There were great festivities at Naples, towards the end of 1854, in honour of the marriage of my brother Aumale and his cousin, the charming daughter of the Prince of Salerno. During the civil marriage, which took place at the palace, the King never left off tormenting the syndic of Naples, who figured in a full black Spanish suit in seventeenth-century style, and a wig with long floating curls. At the religious ceremony, numbers of lovely women in court dress, and men bearing great and historic names—such as the Marquis de Pescaire del Vasto, the Princes Colonna and Campo Reale, the Dukes of Ascoli and San Cesarea, and many others—gathered round the Royal Family. France was represented by Admiral de Parseval and the officers of the squadron, and by General Durosnel, who was aide-de-camp to my father, after having served Napoleon in the same capacity. He was an old soldier, the very personification of honour, with a memory stored with most interesting recollections. The French Embassy, placed beside these gentlemen, made a fine figure with the Due and Duchesse de Montebello at its head, accompanied by M. Lutteroth and his wife, the sister of that Count Batthyani who was executed in Hungary under such heartrending circumstances in the year 1848. The general public of France was represented among the spectators by M. Glais-Bizoin, who made a less fine effect, as those who have known the triumvir of Tours in 1870 will readily believe. He was one of the ugliest men in creation.
Then there was the whole diplomatic body, and foremost among its members the Austrian Minister, Prince Felix von Schwarzenberg, whose acquaintance I was very glad to make. He was an exceedingly pleasant man, the very type of a distinguished aristocrat, with a splendid head, clever and proud-looking at once, and a tall slight figure. He looked magnificent in his white uniform, that of an Austrian general, and turned all the ladies' heads. His love affairs were endless, and some of them have become celebrated, such as his elopement with a great lady in English society, who, when he left her, ended her days under the tent of an Arab chief, near Palmyra, described by Edmond About in Le Roi des Montagnes.
When once his passion was roused, he allowed no obstacle to stand in his way, and I never saw any man beset a woman with his addresses, in public, whatever her position might be, with such magnificent indifference to what people said, or to the consequences which might possibly ensue. And indeed his audacity generally paid. Later on he carried it into politics, and with equal success. My readers may know that he came into power in 1848, when the affairs of the House of Austria were at their lowest ebb, Vienna in revolution, Hungary in rebellion, and Lombardy invaded.
Full of confidence in the strength of the dynastic principle in the country, he induced two incapable emperors to abdicate, himself took young Francis Joseph to be solemnly invested with his sovereignty at Santa Lucia, among Radetsky's riflemen, just before the battle of Novara, made the alliance with Russia which forced Hungary into submission, and having thus snatched his country from the jaws of revolution and ruin, died on his feet, just after keeping an assignation. He was the man who made the well-known and characteristic remark, "You can do everything with bayonets—except sit on them!"
We had a constant succession of merry-makings. There was a state performance at the San Carlo, with a ballet danced by very pretty figurantes, whose tights were pink to below their knees only, the rest was apple-green. This detail was insisted on to spare the modesty of the management. I am not aware whether the genuine article profited in any way by the rule. When the San Carlo was over, we had San Carlino or Pulcinella. This character, peculiar to the local stage (who is supposed to have originated in Acerra, as Arlequino did in Bergamo), supported by his inseparable companion Pancrazio, poked fun to his heart's content, and in the raciest of burlesque, at all the latest Neapolitan occurrences and fashions, in a piece entitled Pulcinella alia Strada Ferrata.
There were balls to go to, when the theatres were over, at the palace, at the academy, and at our embassy. In the daytime there were shooting parties at Capo di Monte or Caserta. Those Neapolitan shooting parties are a thing of the past. I have heard my brother-in-law, King Leopold, tell how once, when he had been invited by the King to a shoot of large and small game at Mondragone, at which, in the course of a few days, three thousand woodcock had been killed, besides other game, he stayed on for a day longer than the other sportsmen, and in one morning he brought down sixty woodcock put up by his dog, on the very ground that had just been shot over.
To wind up our stay at Naples we christened one of the Due de Montebello's sons. The ceremony was performed after the Italian fashion in a drawing-room belonging to the Prince of Salerno, himself a thorough Neapolitan, with his wit and exaggerated drolleries, and the uproar he made and caused wherever he betook himself. This same uproar had already terrified the baby, when out of a sort of cupboard chapel a worthy chaplain, an old friend of my mother's, Monsignore Corbi, was seen to advance. The monsignore, who was exceedingly ugly, and very short in stature, had a huge mitre on his head, and looked so diabolical altogether that the child writhed in terror at the sight, and screamed in the most unearthly manner, while to quiet it the dignitary yelled in a squeaky voice, Bello, bello! ("Pretty, pretty!"), which only terrified it all the more.
On our way back from Naples we were caught in a violent gale outside the Straits of Bonifacio, which did some damage to the ship and demoralised the ladies. In consequence of this, instead of going straight to Marseilles, where a brilliant reception was awaiting the Duchesse d'Aumale, we put in at Toulon. There the Duchesse landed and went on to Marseilles by land, while I went round by sea.
But this did not suit the official masters of the ceremonies, and put out all their preparations for an ovation. The arrival had been planned to be by sea, and by sea it must be, or everything would be spoilt. So the poor Duchesse was taken quietly by a roundabout road to the old wet dock, where she was put on board, and after a slight detour, she arrived in approved nautical fashion, and disembarked at the foot of the Cannebiere "amidst a scene of indescribable enthusiasm," as the official descriptions would say.
The only recollections I have of those Marseilles fetes are musical ones. First of all that of King Rene's band, with tabour, pipes, and tambourines, escorting the "prud' hommes" fishermen dressed in Henri Quatre costumes. And secondly, that of a violoncello solo, admirably played by Offenbach, who was then quite young, and a musician in heart and soul, but who had not yet shown his great talent as a composer.