As Thérèsa came forward to sing, a young lady, Mlle. de L----, rose, and, going up to the Duc d’H----, a very witty man, said: “Do you think, Monsieur le Duc, that the moment has come when a young girl should retire?” He smiled, and, pointing to Mgr. Chigi (the Papal Nuncio), who did not withdraw at the appearance of the comic singer, said: “Why should _you_ retire, mademoiselle? Where the Nuncio is to be seen, I suppose a young lady is in no danger!”
When the incident was reported to Mme. de Metternich, she said: “Ah! these old heads upon young shoulders! It seems that I have rather upset them!” She not only coped with the suggestive “cancan,” but one evening, in a charade, appeared as, and in the dress of, a cabman.
M. de Lano affirms that “these incohérences, these insane manifestations of a decadent society, pleased the Empress, who encouraged and authorized them with the unconsciousness of a pretty woman, intoxicated by unforeseen happiness and her unhoped-for royalty.” The intimacy with the Empress, resulting from Mme. de Metternich’s “originality”--which perhaps was studied and calculating--doubtless made her the clever collaboratrice of her husband in his ambassadorial labours, enabling her, it was said, to snatch precious secrets from one[71] who regarded her as a devoted friend. “This, apparently, is the explanation of those checks so often sustained by the Emperor and his Ministers in their negotiations with foreign diplomatists.”
Enemies abroad, intriguing ladies at the imperial palaces, an Emperor “using himself up” by his indiscriminate “affairs,” an unsuspecting and too-good-natured Empress--what were all these but precursors of ultimate dynastic ruin?
It was the Princesse de Metternich who, after the Empress had been singing the praises of Marie Antoinette, said: “Je voudrais bien être votre Princesse de Lamballe”--a doubtful compliment, if all that has been recorded of that lady can be believed.
Princesse Pauline de Metternich is[72] the daughter of Comte Sandor, a Hungarian grand seigneur, and granddaughter of the celebrated President of the Congress of Vienna. In the sixties she was as much a Parisienne as a grande dame, and she had the courage of her opinions. Needless to say, she was severely criticized. She had her own method of answering her assailants, one of whom she sought out and thus addressed: “Sir, in what you have publicly printed about me you have absolutely lied, for you know that I am incapable of acting in the manner you have described.”