‘If that incomparable Prince de Ligne had not been taken away from us, he would recall for us the minuets he danced at the Grand Trianon with the charming Marquise de Coigny,’ said the Comte de Witt.
‘The Prince de Ligne himself voted the minuet a bit of stupid gracefulness,’ replied Zibin.
‘His qualification dated from the period previous to his having danced it himself,’ I remarked. ‘I am inclined to think, with you, that they acquitted themselves somewhat better at it at the Court of France than they do to-day in Vienna. But be assured that the old traditions of stately dances are not lost beyond redemption.’
‘But where is one to look for the traditions?’ was the general cry around me.
‘Well, if it will afford you any pleasure, I shall enable you to judge’; saying which, I took a few steps to the young Princesse de Hesse-Philippstadt, of whom I had just caught sight, accompanied by her mother. ‘Princess,’ I said, walking up to her and holding out my hand, ‘will you do me the honour to convince these gentlemen that the Court minuet is not altogether a lost art?’
The princess accepting, Zibin lent me his hat, and, mindful of the lessons of Abraham, who had been her teacher as well as mine, we went through the figures of that character-dance with a good deal of precision. As for my charming partner, the suppleness and grace of her steps might have tempted another Juan of Austria to come incognito all the way from Brussels to see her perform them, as the original one came all the way to the Louvre for Marguerite de Bourgogne. Our critics were not sparing in their praise, and were obliged to acknowledge that the much-abused minuet was not as yet dethroned.
Meanwhile, the Comte de Rechberg, who was trying to find his supper-guests, had no idea of my upholding in the centre of the principal ball-room the prestige of classic dancing. When I had taken the young princess back to her mother, he, so to speak, dragged us to the supper-room. At the table next to us were the Prince Koslowski, Alfred and Stanislas Potocki, some Russians from Emperor Alexander’s suite, and a little further on, Nostiltz, Borel, Palfi, and the Prince Esterhazy. There were many toasts and many clever sallies, wit sparkled on the lips as champagne sparkled in the glasses.
The two princes of Bavaria supped with us. Chance had placed me near the younger, Prince Charles, who, as a youth, had the most charming face imaginable, although he evidently set little store on this physiognomical advantage, and seemed rather inclined to place his trust in the mental powers with which he was liberally endowed. Thanks to my former stay at Munich, I was enabled to converse with him about men and things interesting to both of us. I reminded him of that terrible disaster of the Isar bridge being carried away by the stream, and in which he himself under my very eyes had played so glorious a part. Then we began talking about Vienna, its pleasures, and the charming women gracing it at that moment, although I knew that there was a girl of sixteen at Munich whose image could not be ousted from the young prince’s heart.
The Prince Royal of Bavaria, the present king, was seated next to his father’s chamberlain. Though he was less handsome and less brilliant than his brother, his knowledge was very profound and varied, and he also cultivated the Muses.[99]
With such auxiliaries, Rechberg found no difficulty in making his supper-party very lively. Before breaking up, our company was reinforced by the two tables next to us, and the fresh supply of liquor being decidedly in proportion to the number of the recruits, the retreat was not sounded until three in the morning.