CHAPTER X
The Prince de Ligne’s Song of the Congress—Life on the Graben—The Chronicle of the Congress—Echoes of the Congress—A Companion Story to the Death of Vatel—Brie, the King of Cheese—Fête at Arnstein the Banker’s—The Fête at Prince Razumowski’s—The Prince Royal of Würtemberg—Russian Dances—Retrospection.
The smaller ball-room usually reserved for the masked routs was filled to overflowing. That gathering, like all those that had preceded it, was the living image of a society devoted to pleasure, to flirting, and seductive pastimes of every description.
‘We have got a new guest, and, moreover, one who’ll be by no means welcome at the Congress,’ remarked the Prince de Ligne.
‘Some deposed sovereign, prince?’ I asked.
‘No; a guest who means to have his share of all these rejoicings; not to mince words, the plague. At this moment it is raging in Servia, and threatens to make its entrance here in proper person and without plenipotentiaries. You may, however, make your mind easy; all precautions are taken, and we shall want neither conferences nor treaties against the unwelcome visitor.
‘Since yesterday,’ he went on, ‘this important assembly of the greatest monarchs and their august deliberations have inspired me to write, not a philosophical treatise or a serious work of any kind, either political or otherwise, but a song. At any rate, it will be a song to some, though it may be a lesson to others. It’s a popular ditty without the least pretension; I wrote it in a quarter of an hour. We may add that it was written with one of the pens of the great Frederick, the only thing I brought away with me from Sans-Souci. The quill possesses the further merit of having traced some plans of battle, and some verses which were no better than mine.’
I complimented him, laughing.
‘Don’t laugh,’ he rejoined. ‘The history of the Congress is not unlike the history of France, which, as Ménage averred, might be written with a collection of light comedies interspersed with song, to guide the author.’