“I’ll teach him how to drive—canaille!” he repeated, addressing me, and appearing to enjoy the terror depicted on my countenance.
And indeed we travelled more than two hundred versts in twelve hours, and yet, notwithstanding this unheard of speed, at the stations he used to order the drivers to be flogged, remarking to me:
“C’est notre manière de leur donner le pourboire!”[[36]]
On arriving at the principal town we stopped at a large state building, in which we were absolutely lost, as in a desert. (The Prince had no family.) It was early morning, and I was dying for want of sleep; but he insisted on having the official reception at once, and despatched couriers in all directions with the news of his arrival. Two hours later the state-rooms of the house were filled with trembling officials.
Although prerogatives play an important part in our fair France, yet I could never have conceived of anything like what I saw here. Among us such words as “scoundrel” (“vaurien,” “polisson” and—unfortunately—“Chenapan”) constitute the severest reprimand which a guilty official can possibly deserve from an angry superior. Here, on the contrary, independently of plenteously-scattered personal insults, it is customary to add emphatic remarks concerning the genealogy of the person abused.
The prince was as scarlet as a boiled lobster, and hurried on from one subordinate to another, pouring out deluges of virulent abuse. He was especially hard upon a certain lame major, whom he ironically introduced to me with the remark, “This is my Maupas.” I at first imagined that this unhappy man must have attempted to usurp the prince’s power during his absence (which, of course, would have justified his wrath), but it appeared that nothing of the kind had happened. Up to this day I cannot explain to myself what was the cause of those grievous scenes which I witnessed on that memorable morning. The prince explained them to me as resulting from a desire to defend his prerogatives, but that reason appeared to me insufficient, as no one, apparently, had infringed those prerogatives. In a word, the official reception ended in a complete victory for my exalted amphytrion, who paced about the rooms, bridling like a spirited horse and proudly rejoicing in his easily-won triumph.
It was only at dinner that I began to feel at ease. It went off rather pleasantly, for there were present several favourites of the prince, young men, evidently very well educated. One of them, who had lately returned from St. Petersburg, very cleverly mimicked Mdlle. Paget,[[37]] at her soirées intimes, singing, “Un soir à la barrière.” This song, though far from new, and almost gone from my memory, gave me the greatest pleasure.
That evening the prince introduced me to the lady of his affections, whom he had taken away a short time before from one of the local municipal counsellors.[[38]] This most charming woman produced on me a profound impression, which was still further strengthened when I felt under the table the pressure of her foot against mine. Her husband was present, and greatly amused us by his jests at the expense of betrayed husbands, from which category the simple-hearted man did not exclude himself. Some of these jests, under the mask of naïveté, were so biting that the Pompadour reddened and lost his temper; but his morganatic friend, apparently, was accustomed to such scenes, for she looked on as if she had been an unconcerned outsider.
Our merry supper was drawing to a close, when suddenly some one came running in to announce that a fire had broken out at the end of the town.
“That is capital!” said the Pompadour to me. “Vous allez me voir à l’œuvre!”[[39]]