When he finally left us to go to M. de Metternich’s, I was not at all in agreement with what was said about him. People pretended that M. de Talleyrand in his dressing-gown was, as far as intellectual conversation went, a different man from M. de Talleyrand in Court dress; in a word, that the latter was practically indispensable to him. Personally, I have seen him in the political drawing-rooms of Paris, London, and Vienna, and only once was I received amidst his nearest and dearest. Well, among my recollections of that celebrated man, the last-mentioned is unquestionably the most constantly present to my mind, and also the most vivid.
Among the drawing-rooms capable of vying with that of M. de Talleyrand in the matter of ‘exquisite form,’ elegance, and delicate observance of society’s unwritten code, one was bound to name, first of all, that of the Princesse-Maréchale Lubomirska.[101] Having taken up her residence in Vienna, she appears to have accepted the task of keeping open house for all the strangers who wished to be presented to her. No one could convey a more exact idea of the fabulous existence of all those Polish grandees in their most splendid days. She, as it were, combined within herself all that was known about the grandeur of the Potockis and the Czartoryskis, the magnificence of the Radziwills, the noble splendour of the Lubomirskis, and of all the others, the recollection of whom has become imperishable. Her palace situated near the fortifications, her servants, the footing of her establishment, in fact everything, represented a partly European, partly Asiatic whole. Being particularly intimate with her grandson Frederick, I had been welcomed as an old acquaintance.
The month of February, which had brought us back a few rays of sunshine, had also brought back to the Graben the swarm of idlers and newsmongers who had been dislodged by the cold and the snow. Added to this, there was a considerable influx of newcomers, more numerous perhaps than in the first days of the Congress. These had been attracted to Vienna by the carnival. The promenades, the public places, and the fortifications were positively swarming with people, and the theatres, balls and entertainments, somewhat neglected during the few previous weeks, had recovered all their former favour. It was a revival of pleasure, and as if the whole of Europe had made it a point to send representatives to this joyous pilgrimage at Vienna, there was no longer a mention of the termination of the Congress, so often foretold and so often denied.
It was really the realisation of the Prince de Ligne’s words: ‘The Congress does not march along; it dances along’; and they might easily have written up the words they painted in large characters on the site of the dismantled Bastille, ‘Dancing going on here.’
Prince Koslowski kept me posted in all the particulars of the endless sittings. ‘Are the other arbiters agreed?’ he said, in answer to my question. ‘Not in the least. The Polish question has been settled; but all the others are as far as ever from being settled. The fate of Saxony and of its king is by no means decided. Prussia asks for the ancient Belgian provinces, the territory of Treves and Cologne. France, who is not at all anxious for that neighbour, does not want Prussia on the left bank of the Rhine. On the other hand, she insists upon the throne of Naples being restored to the Bourbon branch. Take it all in all, it is nothing but a tangled skein. And to crown it all, the King of Denmark is joining the throng, and is asking for what each sovereign is pleased to call his indemnities.’
‘That is certainly an imprudent request. Frederick ought to think himself very lucky to have passed unperceived amidst this chaos of pretensions.’
In fact, among all those sovereigns who were to leave Vienna with the spoils of some of their neighbours, the King of Denmark alone was fated to remain strictly within his old territorial limits. Consequently everybody repeated his reply to Alexander when they parted. ‘Sire,’ said the czar, ‘you carry all hearts away with you.’ ‘All hearts possibly, but not a single soul,’ answered the king, with a significant smile. To understand the witty allusion of the word, I must again remind the reader that the word ‘soul’ means ‘subject,’ and that all the decisions of the Congress were based upon the number of inhabitants of the countries that changed rulers. From that point of view, the King of Denmark had been the least well treated.
‘And now the Duke of Wellington has come to Vienna. He arrived yesterday, and the diplomatists depend much upon his co-operation. They hope that the esteem in which the sovereigns hold him will remove many difficulties retarding the progress of the deliberations, and that he will be able to obtain sacrifices which seem beyond the power of Lord Castlereagh.
‘Milord, it is said, takes his departure loaded, not with diplomatic trophies, but with presents. To the orders which he still lacked, and which the sovereigns, large and small, have now promptly sent him, the Empress of Austria has added two magnificent vases from the porcelain works. My lady will be very pleased with this imperial gift.
‘Are you going to the rout to-night?’ asked the prince, leaving me. ‘Wellington is going, and of course all Vienna will be there.’