by the Russians in all similar cases, soon banished the cause of my despair.
MARIE ANTOINETTE.
I did not neglect the natives who treated me so well, for my French friends and my relations with Russian families were constantly increasing. Besides the numerous persons I have already mentioned, I often saw M. Dimidoff, the richest private gentleman in Russia. His father had left him a heritage of richly productive iron and quicksilver mines, and the enormous sales he made to the government kept on enlarging his fortune. His immense wealth was the cause of his obtaining in marriage Mlle. Strogonoff, a member of one of the most aristocratic and oldest families of Russia. Their union was very happy. They left only two sons, one of whom lives in Paris most of the time, and who, like his father, has a great love for pictures.
The Emperor ordered me to make a portrait of his wife. I represented her standing, wearing a court dress, and a diamond crown on her head. I do not like painting diamonds; the brush cannot render their brilliancy. Nevertheless, in taking for a background a large crimson velvet curtain, I succeeded in making the crown shine as much as possible. When I sent for the picture to finish the details at home, the Empress wanted to lend me the court dress and all the jewels belonging to it, but they were so valuable that I declined to accept the trust, which would have given me too much anxiety. I preferred to finish my painting at the palace, whither I had the picture taken back. The Empress Maria was a very handsome woman; her plumpness kept her fresh. She had a tall figure, full of dignity, and magnificent fair hair. I recollect having seen her at a great ball with her beautiful locks falling at each side of her shoulders and a diamond tiara on the top of her head. This tall and handsome woman walked majestically next to Paul, on his arm, and a striking contrast was thus presented. To all her loveliness was added a sweet character. The Empress Maria was truly the woman of the Gospel; her virtues were so universally known that she perhaps affords the only example of a woman never attacked by slander. I confess I was proud to find myself honoured with her favour, and that I set great store by the good-will she showed me on all occasions.
Our sittings took place immediately after the court dinner, so that the Emperor and his two sons, Alexander and Constantine, were habitually present. These august spectators did not annoy me in the least, especially as the Emperor, who alone could have made me feel any diffidence, was exceedingly polite to me. One day, when coffee was being served, as I was already at my easel, he brought me a cup himself, and then waited until I had drunk the coffee to take back the cup and put it away. Another time, it is true, he made me witness a rather comical scene. I was having a screen put behind the Empress in order to obtain a quiet background. In this moment of intermission Paul began cutting up a thousand antics, exactly like a monkey, scratching the screen and pretending to climb up it. Alexander and Constantine seemed pained at their father's grotesque behaviour before a stranger, and I myself felt sorry on their account.