Part 16

O honte, ô crime! on rosse les Puissances, On jet à bas dix mille intelligences Qui figuraient dans les processions; De leurs gradins les Trônes on renverse, On foule aux pieds les Dominations Et des Vertus le troupeau se disperse. ... l'on jet à leur nez, Devinez quoi? les têtes chérubines Aux frais mentons, aux lèvres purpurines. Parny, _La Guerre des Dieux_, canto 10.

[3]

Propres sans plus à garnir les gradins, À cet emploi se borne leur génie, C'est ce qu'au bal nous autres sots humains Nous appelons: faire tapisserie.

[4]

_Cf_. Parny: Étaient-ils trois, ou bien n'étaient-ils qu'un? Trois en un seul; vous comprenez, j'espère? Figurez-vous un vénérable père, Au front serein, à l'air un peu commun, Ni beau, ni laid, assez vert pour son âge Et bien assis sur le dos d'un nuage ... De son bras droit à son bras gauche vole Certain pigeon coiffé d'un auréole ... Sur ses genoux un bel agneau repose, Qui, bien lavé, bien frais, bien délicat, Portant au cou ruban couleur de rose, De l'auréole emprunt aussi l'éclat. Ainsi parut le triple personnage....

[5] _Ad familiares_, lib. iv. Epist. 5.

[6] "In this condition he was more enamoured, more vivacious; he told me that I gave him the most rapturous pleasure, called me a seductress, &c, and in that secluded place did what he pleased" (Madame de Saman, _Les Enchantements de Prudence. Avec préface de George Sand_, 1873, pp. 166, &c).

[7] Chateaubriand, _Les Martyrs_, more particularly books iii. and viii.; _Mémoires d'outre-tombe_; Sainte-Beuve, _Chateaubriand et son groupe littéraire sous l'Empire_; Nettement, _Histoire de la littérature française sous la Restauration_, i., ii.

[8] _Congrès de Vérone_, ii. 527.

[9] _Buonaparte et les Bourbons_, pp. 36, 37.

[10] _Mémoires d'outre-tombe_, 1849, iv. 452, &c, vi. I, &c.

[11] "Et il se rengorgea d'un air capable et goguenard; mais je ne prétendais disputer au Roi aucune puissance."

[12] _Mémoires d'outre-tombe_, viii. 216, 222; _Congrès de Vérone_, i. 172, ii. 525.

VIII

MADAME DE KRÜDENER

Amongst the personages of the day we come upon one class peculiarly characteristic of this period, namely, the converts. In an anxiously religious age following upon one of little faith this class was inevitably a numerous one. Laharpe's conversion during the very course of the Revolution had excited much attention. Chateaubriand himself was a convert. It is possibly the converts who help us to the clearest understanding of the nature of the new spirit, for in them we see it striving with and overcoming the old. The convert is, moreover, always ardent; he is full of his new belief, and consequently has, or affects, a peculiarly expressive countenance. The rule that the spirit of a period mirrors itself typically in that period's leading characters holds doubly good in the case of the individual whose character it is to be converted, especially if that individual is a woman. History contains no record of a woman, with her receptive nature, having led her age onward to new development, but some woman generally presents us with a specially marked type of the character of her age. The _émigrés_ group themselves round Madame de Staël, the leaders of Romanticism rally round Caroline Schlegel, and the age of the rehabilitation of religion finds poetically pious expression in Madame de Krüdener.

In Madame de Staël's _Delphine_ there is a scene in which the heroine enchants a large company with her graceful and expressive performance of a certain foreign dance, the shawl-dance. This scene had a foundation of reality. Her beautiful dancing was one of the many things for which the young and charming Baroness de Krüdener was remarkable. In _Delphine_ we read: "Never did grace and beauty produce a more remarkable effect upon a numerous assembly. This foreign dance has a charm of which nothing we are accustomed to see can give any idea. It is an altogether Asiatic mixture of indolence and vivacity, of melancholy and gaiety.... Sometimes when the music became softer Delphine walked a few steps with head bent and arms crossed, as if some memory or some regret had suddenly intermingled itself with the joyousness of a festival; but, soon recommencing her light and lively dance, she enveloped herself in an Indian shawl, which, showing the contours of her figure and falling back with her long hair, made of her a perfectly enchanting picture." The word _Asiatic_ is unmistakably the characterising word. In 1803 Joubert writes of Madame de Krüdener: "She is charming, with something Asiatic about her--nature exaggerated. Such extreme tenderness of feeling can hardly exist without a touch of extravagance."

Julie Barbe (Juliane Barbara) de Vietinghof was born in 1764 at Riga, in Livonia. Her education was conducted half on French, half on German lines. Her father was a distinguished, sagacious man of the world, a philosopher and Freemason, an art-lover and a Mæcenas; her mother, a sensible, conscientious woman, had been brought up on strict, old-fashioned Lutheran principles. Both parents belonged to the highest class of the old German-Russian aristocracy of the Baltic Provinces, and were connected with the Russian court.

The first teacher who made a real impression upon their young daughter, and whose instructions powerfully influenced her future, was the famous Parisian ballet-dancer, Vestris. At the age of eighteen Julie married Baron de Krüdener, a Russian diplomatist, a man fifteen years her senior, who had already been married twice, and had been divorced from both his wives. Her heart had no share in this union; the match was considered an excellent one, her vanity was gratified, and she had no manner of objection to her husband. He seems to have been a sensible, worthy, well-educated man, cultivated and calm, by no means devoid of feeling, but both by nature and from his position wedded to all the conventions of society. The Graces had not stood by his cradle.

It was into the most brilliant society of the eighteenth century that Baron de Krüdener introduced his wife. At the time of his marriage he was Russian envoy in Kurland, and immediately after the honeymoon the couple proceeded to Mitau, where Krüdener negotiated the incorporation of the Duchy with Russia, and where they were honoured with a visit from the Czar (Paul I.). Amateur theatricals provided the young wife with her chief occupation and interest. She went on acting until almost immediately before the birth of her only son. A few weeks after this event the young mother was presented to the Empress Catherine at St. Petersburg. Thence Krüdener was sent as Russian ambassador to Venice; the most dissipated town of the day, where his wife lived in a whirl of gaiety.

In Venice a gifted young enthusiast, Alexander Stakjev, her husband's private secretary, fell violently in love with Madame de Krüdener, but so great was his esteem for Krüdener and for the object of his attachment that not a syllable crossed his lips. So well did he preserve his secret that Krüdener took him with him when he was transferred to Copenhagen in 1784. In the woods of Frederiksborg Juliane and her adorer roved about admiring the beauties of nature in company. It was to the husband that Stakjev at last naïvely confessed his passion. Krüdener was imprudent enough to show the letter to his wife, who now for the first time became certain of the nature of Stakjev's feeling for her, a feeling which she did not return, but which, with innate coquetry, she had encouraged. The knowledge that it was in her power to call forth such a passion had an extraordinary effect upon her. From this moment it was the one dream of her life to be adored. Stakjev took his departure, but all that had been fermenting in Julie's young heart now forced its way to the surface. Possessed by an ardent desire to love and be loved, she had first attempted to find the ideal of her dreams in her husband. When he, more the father than the lover, only tried to keep her extravagant feeling in check, she fell back upon herself, and grieved at being what is now called misunderstood, but what she called "not felt." Stakjev's passion rushed past her like a breath of fire and thawed the inward cold which, as it were, held her emotions ice-bound. They now demanded an outlet. In Copenhagen, which, of all the places she had lived in, seemed to her the most unbearable--it is to be remembered that this was a hundred years ago--she threw herself into a whirl of trivial social amusements, which engrossed her time and mind, and brought in their train much indiscriminate and reckless coquetry. Shattered nerves and an affection of the lungs were the result of all the balls and theatricals, and she was ordered to spend the winter of 1789 in the South.

Instead of making her way to some quiet sunny spot on the shores of the Mediterranean, the lady whose health had completely broken down under the strain of town life hastened to Paris and there revived. In this intellectual city she is suddenly struck by her own ignorance, acquires a taste for reading, or rather for writers, and procures introductions to the great authors of the day--Barthélémy, the author of _Le jeune Anarcharse_, at whose reception into the Academy she was present, and Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, for whose _Paul et Virginie_ she had always had the greatest admiration. She makes a cult of Saint-Pierre and nature, witnesses the fall of the Bastille, but at the same time runs up an account of some 20,000 francs at her milliner's. When she is in the south of France, a young officer, M. de Frègeville, falls in love with her. Less inexperienced now than she had been in Copenhagen, she yields, after a struggle, to his persuasions. He induces her to spend another winter in France, in spite of a promise given to her husband, and to return to Paris instead of to Copenhagen in the following year (1791).

After Louis XVI's unsuccessful attempt at flight, Paris was no longer a safe place of residence for Madame de Krüdener. She made her escape from France with M. de Frègeville, who was disguised as her lackey, spent some weeks at Brussels, and then travelled by way of Cassel and Hanover to Hamburg, still accompanied and protected by her lover in his character of lackey. At Hamburg she was met by her husband, but as she even there refused to part from her favourite servant, there was a violent scene. Krüdener advised her to go for a time to her mother at Riga, and thither too she was accompanied by the disguised French officer. Her mother received her most cordially. In 1792, when she and her mother went to St. Petersburg to see her dying father, she again met her husband, who had come there to raise the money he required to procure a divorce. She threw herself at his feet, was forgiven, and made promises which she did not keep. For the next few years she wandered about Europe, separated from her husband and from De Frègeville, but living the life of the dissolute, gay lady of the last decade of the eighteenth century. Even in his most private letters of this year her husband never mentions her name.

After meeting her old adorer, Stakjev, at St. Petersburg, Madame de Krüdener went to Riga, where she remained for some time, then to Berlin, and thence to Leipzig, where she spent great part of 1793. From Leipzig she returned to Riga, but almost at once finding that town unbearable, retired to the family property of Kosse. Here she formed great plans; it was her intention to become the benefactress of her serfs, "to educate the Esthonian people and make them happy." In 1795 she stayed for a few months at Riga, and then went to Berlin. In 1796 she lived first at Lausanne, then at Geneva with her friend, Abbé Becker. She frequented the society of the French _émigrés_, was perfectly idolised, and went from fête to fête dancing the shawl-dance, which for a time was the great passion of her now mature womanhood. When young girls began to dance the shawl-dance too, she went off with her friend, the _émigré_ De Vallin, to Munich. After De Vallin's compulsory return to France, and Becker's death, Madame de Krüdener suddenly began to long for her husband and her step-child, but all that came of this was a flying visit to Munich, where she had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of this step-child, now a grown woman. After a stay at Teplitz, she returned to Munich, but was presently at Teplitz again, and thence went to Berlin, where, in 1800, M. de Krüdener took up his residence as Russian ambassador. During these years of wandering she had probably changed her lovers even more frequently than her place of residence.

The winter of 1800-1801 she spent in Berlin as Russian ambassadress; but her unpunctuality and general eccentricity made her anything but a favourite at the well-ordered court of William III. Social success being her one desire, she tried, now that she was no longer young, to attract attention by the audacity of her toilettes. She had never been a beauty, but her expressive features and her gracefulness had always been much admired. The simplicity which had made her so irresistible ten years earlier, had now given place to a desire to create a sensation by a daring style of dress, or rather undress. She covered her still beautiful hair with a wig, according to the fashion of the day. Her features and complexion had lost the freshness of youth.

It was at this time that her restless heart, which still craved for strong emotions, began to open itself to the influence of religious fanaticism. In a letter to her most intimate friend she writes: "Shall I confess something to you? It is in all humility of heart I write it. You know that I am not arrogant--how can a Christian be? But I believe that God has deigned to bless my husband ever since my return. There is no imaginable benefit or favour that is not bestowed on him. Why should I not believe that the prayer of a pious heart which simply and trustingly beseeches God to help it to contribute to another's happiness is certain to be answered?"

Why not, indeed? We should willingly believe that it was the presence of Madame de Krüdener which induced Providence to shower orders and distinctions upon the Baron if we did not happen to know for a fact that it was another, less romantic reason which led the Emperor Paul thus to favour him. The facts of the case are as follows: In the middle of an entertainment which the Baron was giving in Berlin to the Prussian royal family and the Grand Duchess Helena, a despatch arrived from the autocrat of all the Russias, commanding Krüdener instantly to declare war with Prussia. Their Majesties were still in the house. Instead of breaking up the fête by displaying this Gorgon's head to his guests, the Russian ambassador calmly let them dance on; and knowing, like the sagacious politician he was, how imprudent and how fatal for Russia such a war would be, he wrote a dissuasive letter to his Emperor, though well aware that, in all human probability, life-long exile in Siberia would be his reward. Naturally he mentioned nothing of all this to his wife. The improbable happened. Paul allowed himself to be dissuaded, and, full of admiration for his minister's courage and wisdom, overwhelmed him with proofs of his favour.--So we see there is a different explanation from Madame de Krüdener's.

From this time onwards her letters become ever more pious and edifying. She now writes of religion as her panacea against melancholy, and tells of the thousand sources of happiness which it offers.

In the midst of all this comes a new love affair and another separation from her husband. In the summer of 1801 we find her at Teplitz. Then she pays a long visit to Madame de Staël at Coppet, where the desire to make a sensation as an authoress is aroused in her, and she dashes off three short stories and the beginning of a novel. To make this last as perfect as possible, she goes to Paris to seek advice from Bernardin de Saint-Pierre and make Chateaubriand's acquaintance. Chateaubriand gives her a copy of his _Génie du Christianisme_ before he has even distributed his presentation copies, and she is not a little proud when Madame de Staël finds this book upon her table. But she makes such indiscreet, unscrupulous use of Chateaubriand's confidences that he is estranged from her for years, a complete breach being only with difficulty avoided.

She is surprised in Paris by the news of Krüdener's death. She shuts herself up, full of grief and remorse. It had been "her dream to return to him once more, ease the burden of years for him, and requite his unending generosity." It was not long, however, before Madame de Krüdener issued from her retirement. In her first short stories she had imitated Saint-Pierre's style. Now her novel was ready. She called it _Valérie_; her own youthful love affair with Alexander Stakjev had furnished her with the plot. It is a well-written, sympathetic story, perceptibly influenced by _Werther_. But Madame de Krüdener was not satisfied with writing a novel; she wished her novel to be read and talked of. The manner in which she set herself to ensure that it should be, shows that at this period she had not, in spite of her attempts to do so, altogether renounced the world. She was not contented with the usual stratagems, such as getting one critic after another to look through the story in manuscript, reading the whole or parts to select companies of friends, &c, &c,; no--she prepared its success in a more determined and thorough manner. Her first step was to write as follows to a friend in Paris, Dr. Gay, an unknown and vain member of the medical profession, in whose career she had promised to interest herself:--

" ... I have another favour to ask of you. Will you get some clever verse-writer to address a little poem to our friend Sidonie (Sidonie is the heroine in Madame de Krüdener's first short story). I need hardly ask you to be sure to see that this poem is in as good taste as possible. The heading is simply to be _À Sidonie_. Sidonie is to be asked: 'Why do you live in the country, depriving us by this retired life of your charm and your wit? Does the sensation you have created not call you to Paris? Only there will your charms and your talents be admired as they deserve. Your fascinating dancing has been described, but who is capable of describing all your attractions?' My friend, it is to your friendship I confide all this; I feel quite ashamed on Sidonie's behalf, for I know her modesty. You, too, know that she is not vain. I have more serious reasons than the gratification of petty vanity for asking you to have these verses written, and for my other actions. Be sure to say that she lives in great retirement, and that only in Paris is it possible to meet with appreciation. Take care to conceal that you have anything to do with this matter. Have the verses printed in the evening newspaper. It is quite true that Sidonie's dancing is described in _Delphine_. Read the book; it will interest you. But remember, it is not to be mentioned in the verses that it is in _Delphine_ she is described. It is only the heading, _À Sidonie_, that is to give any clue to the person to whom they are addressed. Be so kind as to pay the newspaper. I hope to be able to explain my reasons to you. Send me the number containing the verses as soon as it comes out. If the paper will not accept the verses, or if there is to be too long a delay in their appearance, send me the manuscript and I shall have them inserted in a newspaper here. You will be doing a great favour to your friend, and she will explain to you by word of mouth why she has asked it. You know her timidity, her love of solitude, and her dislike of praise; but it is an important service you are doing her."

A fortnight later we have another letter on the same subject, another request to know if Dr. Gay has read _Delphine_: "Madame de Staël told Sidonie that she would describe her dancing, and you will find the description in the first volume. Many people think that she has described Sidonie's face, way of speaking, and lively imagination, and mixed up with this her own religious and political opinions; for Sidonie is _profoundly religious_, and takes very little interest in politics." On this follow more directions with regard to the poem: "It must tell that her beautiful dancing has been described, without intimating by whom--must simply say: 'An able pen has depicted your dancing; the success you have met with everywhere is well known; your charms have been sung as well as your wit, and yet you persistently conceal them from the world. A solitary life in your home is your choice. There you seek happiness in religion, in nature, in study, &c, &c, &c.' This, dear friend, is what I want; I shall give you my reasons by-and-by."

The address to Sidonie arrives; Madame de Krüdener acknowledges its reception: "It is only fair, dear friend, that you should have a copy of the charming elegy you have written for me, so I herewith send you one; I wish to keep yours myself."

The elegy runs: "What is it you seek in your solitude? Paris, bewitched by the magic emanating from you, by your grace, by the brilliant talents with which Heaven has gifted you, surely offers you hearts enough, hearts which your gentle spirit has enchained. We saw you, we flocked round you on that day when you exercised the seductive power of grace and the constraining power of beauty, the day when, assured of the palm of genius, you did not despise the praises offered to talent. You even smiled upon a certain ingenious versifier who ventured to blend his weak voice with the chorus of the sages and to sketch your magic dance in words. But the memory of those festive days has been effaced by the thunderbolt which has fallen from heaven upon you! Do not our hearts share in your melancholy reflections? Have they not, devoutly silent, sighed with you in your sorrow? We would not offend you with impotent consolation, that paraded offering to a paraded sorrow--we heard you sigh, and we sighed with you. We sighed with you, and you flee from us! Why do you flee? We are decked in mourning weeds; the arts keep silence; love hides itself, and with it hide all its attendant gaieties, that of yore were your joy and your glory."

There is as much again, but this is enough. Madame de Krüdener's letter ends: "I send you this elegy, the antique colouring (!) and beauty of which I admire. I appropriate nothing in it except the sorrow, which you have correctly observed in me and have desired to alleviate. I have much more than this to say to you, dear Dr. Gay, much that is more flattering for you, but I cannot find room for it here, can only with a grateful heart offer my thanks to your art, your noble art, so beneficial to humanity (!)."

Dr. Gay then proceeded to rhyme his prose. Madame de Krüdener writes to him: "Sidonie has requested me to convey her heartfelt thanks to the kindest of friends. The verses are charming. They are already in print. What an enviably gifted man he is who wrote them! How easy it is to see that he is Sidonie's friend! How well he paints what he desires us to see! In every stroke one feels that it is the soul which has wielded the brush--and what a noble soul!... Sidonie has also received an elegy in prose, which you must see, and which she considers exceedingly beautiful. What talent is displayed in the noble, simple style, and how one is drawn to the mind which speaks such a language! A few alterations have been made, very few; you have been most successful in doing what was desired!"