There was already a considerable crowd when we entered; it was said there were between nine and ten thousand persons. I am bound to admit that at no festive gathering during the Congress had I seen a more brilliant, and at the same time a stranger throng; it was a truly unique spectacle, a world in miniature. Gradually, every one seemed to settle down in his wished-for place, and circulation grew more or less easy. The first person whom I caught sight of was Zibin, promenading with the King of Prussia. Zibin was treated in that familiar fashion by his Majesty in virtue of his height. As he happened to be very short, and his Majesty very tall, Zibin’s head came exactly under the king’s arm. In spite of the discomfort of the position, my young courtier seemed to be so thoroughly delighted with it as to have preferred it to one on the most luxurious Eastern divan. Z——ki had left me for some friends he had met immediately after he came in, and who were evidently expecting him. I was looking out for some one to replace him, when I ran up against General Tettenborn and the Prince Philippe de Hesse-Hombourg. I always felt much at home with them. We went the round of the whole place, and afterwards sat down at the entrance of the big ball-room to watch at our ease the new arrivals, comprising nearly all the sovereigns. The latter relished the liberty attached to their incognito, and immeasurably preferred it to the ceremonious etiquette of the Court entertainments of that description. In fact, in all those public gatherings the monarchs dropped their reserve, and seemed practically grateful to those who within certain limits would follow their example.
The King of Bavaria was one of the last arrivals. He was accompanied by his two sons, and his chamberlain, the Comte Charles de Rechberg, was in attendance. The last caught a glimpse of us, and leaving his Majesty for a moment, came towards us. But as his duties did not allow him to keep away for long, he pressed us to sup with him when the king should have retired. Naturally, he used every argument he could think of, and finally gave us a peroration which was, however, cut short by some one pinching his ear. ‘Come along, gadabout,’ said Maximilian Joseph, and as a matter of course, on perceiving him, we rose. ‘Don’t, gentlemen,’ he said in his kindest voice; ‘but wherever I go I have to look after him, while, unless I am mistaken, it’s his duty to look after me.’
Rechberg pleaded our unexpected meeting, and from the tone in which the plea was allowed, it was not difficult to guess the affection subsisting between these two men. Immediately after he had gone, Comte de Witt appeared on the scene. ‘You can be our guide,’ he exclaimed on seeing me. ‘You know all about the place, for you have been here at least an hour.’ We wandered about, talking of his mother’s place in the Ukraine, and finally landed into a kind of Chinese pagoda, where there was a billiard table occupied by the King of Denmark and a chamberlain. Ypsilanti hailed me as we came in, and the king on hearing my name turned round and recognised me at once, although I had not seen him since his accession to the throne. ‘Have you learned German since your departure from Copenhagen?’ he asked me with a smile.
‘No, sire, but I have not forgotten the brief lesson you were good enough to give me.’ The king then inquired with the greatest interest after my family, questioning me as to their whereabouts, and showing by each of his questions that the cultivation of a good memory is one of the foremost requisites of an amiable ruler.
Frederick VI. was a pattern of amiability and frankness combined. He was hail-fellow-well-met with the humblest without ever losing his dignity, and his learning was manifold and solid. He took greater trouble to please people than the most obtrusive courtier. Advancing age had produced no change outwardly. He was then, as he always had been, very slight, with a pale face, a very long nose, and hair almost bordering on white, though in reality fair, which militated against his appearance. It was, in fact, the same figure which some years previously had aroused both my mirth and my fear. But while his features reminded me of a painful circumstance of my life, they also recalled a memorable episode, and an act of generosity and indulgence on his part, both of which will sketch him better than a volume of praise could do.
‘What did you mean by talking to the king about your first German lesson?’ asked the Comte de Witt, when his Majesty had gone. ‘I am not surprised at his recognising you as if he had left you a week ago; as a rule, sovereigns have excellent memories, but what about that German lesson?’
‘The king has just reminded me of a circumstance the story of which would be somewhat long. Allow me to postpone the telling of it until to-morrow.’
After this we went into the great ball-room, where, mingling with the crowd, there were kings, generals, ordinary individuals of the middle class, and statesmen, rubbing shoulders with working men, flirting with little shop-girls, but all seemingly very happy, notably the illustrious personages playing at Almavivas, and evidently more flattered by the preference of some ingenuous Rosinas than by the studied glances of admiration from the most expert Court beauties.
Zibin, who had succeeded in getting his head out of the royal hug of his Majesty of Prussia, soon joined us, and I complimented him upon the particular attention of which he had been the object. In order to swell his pride, and give him the opportunity of having the delicate juxtaposition renewed, I cited some of the recommendations of the Prince de Ligne, our common master. ‘Be moderate in your praise. Kings are no longer caught with words. The only thing to which they are not absolutely proof is a peculiar kind of look of admiration. But that’s all. The sort of praise so lavishly used by Lauzun would not seduce our modern Louis XIV.’
In company with several ‘majesties’ we stood watching some of the worthy knights of Vienna going through the traditional minuet. ‘Who would believe,’ said Zibin, ‘that this dance saw the light in a village? To watch its ponderous monotony no one would imagine that in principle it was exceedingly bright and gay. Introduced to the Court, its sprightliness has been changed into gravity, and now it is sufficiently doleful to make people ill with melancholy.’