Introduction—A Glance at the Congress—Arrival of the Sovereigns—The First Night in Vienna.

The Congress of Vienna, considered as a political gathering, has not lacked historians, but they were so intent upon recording its phases of high diplomacy as to have bestowed no thought upon its piquant and lighter social features.

No doubt they feared that triviality of detail might impair the general effect of so imposing a picture, and they were satisfied with reproducing and judging results, without caring to retrace the diverse and animated scenes where these results were obtained. Nevertheless, it would have been curious to go more or less deeply into the personal lives of the actors called upon to settle the future interests of Europe. At the Vienna Congress, hearts hitherto closed, nay, wholly inaccessible, to the observation of the outer world, were often laid open. Amidst the confusion of all ranks, their most transient movements revealed themselves, and lent themselves to being watched, as if taken off their guard in the irresistible whirl of uninterrupted pleasures.

Doubtless, at no time of the world’s history had more grave and complex interests been discussed amidst so many fÊtes. A kingdom was cut into bits or enlarged at a ball: an indemnity was granted in the course of a dinner; a constitution was planned during a hunt; now and again a cleverly-placed word or a happy and pertinent remark cemented a treaty the conclusion of which, under different circumstances, would probably have been achieved only with difficulty, and by dint of many conferences and much correspondence. Acrimonious discussions and ‘dry-as-dust’ statements were replaced for the time being, as if by magic, by the most polite forms in any and every transaction; and also by the promptitude which is a still more important form of politeness, unfortunately too neglected.

The Congress had assumed the character of a grand fÊte in honour of the general pacification. Ostensibly it was a feast of rest after the storm, but, curiously enough, it offered a programme providing for life in its most varied movements. Doubtless, the forgathering of those sovereigns, ministers, and generals who for nearly a quarter of a century had been the actors in a grand drama supposed to have run its course, besides the pomp and circumstance of the unique scene itself, showed plainly enough that they were there to decide the destinies of nations. The mind, dominated by the gravity of the questions at issue, could not altogether escape from the serious thoughts now and again obtruding themselves: but immediately afterwards the sounds of universal rejoicing brought a welcome diversion. Everyone was engrossed with pleasure. The love-passion also hovered over this assembly of kings, and had the effect of prolonging a state of abandonment and a neglect of affairs, both really inconceivable when taken in conjunction with upheavals the shock of which was still felt, and immediately before a thunderbolt which was soon to produce a singular awakening. The people themselves, apparently forgetting that when their rulers are at play, the subjects are doomed to pay in a short time the bills of such royal follies, seemed to be grateful for foibles that drew their masters down to their level. Meanwhile, the man of Titanic catastrophes is not far distant. Napoleon steps forth to spread fire and flame once more; to make an end of all those dreams, and to invest with a wholly different aspect those voluptuous scenes, the diversity of which could not even save their participants from the weariness of satiety.9

I arrived in Vienna towards the end of September 1814, when the Congress, though it had been announced for several months, was not yet officially opened. The fÊtes had, however, already commenced. In the abstract of the proceedings, it had been said that the conferences would be of very short duration. Business according to some, pleasure according to others, and probably both these causes combined, decided things otherwise. Several weeks, several months, went by without the question of dissolution being broached. Negotiating as from brother to brother, in a manner that would have rejoiced the heart of Catherine the Great, the sovereigns amicably and without the least hurry arranged ‘their little affairs’; they gave one the impression of wishing to realise the philosophic dream of the AbbÉ de Saint-Pierre.10

The number of strangers attracted to Vienna by the Congress was estimated at close upon a hundred thousand. It ought to be said that for this memorable gathering no other city would have answered so well. Vienna is in reality the centre of Europe; at that time it was its capital. A Viennese who had happened to leave the city a few months before would have had some difficulty in identifying himself and his familiar surroundings amidst that new, gilded, and titled population which crowded the place at the time of the Congress. All the sovereigns of the North had come thither; the West and the East had sent their most notable representatives. The Emperor Alexander, still young and brilliant; the Empress Elizabeth, with her winning though somewhat melancholy grace, and the Grand-Duke Constantine represented Russia. Behind these were grouped a mass of ministers, princes, and generals, especially conspicuous among them the Comtes de Nesselrode, Capo d’Istria, Pozzo di Borgo, and Stackelberg, all of whom were marked out from that hour to play important parts in the political debates of Europe. These statesmen must be passed over in silence. I must not be equally silent with regard to the friends whom I met once more, and who during my wanderings in Germany, Poland, and Russia, had entertained me with such cordial affection. There was Tettenborn, as devoted and warm-hearted after many years of separation as if we had never parted; the Comte de Witt, the Prince Koslowski, both of whom were to die prematurely; and Alexander Ypsilanti, fervent and generous as of old, and fated to meet with such a cruel end in the prisons of Montgatz and of Theresienstadt.

The King of Prussia was accompanied by the Princes Guillaume and Auguste. Baron de Humboldt11 and the Prince d’Hardemberg presided at his councils. The beautiful queen who in the negotiations of 1807 employed in vain all her seductive grace and resources of mind against the will of Napoleon, was no more.

The King of Denmark, FrÉdÉric VI., the son of the ill-fated Caroline Mathilde,12 also repaired to the Congress, which, luckily for him, he was enabled to leave without his modest possessions having aroused the cupidity of this or that ambitious neighbour.

The Kings of Bavaria and WÜrtemberg, the Dukes of Saxe-Coburg, Hesse-Darmstadt, and Hesse-Cassel—in short, all the heads and princes of the reigning houses of Germany—were there. They also wished to take part in the political festival, and were anxious to know how the supreme tribunal would trim and shape the borders of their small States.

The King of Saxony, so ardently worshipped by his subjects, had at that time retired into Prussia, while the Allied Armies occupied his kingdom. That excellent prince, whom Napoleon called ‘le plus honnÊte homme qui ait occupÉ le trÔne,’13 was only represented at the Congress by his plenipotentiaries.

The representatives of France were the Duc de Dalberg, the Comte Alexis de Noailles, M. de la Tour-du-Pin, and the Prince de Talleyrand. The last-named maintained his high reputation with great dignity under difficult circumstances, and perhaps conspicuous justice has never been done to him. The English plenipotentiaries were Lords Clancarty and Stewart, and Viscount Castlereagh.

Among these notable men it would be ingratitude on my part not to name the Prince de Ligne, of whom frequent mention will be made in these Recollections; and the reigning Landgrave of Hesse-Homburg [1814]. A brave soldier, the latter prince earned his grade of field-marshal on the battlefield itself, and moreover proved his talent as a remarkable administrator by promoting in many ways the happiness of his subjects.

The whole of this royal company met in the capital of Austria with a hospitality worthy of it, and worthy also of that memorable gathering. The Kings of WÜrtemberg and Denmark arrived before any of the others. The Emperor Franz proceeded as far as SchÖnbrunn to welcome each of them. The interview between those princes was exceedingly cordial, and free from diplomatic reserve; but the ceremony which by its pomp and splendour was evidently intended to crown the series of wonders of the Congress was the solemn entry of Emperor Alexander and the King of Prussia.

Numerous detachments of guards of honour had been posted on the routes these two monarchs were to traverse. The whole of the garrison was under arms at the approaches to and within the capital. The emperor, attended by his grand officers of state, both military and civil, the archdukes, and other princes of the blood, proceeded for some distance to meet his hosts. The meeting took place on the left bank of the Danube, at the further extremity of the Tabor bridge. There was an exchange of most affectionate and apparently most sincere greetings, and the three rulers held each other’s hands for a long while.

An immense crowd lined the banks of the stream, and rent the air with cheers. Undoubtedly it was a sight as remarkable as it was unheard-of, that gathering of sovereigns tried by severe misfortune for twenty years, and who, having vanquished him who had been for such a long time victorious, seemed astonished at a triumph so dearly bought, so unexpectedly obtained.

The three monarchs, in full-dress uniforms, meanwhile mounted their horses and rode slowly on amidst the booming of the artillery. The infinite number of generals, belonging to all the nations of Europe, riding behind them, their brilliant costumes glittering in the sun, the joyous cries of the crowds, the clanging of the bells of all the steeples, the air resounding with the firing of the cannon, the sight of that population frantically hailing the return of peace—in fact, the whole scene, even the cordial demeanour of those sovereigns, constituted the most imposing and eloquent spectacle.

The welcome to the Empress of Russia on the following day was marked by a ceremonial of a less grandiose but more graceful nature. The Empress of Austria, surrounded by the whole of her Court, went to meet her a long distance out of the capital. A short time after she started, the two emperors proceeded in the same direction, and the two processions joined hands, as it were, close to the church of Maria-Brunn. An open calÈche was in waiting to convey the empresses; their august husbands took their seats with them. A detachment of the Hungarian Guards, another of Uhlans, and a great number of pages made up the escort. The carriage, on reaching the outer gates of the court, was met by young girls dressed in white, offering baskets of flowers. A dense crowd lined the avenues leading to the palace, and everybody admired the spontaneous cordiality, the good-will altogether without etiquette, lighting up the faces of all those grand personages, so little adapted to manifestations of equality.

From that moment Vienna assumed an aspect which was as bright as it was animated. Numberless magnificent carriages traversed the city in all directions, and, in consequence of the restricted size of the capital, constantly reappeared. Most of them were preceded by those agile forerunners, in their brilliant liveries, who are no longer to be seen anywhere except in Vienna, and who, swinging their large silver-knobbed canes, seemed to fly in front of the horses. The promenades and squares teemed with soldiers of all grades, dressed in the varied uniforms of all the European armies. Added to these were the swarms of the servants of the aristocracy in their gorgeous liveries, and the people crowding at all points of vantage to catch a momentary glimpse of the military, sovereign, and diplomatic celebrities constantly shifting within the permanent frame of the varying picture. Then, when night came, the theatres, the cafÉs, the public resorts were filled with animated crowds, apparently bent on pleasure only, while sumptuous carriages rolled hither and thither, lighted up by torches borne by footmen perched behind, or still preceded by runners, who had, however, exchanged their canes for flambeaux. In almost every big thoroughfare there was the sound of musical instruments discoursing joyous tunes. Noise and bustle everywhere.

Such, for over five months, was the picture represented by the city, a picture of which only a poor idea can be conveyed by my feeble attempts to reproduce some of its features.

The immense number of strangers had soon invaded every available hotel and private lodging. Many notabilities were obliged to take up their quarters in the outskirts. Prices ruled exorbitantly high; in order to judge of this I need only state that the rent of Lord Castlereagh’s apartments was £500 per month—an unheard-of price in Vienna. It was calculated that if the Congress lasted only four months, the value of many houses would be paid to their proprietors in rent. I should, perhaps, have been deprived of witnessing a scene which only a chain of extraordinary circumstances could have brought about, and which probably will not be renewed for many centuries to come; but my intimate friend, Mr. Julius Griffiths, who had lived in Vienna for several years, had anticipated my coming, and in his magnificent residence on the Jaeger-Zeill, I found all the comfort which he had transported thither from his own country; both the word and the condition of things it represented being little known throughout the rest of Europe.

Mr. Julius Griffiths, who ranks among the best educated of Englishmen, has made himself widely known in the world of letters by works of acknowledged merit. He has travelled all over the globe, and deserves to be proclaimed the greatest traveller of his time. His social qualities and his lofty sentiments have conferred the greatest honour on the English character outside his native country. His friendship has been for many years the source of my sweetest happiness. I am enabled to confess with gratitude that he was instrumental in convincing me of the mendacity of the precept, ‘not to try one’s friends if one wishes to keep them.’

The thing I stood most in need of, after the first greetings of such a sincere friend, was rest and quietude; hence, at the moment I did not in the least resemble the ‘inquisitorial traveller’ mentioned by Sterne, and I retired to enjoy that rest, most intensely conscious of the delight of having reached port. In spite of this, sleep failed to come. Too many thoughts came crowding in upon me; my mind was divided between the pleasure of meeting once more with so dear a friend and others scarcely less precious to me, and the hope of being a witness of a scene which hitherto was without a precedent. Were I possessed of the talent with which Dupaty has described his ‘PremiÈre nuit À Rome,’ I should endeavour to paint the stirring emotions of this ‘first night’ in Vienna.

A volume of Shakespeare lay close at hand; I opened it at random and read: ‘You who have not seen those feasts, you have lost the sight of what is most brilliant of earthly glory. Those perfectly magnificent scenes surpassed all that the imagination can invent. Each day outvied the previous one, each morrow shamed the pomp of its eve. One day those demi-gods on earth resplendent with precious stones and silken stuffs; the next the same pomp more oriental than the orient itself. You should have seen each world-ruler dazzling like a statue wrought of gold; and the courtiers resplendent like their masters; and those dames so delicate and so slight bend beneath the twofold burden of their pride and their ornaments; those sovereigns, stars of like magnitude, mingle their rays by their presence. No calumnious tongue dared wag, no eye that was not dazzled by those sights. You should have witnessed also the tournament and the heralds of arms, and the prowess of chivalry displayed. The old history of our story-tellers has ceased to be fabulous. Yes, henceforth I shall believe all that those story-tellers have told us.’14

Those lines from an immortal poet, I read again and again; and swayed by those powerful impressions, I owed to them the conception of noting down my recollections, convinced that in times to come, i.e. at a period to which I looked forward courageously, I should be delighted to refer to them as the sole food for my thoughts.