The Prater abuts on the faubourgs of Vienna. It is situated on one of the islands of the Danube, which virtually constitutes its boundary. It is throughout planted with century-old trees, affording a majestic shade, and preventing the huge greensward from being scorched by the sun. It is crossed in every direction by imposing avenues. As at Schönbrunn, and at the majority of like resorts in Germany, herds of deer browse peacefully on the heights or disport themselves in the flatter parts, thus imparting life and motion to the delicious solitude. These are properly the aspects of a mild and virgin nature, but at the same time they are embellished by all the resources of cultivation and art. To the left of the Prater, on entering it from the city, there is an immense lawn, set apart for the display of fireworks; to the right there is a circus capable of accommodating several thousands of spectators; facing one, a large avenue of chestnuts, bordered on each side by elegant constructions, including a number of shops, cafés, and casinos where the Viennese can indulge to their hearts’ content in their well-known love for music.
In the avenue of chestnuts, constantly filled with sumptuous carriages and with riders managing their mounts of all breeds with that peculiar Hungarian skill, the wealth and display of all the neighbour-states of Austria seem to have forgathered. The emperor himself drives an unpretending ‘turn-out’ with the simplicity of a well-to-do tradesman bent upon an airing; while a hackney-cab, taken by the hour, and fearing no competition, gets right into his imperial majesty’s road, and is itself overtaken by the vehicle of a Bohemian magnate or by a Hungarian palatine tooling a four-in-hand. In a lightly-built calèche, drawn by horses with manes streaming in the breeze, are seated women with complexions like lilies and roses, and presenting the appearance of baskets of flowers. The constant variety of the scenes, the animation of the pedestrians, the general bustle, increased by the presence of numberless strangers, but tempered by the constitutional gravity of the Germans themselves, constitute a most lovely and stirring picture; it is a scene by Teniers, framed in a landscape by Ruysdael.
The life of the Viennese in the Prater is a pretty faithful image of their own government, a despotic government, no doubt, but which, for all that, has only one aim—the welfare and material prosperity of the country. Differing from other states, and notably from France, whose administration, constantly libelled and insulted, takes its revenge by making the ‘governed’ its enemy, the public powers in Austria, subject to no control, assiduously endeavour to be the protector and the guide of the people. That protection is accepted with joy; and if despotism is now and again constrained to show its teeth, its dictates are, as it were, carried out in the family circle and with the lesser or greater consent of the calm and thoughtful people itself. Consequently, the alien, watching them under those magnificently umbrageous pleasure resorts, and beholding the emperor, his family, and his ministers mingling with the crowd, unprotected either by guards or escorts, is tempted to envy them such a genuine and solid happiness.
During the period of the Congress the Prater became more brilliant than it had ever been before. Vienna was so full of strangers, coming from all countries to be the eyewitnesses of an assembly supposed to be the fitting termination to an epoch replete with prodigious events, that the number of carriages had incredibly increased. There was an infinite variety of dresses, Hungarian, Polish, and Oriental, an infinite number of uniforms whose wearers hailed from every part of Europe, and who dazzled the sight with their splendour. Masses of people, driving, riding, and walking under the still warm rays of an autumn sun, imparted to the beautiful spot even more than its ordinary animation.
What struck me most, at the first sight, was the great number of carriages of the same shape and colour, and all drawn by two or four horses. It was simply the result of another exquisitely courteous attention of the emperor, who made it a point that the sovereigns and the members of their suites should be provided solely from the imperial stables, and as such ordered three hundred conveyances of an identical form to be built and to be held, day and night, at the disposal of his guests.
This living panorama enabled me to review, in the space of a few minutes, all the sovereigns and celebrities contained within the walls of Vienna. A prominent figure among these was Lord Stewart, the English ambassador, himself driving a team of four horses which would have won the approval of the habitués of Hyde Park. Almost immediately behind him, in an elegant chaise, came the Emperor Alexander, his charming sister the Duchess of Oldenburg seated next to him; while on one side of the conveyance Prince Eugène de Beauharnais, and on the other the Crown Prince of Würtemberg, both on horseback, pay their court, though for different motives, to the illustrious pair. Alexander had dispensed with all his decorations, except one, that of ‘l’Épée’ of Sweden, which, to speak the truth, shone with great elegance and brilliancy on his dark green uniform. A little further on, in an open calèche, I caught sight of Alexander’s second sister, the Grand-Duchess of Saxe-Weimar, no less charming and graceful than her elder. Following these comes Emperor Francis in an unpretending phaeton, accompanied by his young and sweet consort, his third wife, Marie Louise of Austria-Este, her comely features beaming with happiness.
At that moment, the crowd of pedestrians instinctively stops with a feeling of pride and respect to watch Prince Charles (of Bavaria) himself driving his family in an unpretentious conveyance.
Zibin, dressed in his brilliant uniform of hussars, is borne along swiftly on a Ukrainian charger; his hat is surmounted by a plume of feathers which might easily be mistaken for the tail of a hirsute comet. The grand berline, with its panels decorated with large—somewhat too large—scutcheons, contains Sir Sidney Smith, conspicuous by the liberal display of his quarterings amidst this very modest company. The King of Prussia gallops with a solitary aide-de-camp, and close to him come the Prince of Hesse-Homburg and Tettenborn, to both of whom I send a fraternal salute.
Lord Castlereagh showed his long-drawn face, with ennui stamped on every line of it, from a coupé. It did not even light up when a hackney-cab ran into the calèche of the Pasha of Widin. After this came the carriages of the archdukes, keeping religiously in line, and, as far as their amusements went, claiming no privileges beyond those of simple private individuals. ‘Only using their rights when discharging the duties attached to them,’ as Mme. de Staël expressed it.
At the turning of an avenue, I caught sight of Alexander Ypsilanti. Five years had gone by since our parting at St. Petersburg, when he was only an ensign in the regiment of the ‘Chevaliers Gardes,’ and now he was a major-general, covered with well-earned orders, but minus an arm lost at the battle of Bautzen. We strolled away from the crowd, the better to enjoy the pleasure of our re-union. His good fortune had not changed the qualities of his heart, ever open to noble feelings and ever responsive to the words ‘friendship’ and ‘country.’ He was the son of the Hospodar of Moldavia and Wallachia.[50] His father, overthrown by one of those palace revolutions so frequent in Turkey, was obliged to fly. Alexander, who was only sixteen, placed himself at the head of a troop of Arnauts of eight hundred men, escorted his father across the Carpathian mountains, and saved his life when escaping from the eunuchs of the seraglio. He came to seek refuge in Russia. Educated and brought up under the care and through the generosity of Emperor Alexander, the young prince entered his service, and in a short time opened a brilliant career for himself. His generous disposition, his bold and enterprising mind, his open character strongly appealed to me, and we became close friends. As a matter of course, we wished to prolong the pleasure of this, practically our first meeting after many years, so we went to dine at the tavern named the ‘Empress of Austria.’ This was the usual resort of most of the strangers who were not on the budget of the Court or who wished to avoid the etiquette almost inseparable from its hospitality. This gathering, almost unnoticed at first, became soon afterwards a kind of debating centre, and had, if not a voice in the deliberations of the Congress, at any rate, a certain importance.