MEMOIRS
OF THE
Princesse de Ligne

EDITED BY
LUCIEN PEREY
TRANSLATED BY LAURA ENSOR

IN TWO VOLUMES.—VOL. II.

NEW YORK
SCRIBNER AND WELFORD
1887

Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh

CONTENTS

IV

Arrival of the Prince-Bishop in Paris—Letters from Madame de Pailly—Letters from the Princesse de Ligne-Lichtenstein—The Abbé Baudeau at Bel Œil—Arrival of the de Lignes in Paris—Marriage of Hélène and Prince Charles—Their departure for Brussels.

The Prince-Bishop at last decided to start for Paris. He had hardly arrived when he received a visit from Madame de Pailly, who informed him of his niece’s inclinations, and explained to him the progress of affairs. The Bishop earnestly requested to see the Princesse de Ligne-Luxembourg herself, but at that moment she was staying with Madame de Brionne at her country place of Limours. Madame de Pailly at once resumes her pen:—

“The Prince-Bishop, Madame, is always inquiring whether you have returned; he is extremely desirous to have the honour of seeing you, and I should be very glad if you could seriously discuss the matter with him.

“Occasions on which I can prove to you my zeal and entire devotion will not be wanting with so vacillating a mind; you will be able to say through me anything you please. I will see to everything, and render you a faithful account of what happens. But it seems to me that we must settle between ourselves what is to be the point of departure. He has referred several times to the question of settlements, especially with regard to the present. Would it not be better to present him with a copy of the deed of property? It would hurry on the transaction, and be a wise measure.

“The Prince de Salm’s agents are very active; he constantly alludes to him, and he listens to my replies as if they were quite new to him; he goes on confiding to my ear all the proposals that are made to him. We have three fresh rivals, who, for the present, however, give me no anxiety.”

The desired explanations at last arrived from Brussels, in the following letter:—

The Princesse de Ligne-Lichtenstein to the Princesse de Ligne-Luxembourg.

“I trust, Princess, you do not doubt the tenderness of my feelings towards you; the gratitude I now owe you can only increase it.

“I have the honour to enclose the paper concerning M. de Ligne’s property. For the last year he has put all his affairs into my hands, and as I sign everything and collect all the revenues, and M. de Ligne even gives me the receipts for the money he draws from the estates, I can guarantee the exactness of the document.

“I am too sure of my husband’s affection for you, Princess, and the confidence he has in your judgment, not to feel certain that he will agree to any arrangement you may choose to make for his son. I beg to entreat you, Madame, in case you should think an income of twenty-five thousand livres[1] not sufficient for the present, to fix the sum yourself, for I only require one more year to settle the affairs of our house (public opinion having kindly reported that they were in a much more confused state than I found them to be). I can promise you to honour any arrangements and liabilities that you will undertake for our young people. All they will have to do when they draw their income every three months will be to sign their names. I have made it a rule in business to consider as sacred the dates on which income or pensions fall due.

“The affection I bear towards my children leading me perhaps to overlook their faults, it would ill become me to praise our son, but I must believe the testimony of those who knew him at Strasburg during several years; and at the present moment we have every reason to be satisfied with the character he bears in the army.

“Pray, therefore, do not relax your kindness towards him, and let your efforts conduce to his happiness. You will also be contributing towards mine, for to see him settled and to be surrounded by my children will be my greatest joy.

“Receive, Princess, the assurance of my deepest respect and esteem,” etc. etc.

This letter had a wonderful effect on the uncle, but did not move his niece.

“The young lady,” writes Madame de Pailly, “is infatuated with M. de Salm; he has some emissary about her whom we do not know, and who demolishes beforehand all we can say against him. Even the Comte de Horn’s name has been brought forward as an honour, on account of the Regent’s phrase[2] about him.

“The good uncle feels his own weakness, and carefully endeavours to hide it; he has agreed to everything with me, and, as I have been fortunate enough to persuade him, he fancies I shall have the same success with his niece, as if they were in the same frame of mind. To-day he is going to use all his influence, and at the same time inform her of the visit he wishes me to make, and of the entire trust he desires she should have in me. I shall lend myself to all his wishes, and shall have the honour of sending you a report of this interview. Receive, I pray,” etc.

The uncle did not meet with the slightest success in his efforts to overcome his niece’s resistance. Madame de Pailly was obliged to confess it to her correspondent: “There is one point, Madame, on which I think you will be obliged to give way; the Bishop asserts that he can only overcome his niece’s passionate wish to be married in Paris by pledging his word that she shall spend three winters there under your guidance, so as to get accustomed to the fashionable world. He appears to attach great importance to this promise; for he feels the great advantage it would be to his niece. You still have time, Madame, to think over this matter, for we can discuss the other points in the meantime; I will tell you what they are when I see you....”

The Princesse de Ligne kept her nephew informed of all these negotiations; as for the Prince’s father, he was still detained with the army, waiting for peace to be signed. Prince Charles wrote a short cold note to his aunt, in which he did not even allude to his marriage:—

“My dear Aunt—Although peace has been declared the Congress is not yet over; my father is very displeased at it; he is still in a wretched village, feeling very dull, with nothing to do.

“He will certainly go to Paris as soon as he can; I envy him the pleasure he will have in seeing you, my dear aunt.

“Allow me to assure you from time to time of the feelings of affection and respect with which I remain all my life,” etc. etc.

The coolness the Prince displayed will be easily understood when we learn that he already felt for a friend of his childhood a love which was never completely effaced. But, accustomed as he was absolutely to respect the paternal or rather the maternal will, it never entered his mind for one moment not to obey.

His mother had eagerly agreed to their cousin’s plans. Hélène’s large fortune, the isolated position of the young girl, which would tend to make her adopt her husband’s family as her own, had quite won over the Princess, who ignored or pretended to ignore her son’s secret affection. She therefore persevered in her efforts, hoping to succeed, though the object in view was not easy to attain.

The Bishop of Wilna had been won over to the de Lignes, but he had many a hard battle to fight, for an unforeseen circumstance had strengthened Hélène’s resolution not to leave Paris. Her friend, Mademoiselle de Lauraguais, had married the Duc Auguste d’Aremberg, cousin of the de Lignes, who, like him, resided for part of the year at the Court of Brussels. The young Duchess returned to Paris for some time, and at once visited her former companions at the Abbaye-aux-Bois. She had heard of Prince Charles’ proposed marriage, and gave Hélène a most gloomy description of life in Brussels. The latter immediately repeated this to her uncle, making the picture several shades darker. The poor Bishop did not know who to listen to; in the midst of his perplexities he determined to despatch the Abbé Baudeau, who was always at hand, to Bel Œil,[3] giving him instructions to confer verbally with the Princesse de Ligne on the delicate subject of a residence in Paris, as well as on the money question. He was allowed great latitude on this latter point, and accordingly set off.

Madame de Pailly lost no time, and again wrote to the Princesse de Ligne-Luxembourg: “We have had news of the envoy, Madame, and we hear he is much pleased with everything, but he sends word that Madame la Princesse de Ligne will not hear of a three years’ residence in Paris.

“The Bishop appeared to me very much disturbed at the effect this would have on his niece, as she had always held to this condition. You know there is nothing more difficult to overcome than the fancies of a young person, and unfortunately she has been confirmed in this one by all that Madame d’Aremberg de Lauraguais has told her. The Abbé will arrive perhaps to-day; I shall be there, and we will first work upon the uncle, so as to make him work upon his niece.

“M. de Salm will not give way; he has sent his picture to his friend at the Convent, and she has invited the Princess Hélène to a collation, given in a room of which this portrait forms the chief ornament.

“I was at the opera with a lady who is much interested in this fine gentleman, and she said: ‘What does it signify whether you are a scamp or not when you have a name and a large fortune? Look, for instance, at so and so,’ etc.

“God forbid that such morality should enter the head of our prelate and his niece. In the meantime I amused myself last night by quietly challenging my free-spoken young friend to tell me all the naughty stories about this charming Prince. The good Bishop bore it with a slightly embarrassed air, which quite amused me.

“I shall have the honour, Madame, to give you an account of the envoy’s return, and of all its consequences. I beg you not to be impatient, and to rely on my zeal and my intense desire to do all that is agreeable to you.

“Receive,” etc.

It was not long before the Abbé returned, and, though he had not succeeded in obtaining the promise of a residence in Paris, he had done much to push the matter forward. He brought magnificent fruit and flowers to the young Princess from Bel Œil, and in the description he gave of the almost regal magnificence of the place he neglected none of the details which were likely to charm and flatter her vanity. He had granted handsome pecuniary conditions, and the Princess, on her part, had seemed disposed to accept the marriage-contract proposed by the Abbé.

Madame de Pailly to the Princesse de Ligne-Luxembourg.

“All is going on wonderfully well, Madame; you will find the Prince and his envoy very well satisfied. At dinner we had a melon from Bel Œil, and peaches were sent to the Princess Hélène. I proposed the health of the giver; but they will tell you the rest. I am rejoiced at the position of affairs.

“The Abbé may have every possible fault, but he confirms me in my opinion that one can do nothing with fools and everything with intelligent people. The young Princess is converted, and her good uncle, agreeing to the Abbé’s expedient, says: ‘It will cost me thirty thousand livres[4] a year more to make my niece happy. I will do it, Madame, if only you are satisfied.’”

The Princesse de Ligne-Luxembourg wrote to her cousin to give her this good news, and to urge her to come to Paris as soon as possible; but she was in no hurry, and, like a prudent mother, wished above all, to settle everything relating to the income and household arrangements of the future young couple, for whom she dreaded certain temptations, from which she herself had suffered. She again sent her steward to Paris with two letters, one of which was a confidential one to her cousin.

Bel Œil, 19th January 1779.

“I despatch you my steward, Princess; he will have the honour of handing you this letter, and I have instructed him to carry out exactly whatever you are kind enough to order.

“The Prince arrived at Vienna on the 5th of June; I therefore think he will soon be home again, in which case I should only go to Paris with him, or even a couple of days later, if I can possibly avoid going before.

“In any case, Princess, I shall await your orders. I reserve myself the pleasure of assuring you personally of all my gratitude. I have never doubted the success of anything which you were good enough to take in hand.

“As our young people will not have to receive, and as the ordinary expenses of the household cannot possibly absorb all their income, I fear that too large a fortune may be hurtful to them, and lead perhaps to gambling, or other extravagances, which would do them harm, and which they would always consider themselves obliged to increase in proportion to their income; especially when they will come into their respective fortunes. I look at this matter from a mother’s point of view. Pray do not let it go beyond the family.”

The Princesse de Ligne-Luxembourg told the Bishop of her cousin’s wise advice, but no attention was paid to it. The Congress of Teschen was over, and the Prince de Ligne was returning home slowly, for he always found much to delay him on the road. We will not inquire into the nature of these delays; he, however, found sufficient time to write a few lines from Vienna to his cousin, and to the Bishop of Wilna, which he had neglected doing for the last two months.

To the Princesse de Ligne-Luxembourg.

“I am told, Princess, that, thanks to your kindness, all is going on well, also that you have done me the honour of writing to me.... I have not received anything. They say I must write to the Bishop. I beg you will give him the enclosed letter.

“If you have any commands to give me, address them to the Post Office at Munich; I shall find them in passing through.

“All the information I receive from Poland appears to coincide with our views.

“I place myself at your feet, Princess, and beg to assure you that my gratitude is equal to my tender and respectful attachment.

“Le Prince de Ligne.”

A few days after the receipt of this letter they had agreed upon all points; a draft of the settlement was drawn up, and the Princesse de Ligne and her son announced their arrival.

In spite of the very small inclination the young Prince felt for this marriage, he experienced a certain curiosity to see his future bride. As for Hélène, she was far more interested in her outfit, her presents, and her diamonds than in her husband. Among other things, she had been promised “certain girandoles[5] and diamond bracelets of wonderful beauty—old family jewels, that she was most impatient to see, and she was in a great fright lest they should be left behind at Brussels.” Her future aunt undertook to explain this childlike anxiety to the wife of the steward, so that she might remind the Princess to bring these precious trinkets. She answered as follows:—

“On my return home I found a letter from the Princess, announcing her immediate arrival, and adding that she is bringing with her the girandoles and the bracelets; so the Princesse Hélène need have no cause for anxiety. I shall have the honour of paying her my respects on Monday. We have also heard, through M. le Comte Tasson, that M. le Prince de Ligne will reach Brussels, at the latest, on Monday. I hasten to apprise your Highness of the fact, and beg she will accept the assurance of deepest respect,” etc.

The Princesse de Ligne’s first visit was to her cousin. She there found the Prince-Bishop awaiting her arrival. After a long conversation and endless compliments on either side, it was settled that the Bishop should escort the Princess and her son to the Abbaye-aux-Bois.

Hélène, who had been warned the day before, was very much vexed at having to make her first appearance in her school dress; but no exception could be made to the rule. She went down to the parlour accompanied by Madame de Sainte Delphine, and very soon perceived that the plainness of her dress did not prevent the Prince from thinking her very pretty. Though she pretended to cast her eyes modestly down during the visit, she took care to see enough of her future husband to be able to say to her companions on returning: “He is fair, has a tall slight figure, and resembles his mother, who is very handsome; he has a noble mien, but he is too serious, and there is something German about him!”

The Prince’s father arrived three days later.

“I abandon M. de Ligne to your indignation, Princess,” his wife writes to their cousin; “you may prepare her for his arrival, which will certainly be either to-day or to-morrow; it fills me with the greatest joy!”

The Prince-father had his head completely turned by his future daughter-in-law, who did all she could to please him, intuitively feeling that he was the one with whom she could best sympathise.

Having no family in Paris, it was decided that Hélène’s marriage should be celebrated in the chapel of the Abbaye-aux-Bois, to the great delight of the pupils. The Bishop gave his niece an outfit worth a hundred thousand écus;[6] the wedding casket, offered by the Lignes, was provided by Léonard; the laces, ordered at Brussels and Mechlin, were real masterpieces of work. The jewels offered to Hélène, besides the family diamonds and the famous girandoles, were chosen by herself at Barrière’s and at Drey’s. She gave a trinket to each of her companions in the red class, and a magnificent luncheon, with ices, was given by the Prince-Bishop to all the pupils, including the little blues, who each received in addition a bag of sweetmeats.

The marriage-contract was signed at Versailles by their Majesties and the royal family, the 25th of July 1779. The wedding took place on the 29th at the Abbaye-aux-Bois.

It is needless to add that Hélène’s nurse, Mademoiselle Bathilde Toutevoix, took part in the festivities. She adorned her pretty mistress to the very best of her ability, and the poor girl’s head was so completely turned with joy that she even forgot her cockades.[7] She came down to the parlour after the bride, and modestly hid herself in a corner. Prince Charles approached her, and slipped into her hand his wedding present—an annuity of six hundred livres.[8] Hélène was much touched with this attention. “I thanked him,” she says, “by a smile and pressure of the hand, the first I had granted him.”

The bride was led to the altar by her uncle, and by the Marquise Wielopolska, who took the place of her mother. The Duchesses de Choiseul, de Mortemart, de Châtillon, de la Vallière, etc., were present at the ceremony. The young Princess, exquisitely lovely in her bridal dress, fully satisfied the company by her “decent attitude, which was full of feeling” (style of that day). After receiving the congratulations of the brilliant assembly, Hélène went up to her apartment to change her costume; but, instead of returning immediately to the parlour, she quickly made her way to the choir chapel, where Madame de Rochechouart was buried, and kneeling on the tomb of the one who had been to her as a mother, she offered up to God her last girlish prayer. When she returned to the parlour she was rather pale, and her eyes showed signs of tears; but at the gates of the Abbey a post-chaise, drawn by six chafing horses, was awaiting; the postilions, in the pink and silver livery of the Prince, being scarcely able to hold them; Hélène, after a rapid farewell, was hurried into the carriage by her young husband, and they started at full gallop for Brussels.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] One thousand pounds sterling.

[2] The Comte de Horn, a connection of the Regent through his mother, the Princess-Palatine, was condemned to death for murder. The family implored his pardon, appealing to the Regent on the ground of relationship. “When I have bad blood,” the Regent coldly replied, “I have it drawn,” and the pardon was refused.

It is probable that they boasted to Hélène of the connection between the Horn and Orléans families without mentioning the Count’s crime.

[3] Bel Œil was the summer residence of the Princes de Ligne, and will often be referred to later on.

[4] Twelve hundred pounds sterling.

[5] Large diamond earrings that were worn with the Court dress.

[6] The Princesse Hélène received as her marriage-portion Mogylani, an estate with a residence and country-houses, two palaces at Cracow and one at Warsaw. Prince Radziwill owed the Massalski family a sum of one million eight hundred thousand Polish florins, inherited through Hélène’s mother. He had given them as interest three important estates, of which half the income belonged to Hélène, and the other half to her brother. The Prince-Bishop promised to give and guarantee the Princess, from her wedding-day, a clear income of sixty thousand livres, payable in Paris, and to pay all their expenses in the event of their remaining in that city.

On the other hand, the Prince de Ligne promised to give his son, on his wedding-day, a revenue of thirty thousand livres, and in addition to lodge the pair at Brussels, or Bel Œil, or Vienna, in one of his palaces or residences. If they had any children, at the end of four years the Prince promised to double the sum of money.

[7] She was in the habit of bedizening herself with them, and Hélène does not forget to mention in her memoranda that on that day she forgot them.

[8] Twenty-four pounds sterling.

V

An entertainment at Bel Œil—The Ligne family—The Court at Brussels—Prince Charles of Lorraine—The ladies at Court—Letter of the Chevalier de l’Isle—The Prince de Ligne at Versailles—The Prince’s letter to his son Charles.

The young couple first established themselves at Bel Œil, the magnificent summer residence of the Prince de Ligne. The Marshal was passionately attached to this regal abode, on which his father had lavished several millions. The property was composed of a succession of gardens, forests, parks, mansions, and shooting boxes, which the Prince de Ligne had designed with the most perfect taste. It was here that he preferred receiving his guests, and that he successively entertained the Prince de Condé, the King of Sweden, the Comte d’Artois, Prince Henry of Prussia, etc. Hélène was dazzled by the splendour of her new abode. A brilliant reception had been prepared in her honour. On the very day after her arrival, which had taken place in the evening, the young Princess, on opening her windows, perceived an immense park full of villagers elegantly attired as shepherds and shepherdesses, their dresses more like those of Watteau and Lancret than those commonly worn by the Flemish peasants. The Prince’s dragoons were making merry at tables on the lawn; and a little farther off, in a grove, might be seen puppet shows, in another tight-rope dancers; a rural ballroom was established on a green sward; under a leafy bower a magician was distributing sham ointments in little boxes, which contained sweetmeats and trinkets. In another spot a bard was gaily reciting verses, composed by the Prince in honour of the newly-married pair; and if the composition was not brilliant in versification, it yet could boast of grace and art sufficient to compensate for its defects; finally, Aufresne and Préville, who had arrived that same morning from Paris, were playing improvised proverbs in the private theatre of the residence. The festivities lasted the whole day; after dinner the proverbs were replaced by a comedy in one act, with interludes of song, entitled, Colette and Lucas, composed by the Prince de Ligne in honour of his daughter-in-law.[9] The audience was composed of brilliant officers and fine ladies, who had come expressly from Brussels and even Versailles for the occasion. The play, though worthless, was courteously applauded; but another had been prepared in order to compensate the spectators. Night having come on during the representation, sudden floods of light springing up in brilliant sheaves between the trees greeted the guests as they emerged from the theatre, and in the thickets fairy-like illuminations lit up the arbours; it was impossible to see the lamps, cleverly hidden under the foliage. “It was not night,” says Hélène: “it was silvery daylight.”

The married couple appeared enchanted one with the other, with a shade more of tenderness on the part of the Prince. Hélène’s beauty, grace, and intelligence surprised and charmed him; he had not expected to find these qualities united in the person of a child of fifteen. Every one was under the same impression, and the Dowager-Princess herself, who was not easy to please, wrote as follows, some time after the wedding, to the Princesse de Ligne-Luxembourg:—

Bel Œil, 20th August 1779.

“Again I renew my thanks, Princess, and reiterate the expressions of gratitude I owe you. Our child is most charming, docile, and gentle, having no will of her own, and amused at everything; in fact all that could be desired in a daughter-in-law if she were moulded by one’s self. She has been quite a success with all who have seen her in these parts.

“As our children have both had the honour of writing to you, I will not, for fear of repetition, give you the details of our journey. Moreover, his Grace the Bishop of Wilna will have told you all; he appeared himself very well pleased with our country. Do try, Princess, to make him send my son his niece’s portrait, in whatever style he prefers, even if it be that little pencil drawing we saw at the Abbaye-aux-Bois; and do not doubt, Princess, of the tender sentiments,” etc. etc.

The Prince-Bishop had indeed been delighted with his stay in Flanders; the amiability of the family of Ligne, the harmonious relationship existing between its members, the distinguished intelligence and the kindness of Prince Charles in particular, all contributed to assure him of his niece’s future happiness. He left her thoroughly satisfied.

For the first time Hélène was going to be acquainted with family life; she could not have had a better beginning, for the Lignes lived together with an intimacy full of ease, gaiety, and tenderness. In her convent life the little Princess, with the selfishness natural to children, had only thought of herself, and was not accustomed to the daily sacrifices made by brothers and sisters, which are made easy and rewarded by a mother’s approval and kiss. She had a serious apprenticeship to undergo. She preferred her father-in-law and the Princess Clary, her sister-in-law, to all the other members of her family. The Princess Clary, the Prince’s eldest and favourite daughter, “his masterpiece,” as he called her, was kindness, grace, and affability itself. Married some four years, gifted with sound judgment and perfect tact, she would have been an affectionate and charming guide to her young sister-in-law at the outset of her married life; but it was not possible for her to assume this position, which naturally devolved upon the Princess-mother, who, jealous of her rights, would have ceded her authority to no one.

The Princesse de Ligne played an important part, if not in the heart of her husband, at least in his household. The Prince willingly rendered justice to his wife’s qualities; he was full of consideration for her, and treated her always with amiable deference. “My wife,” he said, “is an excellent wife, full of delicacy, feeling, nobility, and in no way selfish. She is often in a pet, but her temper soon passes away, melting in tears and leaving no trace, for my wife has an excellent heart.” It was not difficult for the Prince to resign himself to his wife’s temper, for it affected him very slightly. Such was not the case with her children; it must, however, be admitted that she had often good cause for her unevenness of temper. Not only was her husband constantly and openly faithless to her, but he also squandered his fortune, and in spite of the large revenues he possessed would often have been involved in serious difficulties had it not been for the watchful care of the Princess, who by her clever administration established a proper balance between their income and expenditure. However, in spite of the Princess’s rather uncertain temper, the unvarying cheerfulness and good humour of the Prince made it a delightful home, for he possessed the rare quality of being as charming at home as in society.

Hélène thoroughly enjoyed her new life, and eagerly threw herself into the pursuit of pleasures entirely new to a little schoolgirl. She at once learnt to ride. Dressed in an elegant riding-habit, made to display her delicate and supple figure to perfection, and accompanied by her husband, she would spring into the saddle the first thing in the morning, as light as a bird, and as pleased with her liberty; then three or four times a day, with childlike glee, she would array herself in new dresses from Léonard or Mademoiselle Bertin; and we may be sure that they in no way resembled the little black convent-frock. At all the entertainments given in honour of her wedding, she fascinated everybody by her grace and liveliness; she danced with such spirit, acted so naturally and with so much animation, sang with a voice so youthful and fresh, that her husband, though not sharing her worldly tastes, was happy in her pleasure, and allowed her to give herself up to it without restraint.

Immediately after her arrival Hélène was presented at the Court of the Netherlands. The Ligne family possessed a magnificent palace at Brussels, near the Cathedral of Sainte Gudule, and often resided there during the winter. At that time the Viceroy was Prince Charles of Lorraine; he had married the Archduchess Marie-Anne,[10] sister of Marie-Thérèse, and was now a widower.

The Prince of Lorraine often came to hunt at Bel Œil. “He could not help being kind, even in his fits of temper, which were rare. One day, for instance, while hunting, on which occasion he gave himself the airs of an old huntsman, enraged at a number of people who disturbed the hunt by overrunning the forest at Bel Œil, he called out: ‘Go to the devil!—if you please, gentlemen,’ he added, taking off his hat.”

The liveliest, wittiest, and most fashionable man at the Court of Brussels was certainly the Prince de Ligne’s father, and he enjoyed his life there extremely. “It was,” he says, “a nice Court, gay and at the same time secure, idle and agreeable, with plenty of drinking and hunting.” However, when the Duke held a levee, and invited ladies, nothing but the most inoffensive gaiety was permitted, for the Prince hated all license and bad taste.

Prince Charles’s palace at Brussels was an immense and ancient building. Brussels reminded one somewhat of Paris, the town offering every kind of resource. The cours was the favourite promenade, and there the grandest equipages were to be seen. The coachbuilders of Brussels were famous, and the Duke was anxious that the nobility should possess the most elegant specimens of their work. Hélène made her first appearance on the cours in a superb gilt coach made by Simon; all the panels were delicately painted, in the most beautiful vernis Martin,[11] by clever Viennese artists.

In spite of his love for the Court of Brussels and his passion for Bel Œil, the Prince never stayed very long at either; he generally started off at a moment’s notice. “What a charming existence mine was, in my dear and delightful Bel Œil. In twenty-four hours’ time I could be either in Paris or in London, at the Hague, at Spa, etc. Once I went to Paris to spend one hour there, and another hour at Versailles, after the Queen’s last confinement: I saw her on the fourth day,” he carefully adds.

“On another occasion I took all my company there to the opera in a coach of my own.”

It was natural that the Prince should like Paris and Versailles, for he was the soul and life of the little intimate circle around the Queen; his presence gave animation to everything, and his invariable good humour and sallies of wit always secured him a smiling welcome. He was to be seen everywhere, arranging or disarranging the gardens; presiding at entertainments and directing the illuminations: he took part in the Queen’s lansquenet, Mesdames’ cavagnole, Monsieur’s whist, the Prince de Condé’s quinze, the King’s game of billiards, and the Prince de Conti’s pharaon.[12] He said everything that came into his head; but although he gave way to much exaggerated merriment, from time to time, under cover of a joke, he would make many serious truths acceptable.

His great friends were the Polignacs,[13] whose intimate society consisted of the Coignys, the Conflans, the Comte de Vaudreuil, and the Chevalier de l’Isle. He always defended the Polignacs against the numerous accusations which were brought against them.

He writes: “There is no one more virtuous and more disinterested than all these Jules, but their company was sometimes monotonous, so great was their fear of giving rise to prating and gossip; the Comtesse Diane was the only one whose conversation was at all lively.”

The Prince was particularly intimate with the Chevalier de l’Isle,[14] the least known member of the little circle. The Chevalier was an excellent officer, an encyclopedist, and a poet, a correspondent of Voltaire[15] and also of the Prince de Ligne, who held him in great esteem. He was a master of song, and reigned supreme in the art of letter-writing. He had never composed a faulty verse, or written a letter that was not both witty and in excellent style; however, in society he was wanting both in good taste and breeding, giving way to ill-temper and familiarity. So as to make believe that he dined with the Queen at the Polignacs on Sundays, he would arrive the first after dinner, that those who came after him should be deceived by this manœuvre. He wrote regularly to the Prince about all that went on at Versailles during his absence. The following is an example of his letters:—

16th January 1780.

“What a turkey we have just eaten at the Comtesse Diane’s! My goodness, what a fine bird! M. de Poix had sent it from the poultry-yard. There were eight of us round it: the lady of the house, Madame la Comtesse Jules, Madame d’Henin, and Madame de la Force; M. le Comte d’Artois, M. de Vaudreuil, the Chevalier de Crussol, and myself.

“While we were eating the turkey, but without reference to it, some one mentioned you, my Prince. Stay, let me recall who it was? A lady——no; a man—yes, certainly a man, for he said Charlot, and our ladies are not given to such familiarities. It was the man who was on Madame la Comtesse Jules’ left hand. Let me see; I was next to the poet; here sat the Chevalier de Crussol, and there M. de Vaudreuil, and then——Ah! now I’ve got it, it was M. le Comte d’Artois; yes, I am sure of it now. He said: ‘By the bye, who can tell me if Charlot has arrived at Brussels?’—‘I can, your Highness, for I have received four lines in his own handwriting, and am myself going to write to him; who has any message to send?’ All immediately answered in a chorus: ‘I have, I have, I have.’ In the confusion I could distinguish these words: ‘I embrace him, I love him; tell him to come, we expect him.’ When the hubbub had subsided the soft voice of Madame la Comtesse Jules commenced more audibly: ‘Tell him that if he had dated his last letter more distinctly, I would not have failed to answer it; but that, although assisted by several experts in the art of deciphering, it was impossible for me even to suspect from what place it had been written, and consequently to what place I should direct my own.’

“Thereupon we conversed about you, and then about Admiral Keppel, then of the turkey, then of the capture of our two frigates, then of the Spanish Inquisition, then of a large gruyere cheese which our ambassador in Switzerland has just sent his children, then of the strange conduct of the Spaniards towards us, and at last of Mademoiselle Théodore, who, upon my life, dances better than ever, and who pleased us yesterday as much by her talent as Mademoiselle Cécile by her youthful charms. To-morrow the Queen will receive for the first time; till now she has only seen those who have the ‘petites entrées’; she is rather thinner, but otherwise her health leaves nothing to be desired. The King is still the good husband, the good father, and the good man he has always been; it is impossible to be near him without admiring him as the personification of honesty, and without being sincerely attached to his person. I assure you we are fortunate in possessing such a royal couple: may God preserve them on the throne where His goodness has placed them!... We are all going to-morrow to Paris to inaugurate the charming little house M. le Duc de Coigny has bought, and in which we shall have——What do you think we shall have?——Our first grand entertainment—a regular house-warming. We shall have farces, proverbs, verses, songs, and pleasures of all kinds; it will be a beautiful ceremony.

“À propos of verses: you have not seen those I wrote the other day for the Queen, threatening to play her the trick she most dreads—that is, to name her at the opera ball. Here it is:—

“Dans ce temple ou l’incognito

Règne avec la folie,

Vous n’êtes grâce au domino

Ni reine in jolie.

Sous ce double déguisement

Riant d’être ignorée,

Je vous nomme et publiquement

Vous serez adorée.[16]

“I implore you, Prince, my very dear Prince, do not massacre my song in honouring me by singing it yourself; leave that care to my cousin, who will give it its full value; love her for me, and tell her I shall go to Brussels, on my head if necessary, to see her; you must love me, both of you.”[17]

The Queen was an object of devotion to the Prince de Ligne. “Who could see the unfortunate Marie Antoinette without adoring her?” he writes thirty years later.[18] “I only realised it the day she said to me: ‘My mother is displeased at your remaining so long at Versailles; go and spend some days at your post; from thence write letters to Vienna, in order to show where you are, then come back.’ Such kindness, such delicacy on her part, and still more the idea of having to spend a fortnight without seeing her, drew tears from my eyes; but the charming heedlessness, which preserved her from all coquetry prevented her noticing my emotion.

“As I do not believe in a passion which cannot be reciprocated, a fortnight was sufficient to cure me of a sentiment I now admit for the first time, and which, for fear of ridicule, I never should have confessed to any one else.... Have I ever seen in her society anything that did not bear the impress of grace, kindliness, and good taste? She intuitively knew an intriguer miles off, and hated every kind of deceit; that is why she preferred the society of the Polignacs and their friends—that is to say, Valentine Esterhazi, Bésenval, Vaudreuil, Ségur, and myself.”

If the Prince worshipped the Queen, on the other hand he had little esteem for the King. He writes: “The King—in whom I hoped to find some good qualities, whom it may be said I have protected, whose mind I have endeavoured to elevate by interesting discourses, instead of his hunting topics or idiotic conversation—cares for nothing but tomfoolery. His practical jokes are always aimed at Conflans, Coigny, or the Polignacs’ friends. The Queen has managed to cure him of this habit. It was at bedtime that his Majesty liked to worry us. He possessed, however, a certain tact in the midst of his rough jokes. One day, when he was threatening us with his blue ribbon, which he tried to throw at some one’s head, the Duc de Laval withdrew. The King said: ‘Do not fear, Monsieur; it has nothing to do with you.’... Coigny, the eternal fault-finder, said to me one day: ‘Would you like to know what these three brothers are? A fat locksmith, the wit of a country public-house, and a street fop.’ The two last epithets applied to Monsieur and the Comte d’Artois.”

When the Prince returned to Bel Œil he delighted his youthful daughter-in-law with these tales; for although she liked Flanders fairly well when not there alone with her mother-in-law, she could not help regretting Paris, when her husband’s duties recalled him to the army, and her fickle father-in-law went off on his incessant travels.

It will be remembered that the Dowager-Princess had absolutely refused to consent to a residence in Paris during the winter months. She was right, for although the officers generally returned to their respective capitals during the bad season, the military profession did not allow much leisure time, and Prince Charles, being in the Austrian service, would scarcely have been able to spend his leave in Paris. The young Princess would therefore have been left to the care of an aunt, who had no authority over her, or to that of a father-in-law, more absorbed in amusing himself than acting as mentor to his daughter-in-law. This delicate and dangerous position had naturally alarmed the Princesse de Ligne, but Hélène had not such foresight; the pleasure she anticipated of appearing in the brilliant society of which she had only just caught a glimpse outweighed any feelings of prudence, and she quite hoped to obtain her husband’s consent in the matter.

The first step consisted of her presentation at Court. Hélène had gained an ally in her aunt the Princess, who was quite ready to conduct her pretty niece to Versailles; but the latter wished to make her appearance there with all the honours of war—that is, with those of the tabouret.[19] This could only be obtained by virtue of certain rights. The rank of grandee of Spain was a sufficient title. The Prince de Ligne possessed this rank, and Hélène persuaded her husband to ask the Prince to make it over to him. Such a request was not a small affair. The young Prince was rather embarrassed, the more so that this request would entail another, that of a grant of money. Magnificent costumes and jewels, etc., had absorbed the largest part of the young couple’s income. However, incapable of refusing any wish of his wife’s, Prince Charles took heart, and decided upon writing. He immediately received from his father, who was then at Versailles, the most charming reply:—

Versailles, 10th September 1780.

“Is it not, my dear Charles, a droll thing to be married? You will manage to get on, for, after all, one is bound more or less according to circumstances. It is only fools who do not know how to turn the position to account: meanwhile you have a very pretty little wife, whom without false shame you may love. Although from father to son we have been called Lamoral, without knowing whether he is a saint, I am neither moral, moralist, nor moraliser enough to preach, and I make fun of those who do not believe in my morality, which consists in trying to make all around me happy. I feel quite sure that this is your case also; without having a whole array of principles, this is one of the four or five I have adopted as a second education: my first, as I told you, is, that to be a liar or a coward would bring me with sorrow to my grave. Certainly, my dear fellow, you have well understood this short lesson.

“And now, let us come to business. Take as much money as you require; my men of business must have it or obtain it; that is one subject done with.... The Queen said she will make my affair de Kœurs[20] a success, and, when I told her that my affaires de cœur (love affairs) were successful, she said I was a fool. Kœurs settled, that makes two affairs done with. Your uncle, the Bishop of Wilna, who fancies that you or I may some day be King of Poland, wants us to obtain the indigénat; we shall get it, that is another affair terminated.

“Our aunt of the Tuileries wants your wife to have the tabouret; she has a fancy for going to Versailles, and for that purpose wishes me to cede to you the grandezza. I have already written to the King of Spain and to the minister on the subject, and have spoken of it to the ambassador. Fourth affair concluded, leaving me the prospect of taking cold, by being obliged to get down at the gates of the Court, where only the coaches of the grandees of Spain are allowed to enter, as in the Luxembourg and elsewhere.

“Here are two sources of economy for me!—the King’s play and coucher, which no longer cost me anything.

“What annoys me is to hear clever people say foolish things; to hear war discussed by idlers, who have never seen anything but military exercises, and those badly done; disinterestedness proclaimed by women who manage to get pensions by dint of tormenting the ministers and the Queen, who is a thousand times too kind; to hear sensibility professed by those who have had at least twenty lovers. And then, the intriguers! the obtrusive! and the wicked! How often this makes my blood boil, but a quarter of an hour later I forget it all.

“Shall I tell you a foolish saying of mine, considered as such by all the royal family? You know that at the town theatre I am under the King’s box, amongst the public; you will remember the mirror in La fausse Magie.[21] At the close of the play it was dreadfully cold, and the King complained of it, as well as of the coldness of the acting. I said: ‘It is because the dénouement is à la glace.’[22] The two brothers[23] hooted me out loud for this pun. This existence at Versailles is delightful; it is like life in a country-house. I embrace your wife and your mother for having had wit enough to make me a Charles like yourself.

“P.S.—By the bye, I had already planned in my head a grove for my Charles, a fountain that will bear the name of Hélène, and a bower for their children.

“I shall work at it as soon as I leave Versailles, to go and tell you, tutti quanti, that I love you with all my heart.”

FOOTNOTES:

[9] This comedy was printed in the private press at Bel Œil in 1781. The only copy known to be extant is in H.R.H. the Duc d’Aumale’s library at Chantilly.

[10] This brave and clever prince was a most unfortunate general. Beaten by the Prussians in 1742, while commanding the Austrian army in Bohemia, he was again defeated in Alsace in 1745. The affability of his manners, his artistic and literary tastes, his kindness of heart, endeared him to all, and his paternal rule is still remembered in Belgium. His generosity was boundless, and the considerable income he received (six hundred thousand florins of Brabant) did not suffice to cover his expenses. He ruined himself by his prodigality, but science and art prospered under him, and schools of paintings and colleges were established in every town. New roads were made; trade, then at a low ebb, received a fresh impulse; and a transport service was organised between the Flemish ports and those of Germany and France.

[11] A species of lacquer painting, at present revived in France.

[12] All different games of cards, in vogue at that time at the French Court.

[13] The Duchesse de Polignac, Gabrielle-Yolande-Martine de Polastron, an intimate friend of the Queen, was both amiable and beautiful. Expressive blue eyes, a high forehead, a nose very slightly turned up, a lovely mouth, with pretty little white teeth which were beautifully symmetrical, formed a most agreeable physiognomy. Her features bore the stamp of sweetness and modesty. At the age of seventeen she married the Comte Jules de Polignac.

[14] The Chevalier de l’Isle was a brigadier in the King’s cavalry, having been appointed on 25th July 1762. Very intimate with the Choiseul family and Madame du Deffant, he is mentioned in the latter’s correspondence.

[15] It was he who wrote a letter to the patriarch of Ferney about a badly-executed commission commencing as follows: “You must, sir, be very stupid,” etc. This beginning threw Voltaire into an ecstasy of delight.

[16]

In this temple, where incognito

Reigns as well as folly,

You are, thanks to the domino,

Neither queen nor beauty.

Under this twofold disguise,

Laughingly unknown,

Should I name you, then at once

You will be publicly adored.

[17] In order to elucidate this paragraph, we must explain that the Prince sang dreadfully out of tune, and that the pretended cousin was the lovely Angélique d’Hannetaire, daughter of the director of the theatre at Brussels; she sang beautifully, and was very intelligent; the Prince was madly in love with her at that time.

[18] See Fragments of unedited Memoirs of the Prince de Ligne, published in the Revue Nouvelle. Paris, 1840.

[19] To have the right of sitting down in the King or Queen’s presence.

[20] An estate of the Prince de Ligne in France, and about which he had a lawsuit; the name of the estate is pronounced like cœurs (hearts), hence the Prince’s pun.

[21] The false Magic, a comic opera by Grétry.

[22] A pun on the word glace, which in French means either ice or a looking-glass.

[23] Monsieur and the Comte d’Artois.

VI

The two Princes journey to Berlin—Portrait of Frederick the Great—Journey to Saint Petersburg—Portrait of the Empress Catherine—Return journey through Poland—The Bishop’s residence at Werky—The Diet at Warsaw—The Indigénat—The return to Bel Œil.

The Prince had not spoken lightly when he said to his son that they would go to Poland for the indigénat.[24] In the midst of all the pleasures and amusements of Versailles he suddenly departed. “Family interests,” he says, “obliged me to undertake a long journey. My son Charles has married a pretty little Pole, but her family has given us paper in lieu of hard cash. Their claims were on the Russian Court; it was necessary to go and present them. In June 1780 I started for Vienna, Prague, Dresden, Berlin, Saint Petersburg, Warsaw, Cracow,—where I had much to do,—Mogylani,[25] Léopol, and Brunn,—where I was in love. I must not forget to add that I started from Paris and the Rue de Bourbon, from the house of the Duchesse de Polignac, who had just been confined,[26] and where I had dined with the Queen. I promised to return at the same hour in six months’ time, and ordered my livery coach and courier in consequence.”

The sum of money the Prince de Ligne claimed in the name of his daughter-in-law was considerable. It amounted to four hundred thousand roubles, which were well worth the trouble of recovering. However, we incline to the belief that these family affairs were merely a cloak for political designs; the journey was probably intended to carry on the preliminaries of a negotiation begun by Joseph II. and the Empress Catherine in their interview at Mohileff. The Prince started from Vienna, whither he had gone to receive his final instructions. His companions on the journey were his son Charles, and his friend the Chevalier de l’Isle.

“I made de l’Isle a colonel,” he says, “by simply saying when in Austria, Prussia, Poland, and Russia that he was one, and buying him a pair of epaulets. I was also obliged to knight him,” he adds, “in order to distinguish him in foreign parts from the Abbé of the same name.”[27]

The Princes started on their journey a year after the war of the Bavarian succession had ended. “This war entailed on the King of Prussia a large expenditure of men, horses, and money; it procured him an appearance of honesty and disinterestedness, and some political amenities, but it brought him no military honour, and caused him to entertain very bitter feelings towards us. Without any apparent reason the King forbade Austrian officers to enter his dominions without a special permit signed by him. The Austrian Court retaliated by making the same rule with regard to Prussian officers. This gave rise to mutual discomfort without reason or profit. Being of a confiding nature, I thought I could do without a permit, but the desire to have a letter from the great Frederick, rather than the fear of being badly received, induced me to write to him.”

Instead of one letter the Prince de Ligne received three, all charming. For fear of missing him the King had written from Potsdam to Vienna, Dresden, and Berlin. The travellers arrived at Potsdam on the 28th of June.

“Having to wait until twelve o’clock, at which hour I was to be presented to the King, together with my son Charles and M. de l’Isle, I went to the parade ground, and was soon surrounded and escorted by Austrian deserters, especially those from my own regiment, who tried to fawn upon me and ask my forgiveness for having left me. The hour for the presentation arrived, and the King received me in the most charming fashion. The military stiffness of headquarters was exchanged for a tender and benevolent welcome. He said he did not know I had so old a son.

“‘He has even been married a year, Sire.’

“‘May I ask to whom?’

“‘To a Pole—a Massalski.’

“‘What, a Massalski? Do you know what her grandmother did?’

“‘No, Sire,’ replied Charles.

“‘She fired off the cannon at the siege of Dantzic,—she fired, and made them fire, and defended the place, when her party, who had lost their heads, only thought of yielding.’

“‘Women are unaccountable creatures,’ said I, ‘strong and weak by turns, cautious and dissimulating, they are capable of anything.’

“‘No doubt,’ said M. de l’Isle, annoyed at not having been spoken to, and he added, with a familiarity which met with no success, ‘See, for instance——’

“The King interrupted him at the end of half a second. In order to satisfy de l’Isle I told the King that M. de Voltaire had died in his arms; so that the King asked him a few questions. He answered rather too lengthily, and went away. Charles and I remained for dinner.

“Every day the King had long conversations with me, often of five hours at a time, and completely fascinated me: fine arts, war, medicine, literature and religion, philosophy, moral philosophy, history and legislation, were all reviewed in turn. The great eras of Augustus and Louis XIV.; the refined society of the Romans, the Greeks, and the Franks; the chivalry of Francis the First; the frankness and valour of Henry the Fourth; the revival of learning; anecdotes of clever men of former days, and their failings; Voltaire’s errors, Maupertuis’s irritability, and I know not what else. In fact, anything and everything. The most varied and wittiest things were said by the King in a soft, low, and agreeable voice, with an inexpressibly graceful movement of the lips. The charm of his manner was, I think, the reason why one did not notice that, like Homer’s heroes, he was rather a babbler, though certainly a sublime one. His eyes, always too hard in his portraits, although strained with work and the fatigues of war, softened in their expression when listening to or relating some noble deed or trait of sensibility....

“One morning, as I arrived at the palace, the King came forward and said: ‘I fear I must be the bearer of bad news; I have just heard that Prince Charles of Lorraine is dying.’ He looked to see what effect the news would have on me, and seeing the tears fall from my eyes, he gradually and gently changed the conversation. The next day, the moment he saw me, the King came up, and said with an air of the deepest concern: ‘Since you must hear of the death of a man who loved you and honoured mankind, it is better that it should be through some one who feels it as sincerely as I do; poor Prince Charles is no more!’ He was deeply affected as he said these words.”

After a conversation during which the King had spoken unceasingly for nearly an hour, the Prince, finding the part of listener rather monotonous, seized upon an allusion to Virgil, and said:—

“‘What a grand poet, Sire, but what a bad gardener!’

“‘How true! Did I not try to plant, sow, dig, and hoe, with the Georgics as my guide? “But, Sire,” the gardener used to say, not knowing who I was: “You are a fool, and your book also; it is not so that one sets to work.” Good heavens, what a climate! would you believe it, God and the sun refuse me everything! Look at my orange, olive, and lemon trees, they are all dying of hunger.’

“‘Laurels, I see, are the only trees that will grow for your Majesty.’

“The King gave me a delighted look, and to cap my insipid remark with a bit of nonsense, I quickly added: ‘And then, Sire, there are too many grenadiers[28] in this country, they swallow up everything.’ The King laughed, for it is only nonsense that makes one laugh.”

The Prince knew that the King could not bear M. de Ried, and that it was because the latter had mentioned the taking of Berlin by Marshal Haddik that the King had conceived such a dislike for him; therefore, when Frederick asked him if he found Berlin much altered, he took care not to remind him that he was one of those who took possession of it in 1760. “He was pleased with my reticence, for he was an old wizard, who guessed everything, and whose tact was the finest that ever existed.”

The Prince asked him a bold question when speaking about France.

“There is everything, Sire, in that country, and it really deserves to be happy; it is reported that your Majesty had said that if one wished to have a happy dream, one ought——”

“Yes,” interrupted the King, “that is true—one ought to be King of France.”

After spending a delightful fortnight at Potsdam, the Princes took leave of the King of Prussia with regret, and continued their journey, arriving at Saint Petersburg in the month of August.

The Empress received the Prince de Ligne with the greatest distinction; she was already acquainted with him through Voltaire’s letters and the accounts the Emperor Joseph had given her at Mohileff. Catherine found him worthy of all the praise she had heard of him, and writes:—

“We have also the Prince de Ligne, who is one of the most amusing and easy beings to get on with I have ever seen. Though an original and a deep thinker, he yet has all the gaiety of a child. His company would suit me very well.”

On his part the Prince was charmed with Catherine the Great, as he called her, and, thanks to his account, we have a living portrait of the Czarina.

“It was easy to see that she had been handsome rather than pretty; the majesty of her brow was softened by a pleasant look and smile, but it showed all the force of her character, and revealed her genius, justice, judgment, courage, equanimity, gentleness, calmness, and firmness.

“Her chin, though rather pointed, did not exactly project; nor was it a receding chin, but one nobly proportioned. The oval of her face was not good, and yet it was pleasing, for the expression of her mouth was full of frankness and mirth. She must have had a fresh complexion and a fine bust, which, however, she got at the cost of her figure; she had been almost too slight, but one becomes very stout in Russia. She was clean, and if her hair had not been drawn so far back, but allowed to surround her face, she would have been better looking. One did not notice she was small; when she told me, in a slow manner, that she had been very vivacious, it seemed impossible to realise it. On entering a drawing-room she always made the same three bows, like a man, in the Russian style; one to the right, one to the left, and the other in the middle. Everything about her was measured and methodical.”

The Prince had already become very intimate with Catherine at the end of a few days.

“‘What did you suppose I would be like?’ she asked me.

“‘I fancied your Majesty tall, stiff as a poker, with eyes like stars, and a large hoop. I thought also I should only have to admire, and constant admiration is very fatiguing.’

“‘Is it not true that you did not expect to find me so stupid?’

“‘In truth, I thought it would be necessary to have all one’s wits about one, that your Majesty allowed yourself all license, and was a perfect firework of wit; but I infinitely prefer your careless style of conversation, which becomes sublime when treating of noble passages of history, or examples of sensibility or greatness.’ And the Empress heartily laughed at this clever mingling of frankness and flattery.

“It was this contrast of simplicity in what she said with the great deeds she performed that made her interesting. A trifle amused her; she was pleased at the smallest joke, and cleverly turned it to account. One day I told her that to silence the reproaches of a lady who was displeased with my scarcity of talk, and looking bored in her house, I replied that I had just heard of the death of an aunt who had brought me up. When the Empress was bored on the grand reception days, she would say to me: ‘My uncle is about to die.’ Then I would hear it murmured: ‘We are going to have a mourning.’ And all the Court would search up the uncle in the almanac, and of course not find him.”

However great the fascination Catherine exercised over the Prince, she did not make him forget Marie-Thérèse, and towards the end of his stay he wrote: “The Empress Marie-Thérèse had certainly much greater charm and fascination. Our Empress carried one away: the impression made by the Russian Empress was much weaker at first, but gradually increased. However, they resembled each other in this, that if the universe had crumbled away they would have been found impavidas ferient ruinæ. No power on earth would have made them yield; their great souls were proof against adversity; enthusiasm preceded the one and followed the other.”

It was, however, necessary for the Prince to tear himself away from the delights of this charming abode. But before their departure the Empress, laughing, said to the Prince-father: “As you told me that you would either sell, gamble, or lose any diamonds I should give you, here are only a hundred roubles’ worth round my portrait on this ring!”[29]

To this present Catherine added jewels for the Princesse de Ligne and her daughters; Prince Charles received a rich casket for Hélène, and the Princes left for Poland, having forgotten only one thing, viz. the claim of four hundred thousand roubles, for which they had undertaken their journey. “For,” says the Prince gaily, “it seemed to me a want of delicacy to take advantage of the favour with which I was received to obtain favours.”

The Bishop of Wilna received the Prince at his residence of Werky, a short distance from Warsaw. “Werky,” writes the Prince, “was a fortunate child of nature,—a large river, three smaller ones, and a chain of mountains, separated two valleys. Four or five waterfalls, three islands, manufactories, castles, a windmill, a port, a ruin, two convents of handsome appearance, natural undulations, temples to Vulcan, to Bacchus, and one to Unity, which is to be erected upon piles, and a kind of bridge at the meeting of three pretty rivulets, an obelisk, a fisherman’s and a workman’s hut, bridges, some ornate, others rustic, complete the attractions of this magnificent estate. I advise and direct everything.”

The Dietine (sub-Diet) of Wilna had assembled to elect deputies for the Diet of Warsaw. The Bishop gathered round his table eighty-four Polish gentlemen, nearly all wearing the national costume, and having their heads shaved after the Polish fashion. Before dinner each of them came up to salute the Bishop by respectfully kissing the hem of his robe. At the end of the repast healths were drunk; the Bishop proclaimed the name of the person whose health was proposed; then he filled an antique cup, beautifully chased, emptied it and turned it over, showing that he had drained it to the bottom. He then passed it to his right-hand neighbour, and in this way it went round the table. These toasts were always celebrated with champagne or Tokay. After an interesting sojourn at Werky and Wilna, the Princes, accompanied by the Bishop, started for Warsaw. We have seen that in the negotiations for the marriage of the Duc d’Elbœuf with Hélène the Prince-Bishop and the Marquis de Mirabeau had dreamt of the Polish throne for the young Princess’s future husband. This idea had taken possession of the Bishop’s brain; and the accounts that were given to him of Saint Petersburg, and the peculiarly cordial reception that the Princes had received, confirmed him in it. Persuaded that the Prince was far advanced in the Empress’s good graces, and convinced that the King Stanislaus-Augustus was no longer in favour, the Bishop, ever ready to throw himself into a new adventure, took advantage of the opening of the Diet to propose the Marshal as candidate for the indigénat.

“You will one day be King of Poland,” said the enthusiastic Bishop; “what a change will come over European affairs! what good luck for the Lignes and Massalski!” The Marshal laughed, but, although he ridiculed these sayings, he allowed matters to proceed. “I had a fancy,” he says, “to please the nation assembled for the Diet, and accordingly presented myself.”

Twenty-five candidates came forward to obtain the indigénat; twenty-four of them were set aside, the Prince alone was retained; but it required a unanimous vote, and three opponents came forward. “They were nearly cut down, and the violence of one of the nuncios,[30] who laid his hand on his sword, uttering very threatening words, nearly broke up the Diet, and my too zealous partisan had a narrow escape of losing his head.

“I sought my opponents; I succeeded in overcoming their prejudices, and that so thoroughly that they said, with a grace and eloquence worthy of their country, that, in favour of an acquisition they considered so honourable, they would, each in turn, solicit the vote of one of their friends. Against all custom, I rushed into the nuncios’ hall, and embraced the mustachios of these three orators. It electrified me, for I began an oration myself—in Latin too! then I took them by the hand, and my advances resulted in a general sgoda,[31] which rang three times through the hall, nearly bringing it down, so great were the universal acclamations.”

After having obtained the good graces of the Empress Catherine, laid out the Bishop of Wilna’s gardens, gained the indigénat, and become almost as popular at Warsaw as in Brussels, the Prince de Ligne, faithful to his word, arrived at Versailles to the very day, six months after having left it.

FOOTNOTES:

[24] The indigénat, though differing from naturalisation, conferred on those who obtained it all the privileges belonging to those indigenous to the soil.

[25] An estate belonging to the Princesse Charles.

[26] The Duchess had given birth to the Comte Armand-Jules de Polignac on 14th May 1780.

[27] The Abbé Delille, born at Aigueperse on 22d June 1728, died in Paris on 1st May 1813. He was a member of the French Academy, and as a poet enjoyed European celebrity. Though spelt differently the name was pronounced in the same way.

[28] Grenadiers in French signifying both the soldier and the pomegranate tree.

[29] It is said that Catherine’s friendship for the Prince de Ligne became a warmer sentiment, and we are disposed to believe it when we read the sour letters that Grimm wrote to the Empress about the Prince, of whom he was jealous. It will be seen later on that he excited Potemkin’s jealousy as well. Be this as it may, the Prince was very discreet on the subject, as also on that of the political conversations he had with the Empress, for he relates nothing about them, not even in reference to Poland. We can hardly believe, however, that he did not touch upon the subject; the Princesse Charles was Polish, and Catherine might well suppose that her father-in-law and husband took some interest in that unhappy country.

[30] The Polish deputies were called nuncios.

[31] The sgoda was the cry which announced the unanimity of the vote.

VII

Life at Bel Œil—The Archduchess Christine, Governor of the Netherlands—The Comte d’Artois at Bel Œil—Le Mariage de Figaro—The Comtesse de Sabran and the Chevalier de Boufflers.

Hélène awaited her husband’s return with the greatest impatience, for during his absence and that of his father her life had not been an easy one.

The Dowager-Princess generally took advantage of her husband’s absence to reduce the expenses of her household, and reestablish, as much as possible, a condition of things too often upset by the Prince, who, like the amiable spendthrift that he was, gaily threw millions out of the window. Hélène would gladly have taken her share in superintending the household; for she had learnt at the Convent how to keep house, and was naturally proud of her acquirements. She gracefully proffered her services to her mother-in-law, anxious to display her domestic qualities, but the Princesse de Ligne was not disposed to share her authority with any one, and coldly refused her daughter-in-law’s offer. Hélène, rebuffed and humiliated, did not complain, but it left a feeling of rancour in her mind, and from that moment the relations between mother and daughter-in-law became more strained. At last the Prince’s six months’ journey drew to a close, and it was with twofold joy that Hélène hailed her husband’s return, and the end of the harsh tutelage under which she had been living.

The Princes found their family at Brussels, and in the spring went to Bel Œil, where they spent the summer together, with the exception of Prince Louis, who was detained by his service in Paris, and could seldom be with them. The life at Bel Œil was extremely gay and animated; the stream of visitors was incessant, and poured in from all sides—Brussels, Paris, and even Vienna. The officers of the de Ligne regiment came to stay in turns. Not only did the Prince keep open house—that is to say, that people could come and spend the day there without any previous warning, but there was also a certain number of apartments kept in readiness for any unexpected guests who might come for a longer visit. Among the intimates at Bel Œil were the most charming women of the Court of Brussels.

Although the de Lignes provided ample entertainment and amusement for their guests, a due part of the day was devoted to more serious occupations. The mornings were given up to study. Music, literature, drawing, etc., were cultivated in turn. “Christine pastes and unpastes, Hélène sings and is enchanting,” wrote the Prince. As for him, he was no sooner up than, book in hand, he went to his island of Flora, or worked in his library, or else inspected the gardens. He already possessed a private printing-press in his house at Brussels; he installed another at Bel Œil, which was a source of great amusement.[32] Prince Charles in particular busied himself with it, but he confined himself to publishing the works of others; his father, the Chevalier de l’Isle, and the Abbé Payez, provided ample material for the small presses of Bel Œil.

Prince Charles, who was an enthusiastic admirer of pictures, had found time, in spite of his studies and military duties, to make a magnificent collection of original drawings, both of ancient and modern masters.[33] He was a thorough connoisseur, and drew well himself, he even undertook to engrave some of the drawings in his collection, and sent for the celebrated Bartsch to give him lessons at Bel Œil. Hélène interested herself in her husband’s occupations, and, while he was engraving, put the drawings in order, studied under his guidance the different styles of each master, and became quite an enlightened amateur. These intellectual occupations took up the first half of the day, after which the family and numerous visitors assembled for dinner. After an hour’s rest they all went into the gardens, where they wandered about, or indulged in reverie, or gathered together according to taste. There were a hundred different pastimes, and a hundred different ways of enjoying one’s self; the Prince had anticipated every taste and every wish. Sometimes they went long excursions on horseback or in carriages to the beautiful forest of Baudour, adjoining the woods of Bel Œil, or they sailed on the large lake which was connected with the canals, rivers, and smaller lakes of the park. The boats were decked out with streamers, and manned by small boatmen dressed in the Prince’s livery. “During the lovely summer evenings,” he writes, “our excursions on the water, with music and a bright moonlight, were most agreeable to the ladies.”

The Prince never forgot them in his rustic arrangements; well beaten-paths, so that they might not wet their pretty feet, bowers of roses, jasmine, orange trees, and honeysuckle, led to the ladies’ baths. They found shaded benches and rustic cabins, and also “their embroidery frames, their knitting, their netting, and, above all, their black writing-books. Sand or something else was often wanting, but they contained secrets unknown both to lovers and husbands, and, used as desks by their owners, served to write many a pretty little lie.”

At this period Brussels presented the most brilliant and animated aspect. Prince Charles of Lorraine had been succeeded by the Archduchess Marie-Christine, formerly Regent of Hungary, where she had enjoyed the privileges of a queen. She held her court on a grand scale, and did the honours of it with grace and affability. The Archduchess was considered the handsomest of Marie-Thérèse’s four daughters. She danced so gracefully and so lightly that, directly she began, every one stopped to admire. Although pretending to be annoyed, she was, on the contrary, far from displeased at the admiration she provoked. She had married the Archduke Albert of Saxe-Teschen,[34] who was entirely under his wife’s influence, and, unlike Prince Charles of Lorraine, never gained the hearts of the Flemish. Nevertheless, the Archduke’s gentle and easy character made him beloved by all who approached him. He was an intelligent connoisseur in pictures, and formed two magnificent collections of paintings and drawings.

The Archduchess and her husband took pleasure in encouraging art and literature, and Brussels soon became a lively literary centre. All that appeared in France—novels, poetry, travels, etc.—was eagerly read. Several reviews were started. The Prince de Ligne welcomed young Belgian authors, and helped them in every way to the best of his ability. Happy to avail themselves of the lordly hospitality he so graciously offered, they constantly came to submit to him their essays. It is needless to say that they extolled the beauties of Bel Œil and Baudour in verses which were reproduced in the gazettes of the day.

If Belgium had not become the scene of political events, it is probable that the Prince would have founded a school of literature and good taste, for he occasionally evinced in his writings talent of the highest order. Ideas flowed in abundance from his fertile pen, and he seemed merely to jot them down on the paper at haphazard. His style, which is capricious, incorrect, and even obscure, is always lively and descriptive; each word seems to fall naturally into its place under his pen; wit abounds, unexpected, satirical, and sometimes most daring. He has the greatest contempt for grammar; but this very negligence, this lordly indifference, gives to his writings a most original style.

Moreover, he possessed all the requisites of an excellent critic, but it must be acknowledged that he was blindly indulgent towards his own poetry. Unfortunately gifted with deplorable facility, he never missed an opportunity of rhyming. One evening, when they had all gone for a long walk in the woods, they wandered so far into the forest that they completely lost their way, and only found it, thanks to a star Hélène had noticed. On the following day her father-in-law brought her a ballad, set to a tune then in vogue, and perhaps among all those he has written, it may be considered as one of the best:—

À Hélène.

Air: Sous la Verdure.

Un sombre voile

Nous dérobait notre chemin;

Nous errions à la belle étoile,

Mais nous arrivons à la fin

Grâce à l’étoile.

Est-ce l’étoile

Qui jadis guida vers un Dieu?

Ou de Vénus est-ce l’étoile?

Je penche beaucoup en ce lieu

Pour cette étoile.

Auprès d’Hélène

Conduit l’étoile du berger;

Trop heureux celui qu’elle amène

Tout juste à l’heure du berger

Auprès d’Hélène.[35]

And so the days passed quickly and pleasantly, the only drawback in this happy scene being the state of Hélène’s health, which required an amount of care her youth and love of pleasure made it difficult for her to take. Two accidents had successively destroyed a hope dearly cherished by her husband, and even more by her father-in-law, who was anxious that his beloved Charles should have a son. The waters of Spa, then very much the fashion, were recommended. Hélène went there in the month of May 1782, accompanied by the Chevalier de l’Isle, and her convent friend, Mademoiselle de Conflans, who was now Marquise de Coigny,[36] and on intimate terms with the de Lignes. Hélène wrote to appoint a meeting-place. The Chevalier de l’Isle, who had a ready pen and familiar style, answered as follows: “Madame de Coigny embraces Mouchette,[37] and exhorts her to wait for her to go to Spa till the fifteenth of next month.” Hélène waited for her, and they started together with the Chevalier; he only remained a short time, and on his return wrote to the Prince de Ligne: “I did not write to you from Spa, my dear Prince, because I hoped to see you there, and then because I intended stopping at Brussels, at Bel Œil even; I had begged the Princesse Charles, who talks much better than I can write, to speak to you of me in her spare moments. She has none? So much the better for both her and you, and so much the worse for me. But I had my turn at Spa; twenty times I was on the point of writing, if only to tell you how charming your daughter-in-law was, and then I reflected that you were not the man to ignore it, and that when one has nothing fresh to say, one had better hold one’s tongue.”

Shortly after the Chevalier’s departure the Prince rejoined his daughter-in-law at Spa.

A watering-place at that time was very much like what it is in our days, but the Prince describes it in the most spirited manner: “I arrive in a large hall, where I find the maimed showing off their arms and their legs; ridiculous names, titles, and faces; clerical and worldly animals jumping and running races; hypochondriac milords wandering sadly about; females from Paris entering with roars of laughter, to make one believe they are amiable and at their ease, and hoping thereby to become so; young men of all countries, counterfeiting the English, speaking with their teeth closed, and dressed like grooms, their hair cut short, black, and greasy, with a pair of Jewish whiskers surrounding dirty ears.

“French bishops with their nieces; an accoucheur, decorated with the order of Saint Michael; a dentist with that of the Spur; dancing and singing masters in the uniform of Russian majors; Italians in that of Polish colonels, leading about young bears of that country; Dutchmen scanning the papers for the rate of exchange; thirty so-called Knights of Malta; ribbons of all colours, to the right and the left, at the buttonhole on both sides, orders of all kinds, shapes, and sizes.

“Old duchesses returning from their walks armed with tall canes à la Vendôme, and three coatings of white and rouge; marchionesses, cheating doubly at cards; horrible and suspicious faces, surrounded by piles of ducats, and swallowing up all those that were timidly put on the large green cloth; two or three electors in hunting-dress, striped with gold, armed with hunting-knives; a few princes incognito, who would not produce a greater sensation under their own names; some old generals and officers retired on account of wounds they never received; a few Russian princesses with their doctors, and Palatines and Castilian ladies with their young chaplains.

“Americans and burgomasters of the neighbourhood; convicts escaped from all the different prisons in Europe; quacks of every description; adventurers of all kinds; abbés of all countries. Twenty sick people wildly dancing for their health; forty lovers, or pretended lovers, sweating and agitating themselves, and sixty feminine waltzers of more or less beauty and innocence, cleverness and coquetry, modesty and voluptuousness. All this combined is called a dancing breakfast.”

After leaving the establishment of the mineral waters, the Prince takes us to La Sauvetière, an elegant meeting-place for bathers: “The noise, the buzzing sound of conversation, the uproar of the music, the intoxicating rhythm of the waltz, the passing and repassing of the idlers, the oaths and sobs of the gamblers, both men and women, the weariness of this magic-lantern made me leave the hall. I sit down, and I see some water drinkers religiously counting their glasses and their steps, and congratulating themselves, perhaps rather sadly, on the improvement of their digestion. Some ladies join their group.

“‘Do you digest the waters, Madame?’

“‘Yes, sir, since yesterday.’

“‘Does your Excellency begin to digest?’ she says to the minister of an ecclesiastical court.

“‘I have the honour to inform your Excellency,’ he answers, ‘that I perspire from eight o’clock in the evening till ten, and that I sweat completely from ten till midnight. If I had not so much business to transact for his Grace, I should be entirely cured by the treatment.’”

Hélène returned to Spa in 1783, and met there Madame de Sabran, born a d’Andlau,[38] who became later the Marquise de Boufflers. She was one of the most charming women of her time, and pleased every one who saw her by her appearance, her elegance, and the kindliness of her nature. She was accompanied by her little son, Elzéar de Sabran, who little thought of the part he was destined to play in politics later on; for the present, he contented himself with learning the part of Chérubin in the Mariage de Figaro, the Princesse Charles studying Suzanne, and Madame de Sabran the part of the Countess, for after the return from Spa the play was to be acted at Bel Œil.

Just at this time they received news of the Comte d’Artois’ arrival in Flanders,[39] and the Princes de Ligne started off at once to receive and accompany him on his progress through Rocroi and Spa, bringing him back with them to Bel Œil.

The Princesse Hélène returned to Bel Œil before the Princes, in order to prepare for the Comte d’Artois’ reception; but he had barely arrived when he fell seriously ill. The Prince had prepared festivities which cost him over fifty thousand francs; he never even spoke of them to the Count, who was not in a condition to enjoy them. Only one thing took place, a fairy-like illumination of the park, which the Prince, however, did not see, for he never left the Comte d’Artois’ side, and started with him for Versailles.

After the departure of the Comte d’Artois, the Chevalier de Boufflers and Madame de Sabran came to Bel Œil. Hearing that the Chevalier was garrisoned at Valenciennes, the Prince wrote and proposed his joining him at Tournai, and from there returning with him to Bel Œil. The Chevalier replied: “I am very much tempted, my dear Charlot, by all you suggest; but on closely examining your marching orders, I believe that my regiment is the very thing I should miss. Tell me when you go to Tournai; I intend going there, and defying you at the head of your army, and if I find it on two Lignes (lines), I shall try to break through them.

“Dear Prince, I love you as if I saw you every day of my life. After yourself there is nothing that gives so much pleasure as the impression that you leave. Send me your marching orders, so that we may meet somewhere, and that, if possible, we may part nowhere.”[40]

The Chevalier arrived at Bel Œil in time to take part in the representation of the Mariage de Figaro, which was given with great success in the pretty theatre at Bel Œil. Hélène took the part of Suzanne; Madame de Sabran that of the Countess; Elzéar, Chérubin, and Boufflers, Figaro; as for the Prince-father, he had to content himself with the modest part of Doublemain, the notary’s clerk; we must confess that, though he gave others[41] good advice, he acted very badly himself. He was generally given the part of the notary who draws up the marriage-contract, or that of the lackey who brings in a letter, and would invariably come in at the wrong moment; but on the other hand, once on the stage he would not leave it, but say in a supplicating whisper to the other actors: “I am not in your way, am I?”

Hélène acted with an archness and vivacity which recalled the merry schoolgirl of the Abbaye-aux-Bois, tempered by a little experience; the little Elzéar was charming as Chérubin, but the Chevalier carried off the palm by the zest and spirit with which he threw himself into his part. It was a curious sight, and a sign of the times, to hear Figaro’s soliloquy recited by a nobleman, and applauded by the aristocratic audience of Bel Œil.

Prince Charles willingly lent himself to his wife’s amusements, though he took no active part in them; but his serious mind required occupations of a different order. He took a keen interest in all scientific discoveries, and at that moment was much taken up with the new process of aerostation invented by Charles Pilatre de Rozier and Montgolfier. He witnessed the first experiments made in Paris, and among others the ascension of a fire balloon, in the gardens of La Muette, on the 21st of November 1783, made by Pilatre de Rozier and D’Arlandes. The aeronauts were in the greatest danger, their balloon having caught fire; they managed to extinguish it, and made their descent at Gentilly in safety. At that time a balloon ascension was looked upon as a most daring undertaking, and no one cared to accompany the aeronauts. But Prince Charles, whose courage and coolness were proof against everything, determined to take part in the third ascent, which took place at Lyons on the 19th of January 1784. The seven passengers were: the elder Montgolfier, Pilatre de Rozier, Fontaine, Prince Charles, and three other persons who at the last moment wished to ascend. Although the balloon was of enormous size, the number of passengers was too great; De Rozier had foreseen this, and did not wish the two last persons to enter the car. Montgolfier persuaded him, however, to let things be; but they were hardly off, and had only run about five hundred fathoms, when the balloon began imperceptibly to tear, and they were obliged to make a hasty and perilous descent at a distance of about a league from the town. On their return to Lyons they were received with acclamations by the whole population. In April 1784 Prince Charles sent off from the public square in front of the hôtel des États, at Mons, a magnificent balloon, constructed at his own expense. He had invited the Duke and Duchess of Aremberg and a great many distinguished personages of the Courts of Brussels and Versailles, who, after the ascent of the balloon, all returned to Bel Œil.[42]

FOOTNOTES:

[32] The volumes printed at Bel Œil are extremely rare and much in demand. M. Adolphe Gaiffe is in possession of one of the two known copies of the Chevalier de l’Isle’s poems. From a memorandum left by the Princess, we believe that part of her childhood’s Memoirs was printed by her husband at Bel Œil.

[33] A catalogue of them was made by Adam Bartsch in 1794; it contained six thousand numbers.

[34] Son of Augustus III., King of Poland; and Field-Marshal in the Austrian army. He was born on 11th July 1738, and married, on 8th April 1766, Marie-Christine-Josepha-Jeanne-Antoinette, sister of the Emperor Joseph, born on 13th May 1742. She died in 1798, and the Archduke Albert in 1822.

[35]

To Hélène.

A dark mist

Concealed our road;

We wandered in the open air,

But at last we reach our goal,

Thanks to the star.

Was it the star

That formerly led us heavenwards?

Or was it of Venus the guiding star?

I am disposed to believe

That it was this latter star.

’Tis to Hélène

That this star led us,

Too happy he that by it brought,

Comes just at the happy moment

Near to Hélène.

[36] It was to this witty Marquise de Coigny that the Prince de Ligne addressed the charming letters written from Tauris.

[37] Familiar nickname of the Princesse Charles.

[38] Madame d’Andlau was daughter of the famous Helvétius and Mademoiselle de Ligneville. She had educated her daughter, Madame de Sabran, very well: Madame d’Andlau in no way shared her father’s opinions.

[39] We read in the Gazette des Pays Bas, dated Thursday, 17th July 1783: “On Monday, H.R.H. the Comte d’Artois, accompanied by their Excellencies the Governors-General, saw all that was remarkable in the vicinity. The next day the Prince, with their Royal Highnesses, left for the Chateau de Marimont, from whence he was going to Bel Œil.”

[40] The Prince de Ligne had a particular affection for Boufflers. It would appear, however, that the Chevalier had a very uneven temper, for Madame de Sabran, in one of the charming letters she wrote him, gives us the following sketch: “It is not your manners, which are those of a savage, your absent and moody appearance, your sharp and genuine wit, your large appetite, and your deep sleep whenever one wishes to converse with you, which made me love you to distraction. It is I know not what: a certain sympathy that makes me think and feel like you, for under that rough exterior you conceal the spirit of an angel and the heart of a woman.”

[41] See his Letters to Eugénie on Theatricals. Paris, 1771.

[42] See the Gazette des Pays Bas, Monday, 5th April 1784, No. xxviii.

VIII

Prince Charles purchases a hotel in Paris—Birth of Sidonie—The insurrection in Flanders—Winter in Vienna—Joseph II. and his Court—First representation of Don Juan—-Haydn and Mozart—The Comtesse de Kinsky—Prince Charles’s affection for her—-Hélène’s departure for Warsaw.

The Prince de Ligne and his daughter-in-law were in entire sympathy. The young Princess enjoyed living at Bel Œil when her father-in-law was there, but she disliked Brussels, their winter residence. We already know, by her own confession, that Hélène was as “obstinate as the Pope’s mule,” and she had not given up her purpose of settling in Paris. Her husband disliked the idea of the Paris life, so little in harmony with his tastes; he had never lived in France, and, a stranger there, he feared comparison with the supreme elegance, the light witty tone, which distinguished the brilliant gentlemen at the Court of Versailles. But, as the saying goes, “What woman wills, God wills;” Prince Charles ended by giving way, and he bought in September 1784 a fine mansion, situated in the Rue de la Chaussée d’Antin.[43]

It is needless to say with what delight Hélène went to live in Paris. She found most of her old convent friends, and, presented under the auspicies of her father-in-law, she was welcomed and entertained on every side.

Received everywhere into the most brilliant circles—at Chantilly, the Prince de Condé’s; at Petit Bourg, the Duchesse de Bourbon’s; at the Temple, the Prince de Conti’s—all welcomed the young Princess, who gave herself up entirely to a vortex of pleasure and success. Captivated by the charm and amiability of the young men who surrounded her with their attentions, Hélène gave way to her natural instinct of coquetry; she distinguished no one in particular but tried to please all; when at home, she was occupied with her toilet and saw very little of her husband, who but rarely accompanied her into society, absorbed as he was in his studies. The steady character of the Prince, his taste for study, and the very German and romantic turn of his mind, formed a marked contrast with the light, bantering, superficial tone assumed by the courtiers. Hélène, with the giddiness of youth, decided in her own mind that her husband was tiresome, and had it not been for fear of offending her father-in-law she would not have spared him a little bantering.

Prince Charles’s position in Paris as husband of a pretty and fashionable woman was rather a trying one. With a father whose sparkling wit made him everywhere take a leading part in society, he was thrown into the shade, and reduced to a secondary position, which, however, his modesty would not have objected to had he not felt that it lowered him in his wife’s estimation. When he married, it was without any feeling of love for Hélène, whom he had hardly seen, but he soon felt a tender and almost paternal affection for her. He had allowed her the greatest freedom at Bel Œil, at the same time seeking to develop in her a taste for serious occupations hitherto rather checked by her intense love of pleasure. He was beginning to succeed, but these three winters in Paris almost annulled his efforts, or at least greatly compromised their success. Hélène was too young to understand and appreciate her husband’s superior intelligence and high character.

However, a long-desired event brought the married pair nearer to each other for a while. On the 8th of December 1786 Hélène gave birth to a little girl, who received the name of Sidonie. This was a great joy to Prince Charles, and he easily obtained Hélène’s consent to go to Bel Œil in the early spring, instead of returning to Paris. She consented the more willingly that her father-in-law had left Paris for the Russian Court, whither he had been summoned by an invitation from the Empress Catherine.

Before starting the Prince had had ample time to construct the bower of roses he had promised for Charles’s children, and as early as the month of March a handsome Brabant nurse, carrying a pink and white baby, might be seen in the gardens of Bel Œil. Everything seemed to promise a happy summer, and in spite of the somewhat unrestricted authority exercised over the nurse and baby by the Dowager-Princess, which was a source of annoyance to the young mother, harmony and peace prevailed at Bel Œil.

All of a sudden, in the middle of the summer (1787), a serious insurrection broke out in Flanders. It had been secretly brewing for some time past. Joseph II. had the mania of meddling in everything; he generally had the best intentions, but, cleverer in theory than in practice, he often neglected to ascertain whether a system useful in itself might not become dangerous if applied without any previous preparation. The reforms he tried to introduce into Flanders are a striking example of this sort of mistake.

The Flemish people, who had long been under the dominion of Spain, were bigoted in their religion, and as deeply attached to their ancient political privileges as they were to those of the Church. After the death of Marie-Thérèse, Joseph II. began by abolishing certain processions, pilgrimages, and a number of confraternities. These customs and institutions, which were certainly useless and far too numerous, were closely interwoven with the habits of the people, and their abolition was a source of great offence. The clergy were not less offended at the decree that suppressed the Bollandists, numerous convents and abbeys, and all the diocesan seminaries.

Finally the Emperor, still animated with the most liberal intentions, thought that “it was his charitable duty to extend towards Protestants the effects of that civil tolerance which, without inquiring into a man’s belief, considers only his capacity citizen.” He accordingly granted them a civil existence—a privilege which till then had been refused to them.

The Bishops loudly protested against these measures, and were severely reprimanded. Not content with attacking the privileges of the Church, Joseph II. upset the judicial organisation of the country, and in a way suppressed the nationality of the Netherlands, which were declared to be an Austrian province, divided into nine circles, governed by an intendant and Austrian commissioners, solely dependent on the Viennese Court. This was trampling underfoot the “Joyeuse Entrée” (Joyous Entry), that grand charta of the privileges of Brabant and the other Flemish States.[44]