The narrative, which I have abridged here, was, however, recounted at much greater length, and in yielding to the fascination of this cordial and confidential talk we had let the time slip by, and the clock struck nine when we reached the Carlenthor theatre. The performance consisted of Haydn’s celebrated oratorio ‘The Creation.’ The house, lighted up by countless wax candles, and the private boxes sumptuously draped, presented a magnificent sight. Several of these boxes had been set apart for the sovereigns, others were filled with the members of the Corps Diplomatique. As for the floor of the house (le parterre), it was crowded to such an extent with people blazing with orders that it might safely have been described as a parterre of knights, just as the floor of the theatre at Erfurt had been called a parterre of kings and princes. ‘In the presence of such a number of ribands,’ said Tettenborn, ‘it would be hazardous to conclude that they are all due to merit.’
‘Signal distinctions, my dear general,’ I replied, ‘are like the Pyramids; only two species can attain them, reptiles and eagles.’
‘I’ll be with you to-morrow at ten,’ said General Tettenborn when we parted, ‘and we’ll go together to the grand military fête in honour of the peace. Before laying down their arms, the sovereigns wish to offer their thanks to Providence for the great favours vouchsafed to them.’
Sharp to the minute, like an Austrian Rittmeister (cavalry-captain), Tettenborn was at my door. It was a bright and mild October morning, and shortly afterwards we were galloping towards the gentle slope between the New and the Burg Gates. On our way we fell in with some acquaintances, attracted thither, like myself, by curiosity. Tettenborn wore his general’s brilliant uniform; a profusion of military orders on his breast certainly attested the kindness of Dame Fortune, but also her discrimination in having favoured him. Immediately on our reaching the ground, he was obliged to leave us in order to join the suite of Emperor Alexander, but I remained surrounded by friends, and advantageously placed to observe all the particulars of that beautiful function. Although in an essentially military epoch similar solemnities had often been seen, I doubt if that one was ever equalled with regard to its ensemble and its majestic pomp. The war, the terrible struggle the relentlessness and duration of which had astounded the world, was just at an end. The glory-compelling giant was, if not vanquished, at any rate overcome by numbers; and the intoxication and the enthusiasm consequent upon the success were sufficient to prove the strength of the adversary and the unexpected joy of the triumph.
Several battalions of infantry, many regiments of cavalry, among others the Schwartzenberg Uhlans, and the cuirassiers of the Grand-Duke Constantine, the brother of Alexander and the sometime Viceroy of Poland, were massed on an immense field. All these troops wore most brilliant uniforms.
The sovereigns came on the ground on horseback, and the soldiery formed a huge double square, in the centre of which stood a vast tent, or rather a temple erected in honour of the general pacification. The columns supporting the structure were decorated with panoplies of arms, and with standards fluttering in the breeze. The lawn immediately around was strewn with flowers and foliage. In the middle of the tent there was an altar covered with rich cloths, and set out with all the ornaments of the Roman Catholic ritual, magnificently chased, either in gold or silver. Countless wax tapers shed their light, somewhat subdued by the rays of the sun standing brilliantly in the sky. Red Damascus carpets covered the steps of the altar.
Shortly afterwards there was a long string of open court carriages, each drawn by four horses, and containing the empresses, queens, and archduchesses, who on alighting seated themselves in velvet-covered chairs. When everybody had taken up the position assigned to them—the crowd of military, courtiers, equerries and pages constituting a matchless spectacle—the venerable Archbishop of Vienna, who, notwithstanding his great age, had insisted upon officiating, performed High Mass. Practically the whole of the Vienna population had repaired to the spot to enjoy the spectacle.
At the moment of blessing the Bread and the Wine, the guns thundered forth a salute to the God of Hosts. Simultaneously, all those warriors, princes, kings, soldiers, and generals fell on their knees, prostrating themselves before Him in whose hands rests victory or defeat. The feeling of reverence had evidently communicated itself to the huge mass of spectators, who spontaneously bared their heads and also knelt in the dust. The cannons became once more silent, and their thunder was succeeded by a solemn hush, amidst which the high priest of the Lord raised the sign of the Redemption, and turned towards the army to confer the supreme benediction. The religious ceremony was at an end. Amidst the clanking of swords and the rattling of muskets, the huge gathering rose to its feet; and then a choir intoned in German the hymn of peace, which was accompanied by an orchestra of wind instruments. Without any pre-meditation the strains were taken up by the voices of the numberless spectators. No human ear ever heard anything more imposing than this spontaneous and harmonic praise of peace and the glory of the Highest. That hymn of gratitude and adoration rising upon the air amidst the smoking incense, the thunder of the artillery, the ringing of the bells of all the churches; the princes surrounded by their resplendent staffs, the multi-coloured uniforms, the arms, glittering breastplates, and sombre bronze of the cannons lighted up by the brilliant sun; the white-haired priest blessing from before his altar the prostrate crowd; the mingling of the symbols of war and peace—constituted a unique picture not likely to be seen again, and which no painter’s brush, however powerful, could adequately reproduce. It constituted a poetical and sublime sight, baffling description.
After the religious ceremony, the sovereigns and all the princesses took up a position on a knoll near the Burg Gate, the troops marched past, the Grand-Duke Constantine and the other princes at the head of their own regiments. The air rang; with unanimous cheers and wishes for the consolidation of peace, that first and foremost necessity of peoples. Such, sketched in brief, was the fête invested with a particular character and fitting in so well with the series of magnificent pageants and dazzling entertainments. The Austrian Court, in fact, dispensed the hospitality of its capital to its guests with truly fabulous pomp. Memory almost fails to recall, for the purpose of recording, all the brilliant details. The imagination is virtually powerless to reconstruct the dazzling splendour of the picture as a whole.
To beguile the leisure of those kings who, it would be thought, ought to have been surfeited with the counterfeits of battles, twenty thousand picked grenadiers had been quartered at Vienna. There was, moreover, the announcement of a camp to be formed of sixty thousand troops with a view of having grand manœuvres. The superb ‘nobiliary guards’ had been considerably increased by the joining of young men belonging to the most distinguished families of the monarchy. The whole of the troops had been provided with new uniforms: there was an evident desire to remove all traces of warfare, so as not to sadden those participating in the feasts and entertainments exclusively designed to celebrate peace and to promote pleasure.