CHAPTER XIX

My Stay at Riga—­Campioni St. Heleine—­D’Asagon—­Arrival of the Empress—­I Leave Riga and Go to St. Petersburg—­I See Society—­I Buy Zaira

Prince Charles de Biron, the younger son of the Duke of Courland, Major-General in the Russian service, Knight of the Order of St. Alexander Newski, gave me a distinguished reception after reading his father’s letter.  He was thirty-six years of age, pleasant-looking without being handsome, and polite and well-mannered, and he spoke French extremely well.  In a few sentences he let me know what he could do for me if I intended to spend some time at Riga.  His table, his friends, his pleasures, his horses, his advice, and his purse, all these were at my service, and he offered them with the frankness of the soldier and the geniality of the prince.

“I cannot offer you a lodging,” he said, “because I have hardly enough room for myself, but I will see that you get a comfortable apartment somewhere.”

The apartment was soon found, and I was taken to it by one of the prince’s aides-de-camp.  I was scarcely established when the prince came to see me, and made me dine with him just as I was.  It was an unceremonious dinner, and I was pleased to meet Campioni, of whom I have spoken several times in these Memoirs.  He was a dancer, but very superior to his fellows, and fit for the best company polite, witty, intelligent, and a libertine in a gentlemanly way.  He was devoid of prejudices, and fond of women, good cheer, and heavy play, and knew how to keep an even mind both in good and evil fortune.  We were mutually pleased to see each other again.

Another guest, a certain Baron de St. Heleine from Savoy, had a pretty but very insignificant wife.  The baron, a fat man, was a gamester, a gourmand, and a lover of wine; add that he was a past master in the art of getting into debt and lulling his creditors into a state of false security, and you have all his capacities, for in all other respects he was a fool in the fullest sense of the word.  An aide-decamp and the prince’s mistress also dined with us.  This mistress, who was pale, thin, and dreamy-looking, but also pretty, might be twenty years old.  She hardly ate anything, saying that she was ill and did not like anything on the table.  Discontent shewed itself on her every feature.  The prince endeavoured, but all in vain, to make her eat and drink, she refused everything disdainfully.  The prince laughed good-humouredly at her in such a manner as not to wound her feelings.

We spent two hours pleasantly enough at table, and after coffee had been served, the prince, who had business, shook me by the hand and left me with Campioni, telling me always to regard his table as my last resource.