The reception on the evening in question did not last as long as usual, Mme. de Périgord, like the majority of us, being due at the Burg, to attend a monster concert. Nothing, it was said, could convey a better idea of the marvellous results of the practice of music in Vienna. We left the prince engaged in his game of whist, in which he indulged every night with a particular fondness and with superior skill, and made our way to the Imperial Palace.
In one of the vastest halls, that of the States, there were a hundred pianos on which professors and amateurs performed a concert. Salieri, the composer of the _Danaïdes_, was the conductor of that gigantic orchestra. To tell the truth, however, save for the general scene, which in all these fêtes was always dazzling, that matchless charivari, in spite of the superior talent of the maestro directing it, was more like a huge display of strength and skill than a concert of good taste. This new surprise was, nevertheless, such as might have been expected from a committee appointed by the Court. To justify the confidence placed in it, it had ransacked its imagination for something unforeseen and unprecedented, something altogether out of the ordinary. It had succeeded to perfection.
The Prince de Ligne’s Study--A Swimming Exploit--Travelling by Post--A Reminiscence of Mme. de Staël--Schönbrunn-- The Son of Napoleon--His Portrait--Mme. de Montesquiou-- Anecdotes--Isabey--The Manœuvring-Ground--The People’s Fête at Augarten.
When I went to pay my daily visit to the prince, he was still in bed, and I made my way to his library, where they had placed his couch. The room in which a famous man spends the greater part of his time is always interesting. The signs of his particular tastes are everywhere; the special character of his genius reveals itself in the smallest details; and the objects surrounding him supply food for our curiosity or attract our attention. With his books and manuscripts scattered here, there, and everywhere, the Prince de Ligne gave one the impression of a general in his tent among the trophies of his victories and the weapons worn in everyday life.
Abusing somewhat the licence accorded to poets, with whom ‘a beautiful disorder’ is accounted an artistic effect, the prince lived amidst a kind of litter which was not altogether devoid of gracefulness. Here, Rousseau and Montesquieu lying open beside a batch of love-letters; there, scraps of paper covered with verses close to a couple of military volumes of Archduke Charles; further on, letters just begun, and poems and works of strategy in a similarly initial condition. An admirable amalgam of the grand seigneur, the soldier, and the man of wit, the Prince de Ligne presented a type the like of which we shall not see again; now captivating the most distinguished women by the charms of a most brilliant conversation, then astounding the most consummate generals by the justness of his conceptions; and again delighting the greatest intellects by the subtlety and the truth of his comments.