‘It’s a story just told to me by Ouwaroff. It’s very funny, but though he got it direct from Emperor Alexander, it is scarcely credible. A protégé of the Comte de Nesselrode, a young sailor, who, curiously enough, had never been to St. Petersburg and did not know the emperor, had been sent with important despatches to Vienna. Alexander, here as well as in his capital, loves to wander about the streets. This morning his Majesty, dressed in a simple military great-coat, on leaving the palace caught sight of a young naval officer, booted and spurred, apparently trying to find his way, and examining the entrance of the imperial residence, totally at a loss how to set his helm. “You seem to be looking for something,” said the emperor. “That’s true,” answered the sailor. “I have got a despatch to remit personally to the Emperor of Russia. They told me to go to the Burg, and here I am; but as I am a stranger in Vienna, I haven’t got a soul either to guide or to introduce me.” Alexander was delighted with the frank and open face of the young fellow, and just for the fun of the thing thought he would keep up his incognito a little longer. “You’ll not find the emperor now,” he said. “He’s not at the palace, but at two o’clock he is sure to receive you.” The conversation went on in the same amicable and familiar tone for several minutes, the czar interrogating the officer on his family, his career, and his prospects. The young fellow tells him that, having entered the service when he was very young, he has never been to Court and has never seen his sovereign. Finally, after half an hour’s walking about in conversation, Alexander, turning to the young salt, says in an affectionate tone, “You can give me your letter, sir, I am Alexander.” “That’s a clever joke,” replies the other, laughing, “but you don’t expect me to believe it.” “You may believe it or not, but I am the Emperor of Russia.” “I dare say—just as I am the Emperor of China.” “Why shouldn’t you be the Emperor of China?” Alexander, getting thoroughly amused with an adventure which promises to become very comic, makes up his mind to continue it a little longer. In a short time they reach the fortifications, and Alexander espies the King of Prussia coming towards him. “Do you know German?” he asks of his companion. “Not a word,” replies the other. Immediately Alexander takes a few steps in front of him, and says a couple of words in German to Frederick-William, then he comes back to the young sailor, and takes him by the hand. “Here’s an excellent opportunity of presenting you to the King of Prussia,” he remarks. “Sire, an officer of my fleet, whom I have the honour to present to your Majesty.” “We are getting on rapidly,” says the young fellow. “This gentleman is the King of Prussia, you are the Emperor of Russia, and I am the Emperor of China. Three sovereigns. After all, why not, seeing that my captain says that after God he is king on board his ship? Oh, by the by, how are things in Prussia? Everybody all right in Berlin? In truth that was a hero, and no mistake, your predecessor, the great Frederick. Just like your ancestor, Peter the First, of glorious memory,” he said, bowing to Alexander. “But great though they may have been, I doubt whether they would have imitated my grandfather, who at the battle of Tchesmè blew up his vessel and himself rather than surrender to the Turks.”
‘Although the talk savoured somewhat of insolence, it was delivered by the sailor with that frankness and gaiety which seem almost inseparable from his profession. Not only were the two sovereigns unoffended, but their laughter showed that they were highly amused at it.
‘Meanwhile, they had arrived at a little drinking-shop. The officer most politely invited his companions to sit down and to continue the conversation glass in hand. Yielding to the fascination of the moment, the two sovereigns accepted. Refreshments were served. They sat down, and clinked glasses familiarly, continuing their conversation without the slightest restraint, and absolutely with the abandon of a royal freak, in such a place. “To your health, brother,” says Wilhelm of Prussia to Alexander of Russia. “‘Pon my word,” is the latter’s answer, “it only wants the usual salute from the batteries of our capitals to complete the ceremony of that toast.” “So be it, then,” says the sailor, taking hold of his pistol, and preparing to load it. He was going to fire, and thus draw a crowd, which would have transformed a comic adventure into a scandal. They had a great deal of trouble to prevent the danger of such a noisy demonstration. Finally, they leave the place, but the sailor obstinately insists on paying the expenses, and they are bound to give in. At last they get outside the tavern.
‘Scarcely have they advanced a few steps on the ramparts, when the crowd begins to surround the two monarchs, with their accustomed marks of deference. M. de Richelieu advances hat in hand, and addresses Alexander as “your Majesty.” The young officer, who had served under the Duke of Odessa, recognises him at once. He goes very pale and confused, for he begins clearly to perceive that he has been the victim of a royal mystification. He is, however, soon reassured by the kindly look of Alexander, and he promptly remits his despatches to him. The emperor takes them with a gracious and significant smile, and with the most kindly gesture dismisses the young sailor, after having given him an invitation to dine for that day. One thing is very certain—this bit of royal pastime will push the other a great deal further than twenty years of service, or the most signal action on board his ship. He will have no need to go and seek his recompense in heaven by the aid of a barrel of gunpowder.
‘But while our kings amuse themselves,’ the general went on, ‘the empresses and queens refuse to remain behind. You know that to-day is the birthday of the Empress of Russia? Now, it has been written that all the birthdays and all the holidays of the calendar should be converted into opportunities for pleasure; and pleasure seems to take good care that none shall be overlooked. Yesterday morning the Empress of Austria, the Grandes-Duchesses d’Oldenbourg and Saxe-Weimar, dressed out in the strangest manner, requested an audience, under assumed names, of the Empress Elizabeth. After a little hesitation, there was a mutual recognition, a great deal of laughter, a great many magnificent presents were offered, and, like the surprise, were accepted with the utmost grace.’
‘The Prince de Ligne, my dear general, in talking of all those sovereigns, who appeared to be so thoroughly intoxicated with pleasure, called them “kings on their holidays.” In truth, seeing them play pranks like children, we might call them “schoolboys on their holidays.”’
The comte was anxious that I should accompany him that evening to a grand ball at M. de Stackelberg’s, the Russian Ambassador, in honour of his sovereign’s birthday. I promised to do so, as it was said that this was to be the last Russian fête; for according to rumour the whole of the business of the Congress would be finished before the carnival. Several sovereigns were already thinking of leaving Vienna, and Lord Castlereagh was called to London by the opening of the English Parliament.
Although similar rumours had run almost from the very outset of the Congress, this time they were invested with a kind of probability. Four months had gone by since pleasure had thrown open to the representatives of Europe the doors of the sanctuary in which her fate was going to be decided. Peace, and a durable equilibrium, would most likely be the result of this long gestation. There remains nothing to be said of M. de Stackelberg’s ball which has not been said of any of the others. It really seemed as if the representatives of the great Powers were determined upon a contest in good taste and magnificence.
One of the first persons I noticed in this dazzling crowd was General Ouwaroff, standing stock-still and rigid according to his habit. He wore on his finger that mysterious ring, which never quitted him, and on which a death’s head was engraved. Was it a reminder of the death of the Princesse S——, who had poisoned herself for love of him? I have never been able to discover. Close to him were Colonel Brozin and the Comte Paul Kisseleff, both aides-de-camp of Emperor Alexander. The first, a handsome and brave soldier, had later on the dangerous honour of succeeding his master in the heart of La Belle Narischkine, for it was only given to Louis XIV. to be beloved by a La Vallière, by a woman who gave herself to God when she ceased to belong to her king. The second, a soldier of the highest distinction, has since then won for himself a well-deserved reputation as an administrator of Wallachia and Moldavia. He at once evoked one’s sympathy for his intrepid and brilliant character. Enthusiastic for everything which was grand and noble, he had really a god-like reverence for Alexander, whom he loved as a benefactor, and whom he cherished in consequence of the natural attraction which attaches two souls apt to understand each other. General Paul Kisseleff has married since the eldest daughter of the celebrated Sophie Potocka. He is entrusted to-day with one of the most important portfolios of the Russian empire.
Here was the Prince Dolgorouki, the son of that handsome Princesse Dolgorouki, to please whom Potemkin had the fortress of Oczakoff shelled for a whole night. He was surrounded by a numerous circle, among whom one might easily distinguish the Princes Gagarin and Troubastköy; the aide-de-camp Pankratieff, etc.