Religious Ceremony for the Anniversary of the Death of Louis XVI.—Reception at Talleyrand’s—Discussion on the Subject of Saxony and Poland—The Order of the Day of the Grand-Duke Constantine—A Factum of Pozzo di Borgo—A Sleighing-Party—Entertainment and FÊte at SchÖnbrunn—Prince EugÈne—Recollections of Queen Hortense—The Empress Marie-Louise at the Valley of St. Helena—Second Sleighing-Party—A Funeral.

An important ceremony put a stop to all these entertainments. Twenty-two years had gone by since the ill-fated Louis XVI. lost his head on the scaffold, and his memory had not as yet received the expiation of a solemn and public mourning. At the moment when all those kings were working in unison for the pacification of Europe, they could scarcely refrain from protesting by a ceremonious manifestation against a fact which, causing all their thrones to shake on their bases, seems to have been virtually the signal of all these disastrous wars. Consequently, when Talleyrand, as the head of the French Legation, invited the consent of the Austrian government to a memorial service on the anniversary of the fatal twenty-first of January, his request was granted with a kind of melancholy zeal. Nay, more, Emperor Francis made a point of having the service celebrated in the Cathedral of St. Stephen, so that it might be marked by extraordinary pomp, and that its expenses should devolve upon the imperial treasury.

MM. Isabey and Moreau were entrusted with the plans and preparations for the ceremony. In accordance with the emperor’s wish, the former displayed the greatest magnificence, and that funereal pomp inseparable from the obsequies of kings. In the centre of the old Basilica there stood a baldachin sixty feet high, and ornamented with all the insignia of royalty. Four colossal statues, placed at the four corners of a cenotaph, represented respectively France, dissolved in tears; Europe, contributing its meed of regret; Hope, guiding the soul of the virtuous monarch to the abode of everlasting bliss; and Religion, holding in her hand that last will, the sublime model of charity and pardon. The nave of the cathedral was entirely covered with one immense hanging of black, richly embroidered with silver. From each pillar was suspended the scutcheon of the House of France. Numberless wax candles and tapers shed a dazzling light across those sombre walls, closed to the orb of day.

A stand, entirely draped with black velvet, embellished with silver fringe, had been prepared for the sovereigns. The nave and the choir were reserved for the specially invited guests, and the lateral parts of the sacred building for the public.

Long before the hour fixed for the ceremony an immense crowd blocked up the approaches to the Gothic fane. Every Frenchman in Vienna, no matter what his rank, had received an invitation, and not one failed. The Knights of the Golden Fleece and the ambassadors in full Court dress occupied the foremost rows of the choir. Behind them were all the notabilities, all the princely guests, and the authorities of the city of Vienna. A detachment of the regiments of the Guards and another of the Hungarian Nobiliary Guard were on duty round the catafalque, as at the funeral of emperors. Emperor Francis himself intended this as the highest expression of his personal sentiments. In the nave stood a considerable number of ladies attired in mourning and wrapped in long crape veils.

At eleven o’clock a blast of trumpets heralded the arrival of the Emperor Francis, the Emperor of Russia, the Kings of Prussia, Bavaria and Denmark; of the Queen and of the Empress of Russia. The Empress of Austria, confined to the palace by ill-health, was the only one absent from the ceremony. The Prince LÉopold de Sicile, as the only member of the House of Bourbon, and M. de la Tour du Pin stood at the portals of the cathedral and conducted the sovereigns to the imperial stand. Immediately afterwards, the celebration began. In spite of his eighty-four years, the venerable Archbishop of Vienna, Prince de Hohenwarth, had made it a point to officiate. A profound respect, an intense and reverent emotion, pervaded the immense assembly at the sight of the royal sarcophagus and of the white-haired priest praying for divine pity on the virtuous monarch. It would be difficult to guess the feelings of all those monarchs, reverently prostrated not far from the catafalque, recalling such a great misfortune and such a great event in the history of France. All were more or less related to the illustrious house of France, the most ancient of Europe.

M. Zaiguelius, vicar of Sainte-Anne in Vienna, and of French origin, delivered an address in French, noticeable for its many beauties, and some people pretended that M. Talleyrand was not altogether a stranger to its composition. The text was, ‘Let the earth know the fear of the name of the Lord.’ In this very remarkable address, the speaker was particularly anxious to show the hand of God, which raises up and overthrows thrones. Then, after the prayers for Louis XVI. and Marie-Antoinette, he concluded by reciting the principal passages of the will, which has rightly been called the most heroic code of charity. This was, in fact, the most beautiful funeral oration of Louis XVI., and when M. Zaiguelius descended from the pulpit there was not a dry eye in the place. After this, two hundred and fifty voices sang, without accompaniment, the ‘Requiem,’ composed by Neukomm, a pupil of Haydn. The musicians had been reinforced by amateurs; they constituted two separate choirs, of which one was conducted by Salieri, the Director of the Imperial Music. Its effect was admirable. Listened to with the most reverential silence, the hymn of sorrow seemed less a prayer addressed to Heaven for a virtuous victim than a sequel to the sublime words of pardon to which we had just listened. The cost of this funereal solemnity amounted to nearly a hundred thousand florins, and was entirely defrayed by the Austrian Court.

An express order of the emperor had suspended for that day all the ordinary entertainments. During the evening there was positively a crowd in M. de Talleyrand’s drawing-rooms. Everything was most sedate, as usual, for political discussions were the order of the day there rather than those connected with fÊtes and gaiety. The Polish question was more than ever to the fore, and apparently as far as ever from being settled. The incorporation of Poland with his empire had been the ardent aspiration of Alexander from the very beginning of the Congress of Vienna. Supported in that claim by the King of Prussia, to whom, as a set-off, he sacrificed and abandoned Saxony, he had not reckoned upon any particular resistance; but it became manifest at the very outset of the discussions that there would be a lively opposition to this dual spoliation and the kind of bargain it involved. In the matter of Saxony, both Metternich and Talleyrand strenuously opposed the overthrow of a prince sincerely beloved by his subjects, and who during forty years had honoured the throne by his uprightness and by a combination of many virtues. These two statesmen fostered the hope that by denying Saxony to Prussia they would contribute to a rupture between the czar and King Frederick William; and that in consequence of this the Congress would be enabled to cut an independent Polish kingdom out of the Grand Duchy of Warsaw. England, which in principle seemed favourable to the pretensions of Russia and Prussia, had, however, been persuaded by the arguments of the Austrian Minister and his French colleague, and had taken sides with them. The discussion became very envenomed, in spite of the kindly efforts of Prince Razumowski. It was during one of those stormy conferences that the Grand-Duke Constantine became very angry with M. de ——. Finally, during another sitting, Alexander, addressing Lord Castlereagh, had not scrupled to affirm that at his voice eight millions of Poles would not hesitate to arise in order to sustain the independence of their country.100

Behind this question of Poland there loomed, however, another question much more important and far-reaching for European equilibrium. Napoleon had as yet not uttered the famous words, that before fifty years Europe would be French or Cossack. But already many far-seeing minds had become alarmed, and not without reason, at seeing Russia assuming the mastership on the Vistula. With the object of ‘forcing her back towards her inhospitable climate,’ and of plucking Poland from her domination, Austria, France, and England made a secret treaty on the 10th of January 1815. Talleyrand’s influence had determined that compact, for he already inclined towards an English alliance, to the realisation of which he looked so hard fifteen years later. That self-same treaty which the ministers of Louis XVIII. left behind them at the time of their flight on the 26th March 1815, and which Napoleon promptly sent to Alexander, was the cause of Alexander’s resentment against Talleyrand, which was never overcome. It was one of the causes which, after the second Restoration, kept the French diplomatist away from the ministry and from public affairs.

Nevertheless, it was supposed that the Grand-Duke Constantine, who had left Vienna in deference to his brother and master’s will, was only occupied with reviews and manoeuvres, the supposedly exclusive objects of his passion. Nobody thought of war, and everybody ardently desired peace. Suddenly there came to Vienna a proclamation addressed by the Grand-duke to the Polish nation, which was tantamount to an appeal to arms. This strange manifesto was composed as follows:—

‘To the Polish Army.—His Majesty the Emperor Alexander, your powerful protector, appeals to you by this. Gather round your standards, take up arms to defend your country and to maintain your political existence. While this august monarch prepares the happy future of your country, show the world that you are ready to sustain his whole efforts with the price of your blood. The same chiefs who during the last twenty years have led you on the road to glory will know how to lead you thither once more. The emperor is fully cognisant of your valour; amidst many disasters of a most fatal war he has seen your honour survive events which in no wise depended upon you. Signal feats of arms conferred distinction upon you in a struggle the motive of which was foreign to you; at present, when your efforts are directly devoted to your country, you will be invincible. Soldiers and warriors of all arms, be ye the first to give the example of all the virtues which should inspire your countrymen. A boundless devotion to the emperor, who has no other aim than the welfare of your country, an unalterable love for his august person; obedience, discipline, and courage—these are the means to ensure the prosperity of your country, which is under the Ægis of the emperor. It is only by those means that you can attain the happy situation which others may promise you, but which he alone can bestow. His power and his virtues will be the guarantee of it to you.’

Two points in this document, more than any other, aroused profound astonishment. The Grand-duke, in inciting the Poles to rally around his brother the emperor, in soliciting their devotion to his person, forestalled, as it were, the supreme decision of the Congress. The question was practically pending before the sovereign tribunal, no decision whatsoever had been taken, nevertheless Constantine virtually proclaimed his brother the Protector of Poland. Secondly, what construction was to be placed on those threats of war, on that appeal to arms, when the whole of Europe was ostentatiously looking at the consolidation of a general appeasement? Against whom, then, were the Poles, guided by the Russians, to take up arms? Against the other Powers, who refused them their independence? Did Constantine in reality flatter himself that he was imposing upon the Poles and hoodwinking them by garbling the truth? Could she (Poland) be blinded by those protestations in favour of her nationality?

Since the proclamation, denied for a moment, had acquired the stamp of authenticity, the discussion provoked by it stifled all others. In Talleyrand’s drawing-room it was the subject of all conversations. He was known to be a partisan of Saxony and Poland. It was also known that, together with Metternich, he was the soul of that far-seeing and imperturbable resistance to Russian projects.

‘Have you read a statement drawn up by M. Pozzo di Borgo in connection with Poland?’ said M. L—— to a group surrounding him. ‘The political world is very much concerned about it. The author aims to show that, for many reasons, this country must not be granted its independence, but must be entirely incorporated with Russia.’

‘It is but natural,’ was the answer, ‘that M. Pozzo di Borgo should have posed as the enemy of both the principles and the person of Napoleon. This is easily conceivable and easily explicable by allowing for the poison of the Corsican vendetta, which becomes an heirloom from generation to generation. In his country hatred is a family inheritance: God alone knows how far it goes back and where it will end. But what has that ill-fated nation done to M. Pozzo that he should oppose the good-will shown towards her here?’

‘M. Pozzo defends the cause of the country which adopted him. Employed by Russia, he has become a Russian.’

‘But is not this carrying devotion to ingratitude? Is it possible, then, that the recollection of past benefits is denied to the political writer to such a degree as to make M. Pozzo forget that Prince Adam Czartoryski virtually “picked him up” on his arrival in Russia; that he took him and, as it were, guided him to that temple the first steps of which he aspired to ascend? When M. Pozzo came back from Constantinople, where his efforts to ingratiate himself with Admiral Siniavin had been paralysed either by the intrigues or by the real merit of M. le Comte Capo d’Istria, he was bound to make up at St. Petersburg for the check he had received at the Bosphorus by a fresh attempt. Prince Adam was, for the travelling diplomatic apprentice, a veritable godsend. To write a diatribe against the country of the prince is tantamount to attacking his own star. From a political point of view it is, perhaps, very clever. I scarcely care to ask what it is from an ethical point.’

‘You know that M. Pozzo claims the priority of the idea of having directed the march of the allied armies on Paris?’

‘Yes; but it is also said that after the event the claim was preferred by the other prophets. If it had failed, there would doubtless be fewer oracles to-day.’

‘Well, it is probable that M. Pozzo will go very far before we have finished with him. To succeed in politics, one must forget family and country, tread underfoot gratitude, stifle the dearest affections, deny the principles of one’s life, and at that price only glory and success come within one’s grasp.’ An untoward fate seemed to dog the sleighing-party projected by the Austrian Court. It had been postponed several times in consequence of a change of temperature. One day the cold seemed to promise for the next the hard and polished surface necessary to those northern chariots, then a thaw would set in and soften the layer of ice spread on the earth. Finally, a downright frost began, preceded by an abundant snowfall, and the imperial promenade was once more fixed. From early morning an immense crowd gathered on the Josef Platz, where the sleighs were to meet. Nearly all had been refurbished; those intended for the emperors and sovereigns were in the form of a calÈche, and were decorated with a taste and lavishness productive of the happiest results. They sparkled with the brightest colours, enhanced with gold. The cushions, of emerald-coloured velvet, were trimmed with fringe of the same metal. The harness, displaying the scutcheon of the imperial house, was hung with silver bells. The sleighs of the high personages of the Congress and of the Austrian nobility vied both in richness and elegance with those of the sovereigns: silk, velvet, and gilding everywhere, while every sleigh was drawn by horses of price, caparisoned with tiger skins and rich furs, their flowing manes plaited with knots and ribbons. They were with difficulty kept in hand, the tinkling of the bells rendering them more spirited than usual, and anxious to get away with the light loads behind them.

While awaiting the signal to start, the privileged promenaders had forgathered within the Imperial Palace. At two o’clock the order was given, and the illustrious company came down, taking their seats, the sovereigns in accordance with the rule of precedence prevailing in their case, the others according to the rank determined by mere chance. To each cavalier a lady is assigned by lot as his companion on the road. A blast of trumpets is heard, and the procession begins its march. A detachment of cavalry comes forward, preceding the sergeants and sergeants’ caterers of the Court, mounted on richly caparisoned cattle. They are followed by an immense sleigh drawn by six horses and containing an orchestra of kettledrums and trumpets. The grand equerry, Trauttmansdorff, on horseback, and followed by his men-at-arms, comes afterwards, then immediately after that, the sleighs of the sovereigns. The first sleigh is that of the Emperor of Austria, piloting the charming Elizabeth of Russia. In the second was Emperor Alexander with the Princesse d’Auersberg; then came the King of Prussia with the Comtesse Julie Zichy, the King of Denmark with the Grande-Duchesse de Saxe-Weimar, and the Grand-Duke of Baden with the grand-mistress of the Court, the Comtesse Lazanski. Twenty-four young pages, richly dressed in mediÆval costumes, and a squadron of the Hungarian Nobiliary Guards provided the escort for the sovereigns’ sledges.

The Empress of Russia was wrapped in a large coat of green velvet lined with ermine; on her head she wore a toque of the same colour with an aigrette of diamonds similar to that usually worn by the great Catherine. The other ladies were equally provided against the cold with velvet coats of the richest colours; the Grande-Duchesse de Weimar’s being pink, also trimmed with ermine, a fur which in Austria is exclusively reserved for personages of royal blood. The other colours such as purple and amaranth were all relieved by the rarest and most elegant furs.

Then came the other sledges, to the number of thirty, holding the principal Court personages and the princely guests for whom this entertainment had been projected. The procession crossed the city at only a walking pace, thus enabling the crowd to recognise and to salute those who in a little while will be carried away at a gallop. The Archeduc Palatine has by his side the Grande-Duchesse d’Oldenbourg wrapped in a blue velvet mantle, the shade of which blends most happily with her charming face. Behind these the Prince Royal of WÜrtemberg has for his companion the Princesse de Lichtenstein. Handsome though his companion is, he does not take his eyes off the sleigh containing the woman he worships, and he looks as if inclined to quarrel with fate for having served him so niggardly. Our charming ‘queen,’ as we call the Comtesse Fuchs, has fallen to the lot of the Prince Guillaume de Prusse. The Prince LÉopold de Sicile is with the Princesse Lubomirska, the Prince EugÈne with Mme. Apponyi, the Prince Royal de BaviÈre with the Comtesse Sophie Zichy, the Archeduc Charles with the Comtesse Esterhazy, the Prince Auguste de Prusse with the Comtesse Batthyany, the Comte FranÇois Zichy with Lady Castlereagh, the Comte de Wurbna with the Comtesse Walluzen, the Duc de Saxe-Cobourg with the handsome Rosalie Rzewuska. The dresses of all those ladies were elegant beyond description; the men wore Polish coats trimmed with the most beautiful fur.

After that followed a squadron of grooms wearing the imperial livery; then the procession was closed by several reserve sleighs and another huge six-horsed sledge carrying a band dressed in Turkish uniforms and playing warlike tunes. After having slowly traversed the principal streets of Vienna, the procession ranges itself in two lines, and at a signal the horses start at a gallop on the road to SchÖnbrunn.

In a few moments, the magnificent line of sleighs reaches its first stage. As, however, there had been some slight contretemps with those frail ‘turn-outs,’ there was a half-way halt near the monument erected to King John Sobieski for his deliverance of Austria. It is a triangular pyramid constructed on the very spot where the Grand Vizier Kara-Mustapha had erected his tent during the siege. When the brilliant string of sleighs had vanished from our eyes, there was a unanimous cry of admiration from the numerous spectators at the unique beauty of the sight. The fact of so many illustrious personages being brought to the spot was considered as worthy of admiration as the magnificence and pomp displayed by the Austrian Court and noblesse. Of course it required a solemn function like the Congress to rally so many crowned heads, celebrities of all kinds, and remarkable women. It was, indeed, a picture which for many centuries will not be repeated.

The Empress of Austria, the King and Queen of Bavaria, besides several other personages in far from robust health, who feared the cold, had gone to SchÖnbrunn in closed carriages. A magnificent fÊte had been prepared and many invitations issued. The return was to take place at night and by torchlight. After the banquet to which all those who made up the sleighing party were invited, the principal Viennese actors presented one of the prettiest pieces of the French stage, the Cendrillon of M. Étienne, which had been translated into German. A grand ball was to wind up the entertainment. The Prince Koslowski, the Comte de Witt, and I repaired betimes to SchÖnbrunn.

The sleighs on their arrival formed into a circle around the frozen lake of SchÖnbrunn, which was like a polished mirror, and was covered by skaters in the most elegant costumes of the various countries of Northern Europe. The scene was very animated, with the various sledges in the shape of swans, gondolas, etc., and reminded one of a Dutch kermesse, especially in respect to the itinerant vendors of fortifying drinks patronised by the energetic performers. The picture was in reality unique in virtue of the various servants in livery, both on foot and on horseback, and the sleighs of the Court itself, not to mention the enormous crowds of spectators who had come all the way from Vienna.

A young man attached to the English embassy, Sir Edward W——, a member of the London skating-club, and accustomed to astonish the promenaders in Hyde Park on the Serpentine, executed some wonderful feats in the way of figures, pirouettes, and single and double curling. Like the Chevalier de St. George, who on the pond at Versailles traced the name of Marie-Antoinette, Sir Edward traced the monograms of the queens, the empresses, and other female celebrities, who left their sleighs to admire his skill. Others, less perfect than he, no doubt, but very skilful nevertheless, performed Chinese and European dances, including a waltz. The latter was danced by two Dutch ladies in the picturesque dresses of Saardam milkmaids, to the applause and admiration of everybody.

I may dispense with a description of the theatre: it was dazzling as usual, but the aspect of the adjacent rooms was truly delightful. The rarest plants of the imperial green-houses—myrtles, orange-trees in full bloom—hid the walls of the staircases, the vestibules, and the ball-rooms; it was a decoration all the more appreciated in virtue of the temperature outside. After the performance of Cendrillon, to which some gracefully designed ballets had been added, the crowd repaired to those drawing-rooms, where the perfume and the variety of the flowers reminded us of the most clement season of the year. They only went through a few polonaises.

‘I am bound to admit,’ said Comte de Witt, ‘that this sleighing party has been a beautiful, marvellous, and elegant affair, even to us Russians, who are accustomed to that kind of magnificence. I also admit that this fÊte, recalling as it does the spring, is equally worthy of the rest. In truth, at the pace we are proceeding with our amusements, it will not be surprising if surfeit breed disgust. Nevertheless, in order to add something new to all that has been offered to us, and to complete this winter fÊte, they ought to have constructed on the SchÖnbrunn lake a palace of ice to receive and entertain our royal company.’ ‘Entirely of ice, general?’

‘Yes, like that which Empress Anne constructed on the Neva. But you, who have lived in St. Petersburg, did you never hear of that fÊte?’

‘No.’

‘There was at Anne’s Court a Prince de G——, who had practically become its jester. The empress wished to get him married, and they chose him a wife more or less likely to fall in with his eccentric habits. In order fitly to celebrate the nuptials, they constructed, as I told you, a palace of ice on the Neva. The columns, the walls, the wainscoting, the furniture in the interior, such as the tables, the lustres, and even the bed of the newly-married couple, was absolutely of frozen water, shaped by cunning artificers. In order to give more variety to this extraordinary construction, blocks of coloured chiselled ice had been employed in the ornamentation of the structure. When sumptuous carpets had been spread in the apartments, and thousands of wax tapers had been lighted, the Court repaired in sleighs to this fantastic place, and the fÊte commenced. Cossack dances to the strangest music were performed, then there was a supper, partaken of by ever so many guests. In the midst of the banquet four Cossacks brought in with great pomp a whole ox with gilded horns, which had been roasted on the ice in the court of the palace. After having made the round of the table, this monstrous roast was given to the servants. Then came the moment for putting the newly-married couple to bed; the signal was given with a salvo of artillery from ordnance made of ice.

‘Up to that moment everything had gone well with poor G—— and his wife. But when they had been undressed and put to bed, and the ice began to melt around them, their gestures and countenances were not in the least expressive of the tender passion, whether hallowed or not. And as, according to ancient usage, all this was taking place in the presence of the Court, they did not dare to leave their couch, and were by no means pleased with this bit of imperial recreation. Save the wedding-ceremony, however, the tradition of this extraordinary and magnificent palace has been kept up to the present day, and I am sorry the members of the fÊtes-committee did not revive the spectacle of an immense castle built of ice.’

While Comte de Witt was telling me all this, I had caught sight of Prince EugÈne by himself, and I went up to him. With his usual kindness, he reminded me of my not having been to see him for a long while, although we had frequently met at our friend Comtesse Laura’s. Wherever Prince EugÈne was compelled to appear, his calm dignity never forsook him; and in spite of his equivocal situation at Vienna, he made many, many friends. I have already touched upon Emperor Alexander’s sincere affection for him, a friendship redounding to the honour of the deposed prince and the powerful emperor. This friendship and interest of the czar extended to Queen Hortense. Knowing her impulsive disposition, and how much she stood in need now and again of disinterested advice, Alexander had despatched to Paris a diplomatic agent, named Boutiakine, with the mission to take care of her, and to guide her in all things.

EugÈne had just received some letters from this cherished sister, who appeared to have inherited all the feminine graces of her mother. Hortense fully unbosomed her griefs, which at that moment were very poignant. The family dissensions, the death of her mother, the threat of being deprived of her children, everything seemed to aggravate the loss of her brilliant position. The prince, in mentioning all these, could scarcely restrain his emotion; and from that moment I promised myself to make those confidences a passport to the friendship of the woman to whom the loss of a crown seemed the least of sorrows. My wish was realised later on, not in Paris, as I had hoped, but in the spot which at the time served her as an asylum. It was in 1819, when she was in exile. I had just returned from Poland, where I had spent several years, and was preparing to go back to France. Being at Augsburg, I was informed that she, who no longer bore any other title than that of the Duchesse de Saint-Leu, was living there. In days gone by she had set some of my romances to music. The latter circumstance, together with the good-will shown to me by her brother during the Congress of Vienna, emboldened me to request the honour of being presented to her; her immediate answer virtually enhanced the favour accorded.

At that time I only knew Queen Hortense by repute, and from the frequent allusions to her made by her brother; but from the very first it seemed to me that I was meeting with an old friend after a long absence, and that I was indebted for her cordial welcome to the bonds of an old friendship. Everything in her harmonised perfectly—the sweet expression of her features, her conversation, the gentleness of her voice and of her character. Every kind and affectionate word that fell from her lips was all the more precious, inasmuch as it was dictated solely by her heart; she imparted such animation to her pictures as to imbue the spectator with the idea of being an actor in, or at least a looker-on at, the real scene. She had a kind of personal magic in communicating information and in fascinating those with whom she came in contact, and that artless power of seduction took deep root in people’s hearts.

It was during the short moments of a confidential conversation that I was enabled to judge of her absolutely genuine qualities. She was deeply moved at all the memories of the past, but one idea—the insatiable craving for another glimpse of France, seemed uppermost.

During the evening tea was served. ‘It’s a custom I brought back with me from Holland,’ she said, ‘but do not suppose that it is in order to remind me of that brilliant and, alas, so far distant period.’

Several visitors came from the immediate neighbourhood, others from Munich. They were cordially welcomed, and she felt, no doubt, flattered by the consideration with which she was treated, inasmuch as that consideration could be due to esteem only, and not to intrigues or adulation, of which she felt so weary both at Saint Cloud and at the Hague. During the evening she showed me some good pictures by painters of the various schools, and a collection of art objects which had been considerably increased by that left by her mother. The majority of those brilliant trifles were connected with certain periods and celebrated people, and they might well have been called a summary of modern history. After that we had some music. The duchesse sang to her own accompaniment, and she put as much soul into her singing as into the compositions themselves. She had just finished a series of drawings for her ballads, and the next morning she sent me the pretty collection, which time will render all the more precious.

At midnight I took my leave, without much hope of seeing her again. But that particular day will for ever be stamped on my memory. It is a pleasure to pay one’s homage of respect to fallen grandeur, when, as in Hortense’s case, natural and amiable genius is added to the fascination of a kindly nature.

Meanwhile the sleighing-fÊte was over, and a blast of trumpets gave the signal for the return to Vienna. Wrapt in their cloaks, the illustrious guests proceeded towards the court of the palace. Ranged in two lines, their sleighs were waiting for them. Everybody resumed the position of the morning. A martial strain gave the signal for the start, and the vehicles disappeared at a gallop, leaving on the horizon a trail of light across the snow and the hoar frost of the trees.

While the palace of SchÖnbrunn was the scene of these intoxicating pleasures, how were those occupied to whom it represented only a prison? Avoiding all contact with the joyous guests of the Congress, Marie-Louise and her son preferred to get away from a pleasure party which could only awaken sad recollections. Early in the morning, they departed in sleighs to the smiling valley of St. Helena, near SchÖnbrunn, where they passed the day—the empress offering dinner to her small Court—and returned to SchÖnbrunn in the evening. A strange coincidence of names between the valley of St. Helena where Marie-Louise went to hide her grief, and that famous island, also called St. Helena, where her husband, a few months later, buried both his glory and his disasters.

The next morning the Emperor of Austria made a present to Alexander of the gilded sleigh in which the latter had ridden. To show his appreciation of the gift, the czar had it carefully packed and sent to St. Petersburg. The expenses of that sleighing-party and the fÊte following it were estimated at three hundred thousand florins. Many years have passed since that joyous period of the Congress of Vienna. Many of those whom I saw so gaily carried away by the tinkling-belled coursers have been pitilessly carried away since then by relentless death. How many perished before their time! Emperor Alexander, whose courtesy and youthful spirit were the life of all those parties; the Emperor of Austria; the Kings of Prussia and Bavaria; Prince EugÈne, so kind and cordial—all are lying in their graves. The Empress of Austria, so graceful, and such a beneficent friend to art; the charming Elizabeth of Russia; her sister-in-law, the Grande Duchesse d’Oldenbourg; the Comtesse Julie Zichy; Madame de Fuchs—all were taken away as prematurely as unexpectedly. How many other women in the zenith of their beauty, whose grace enhanced those gatherings, followed them when their life was scarcely more than half run! And among the political or military notabilities, de WrÈde, Schwartzenberg, Talleyrand, Castlereagh, Dalberg, Capo d’Istria, besides the friends so dear to my affection, such as Koslowski, Ypsilanti, de Witt! In truth, the almost imperceptible track of the sleigh gliding on the polished snow was the image of our rapid passage, or rather of our short-lived apparition, on this earth.