This Russian dance is absolutely delightful, representing as it does the pantomimic action of a somewhat impassioned courtship. It is like the Galatea of Virgil. The performers acquitted themselves in the most delightful manner, and were amply rewarded by the enthusiastic applause of the spectators.
The Russian dance was followed by mazurkas, a kind of quadrille, originally hailing from Massow. Among ball-room dances none demand greater agility and none lend themselves to more statuesque movements. In order that nothing might be wanting to the magnificence of this fête, there was, in accordance with the latest fashion in Vienna, a lottery. The prizes were many and handsome to a degree. An apparently trivial circumstance lent an unexpected interest to the proceedings. Custom had decreed that each cavalier, if favoured by luck, should offer his prize to a lady. A rich sable cape fell to the lot of the Prince of Würtemberg: he immediately offered it to her in whose honour the entertainment was given. Verily, he had his reward. Handsome Grand-Duchess Catherine wore in her bosom a posy of flowers, fastened by a ribbon. She unfastened it, and presented it to the donor of the cape. The whole scene, which practically emphasised in public the existence of a quasi-secret attachment, elicited murmurs of approval and wishes for the young people’s happiness. ‘Hail to the future Queen of Würtemberg,’ remarked Prince Koslowski to me; ‘queen when it shall please the crowned Nimrod to vacate the place. In reality, no crown will have ever graced a more beautiful brow.’ The episode, and the conjectures to which it gave rise, added another charm to this fête marked by so many.
The dancing had ceased, and the prince and I strolled through the vast rooms of the palace, which might easily have been mistaken for a temple erected to art, so numerous were the masterpieces collected there by its owner. Here pictures by the greatest painters of every school: Raphaels by the side of Rubenses, Van Dycks in juxtaposition to Correggios; there, a library filled to overflowing with most precious books and rare manuscripts; in a third spot a cabinet containing most exquisite specimens of ancient art and modern carving. The majority of the guests, however, seemed to prefer a gallery set apart for the marvels of the sculptor’s chisel, among which was some of the best handiwork of Canova. The gallery was lighted by alabaster lamps, the soft glow of which seemed to throw into relief the perfection of those statues apparently endowed with life.
About two in the morning they threw open the huge supper-room, lighted by thousands of wax candles. It contained fifty tables, and by that alone the number of guests might be estimated. Amidst banks of flowers was displayed all that Italy, Germany, France, and Russia had to offer in the way of rare fruit and other edibles: such as sturgeon from the Volga, oysters from Ostend and Cancale, truffles from Périgord, oranges from Sicily. Worthy of note was a pyramid of pine-apples, such as had never before been served on any board, and which had come direct from the imperial hothouses at Moscow for the czar’s guests. There were strawberries all the way from England, grapes from France, looking as if they had just been cut from the trailing vine. Still more remarkable, on each of the fifty tables there stood a dish of cherries, despatched from St. Petersburg, notwithstanding the December cold, but at the cost of a silver rouble apiece. Regarding these events many years after their occurrence, I am often tempted to mistrust to a certain extent my recollections of all this lavish display.
This fête, which really deserved precedence among all the daily pomp and splendour of the Congress, was prolonged till dawn, when a breakfast was served and dancing was resumed. Only the need of rest made us regretfully bend our steps homeward and leave that magnificent palace where so many fair women and brave men had forgathered in the pursuit of pleasure.
Many years have gone by since that memorable night. The charming woman in whose honour the fête was given became the Queen of Würtemberg. Death claimed her prematurely as his victim. The Prince Koslowski, who had been, like myself, an eye-witness of that charming love-episode at Vienna, and who was subsequently despatched as ambassador to her Court, saw her die of the same disease that carried away her brother, the emperor. And only a short time ago the son of Marie-Louise and the Comte de Neipperg[86] married the daughter of this Catherine of Russia who had been asked in marriage by Napoleon. How very truly Shakespeare exclaims: ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’
As for me, when my thoughts go back to that period of happiness and freedom from care called the Congress of Vienna, I always picture to myself sweet Catherine, not amidst all those fêtes, but strolling in the dusky glades of the Prater, where I so often saw her, proud of her love for the Prince Royal of Würtemberg and of her tender affection for her brother.