‘Prince Paul Esterhazy is kind and affectionate, but somewhat distant in manner. He also has only to let life glide by without taking trouble. Assuredly, he has a unique future before him. I asked Malfati yesterday how Paul’s father, Prince Nicolas, who is no longer young, can keep up with all these gay doings without impairing his health. “It is his happiness that keeps him up,” replied the physician. Happiness considered in that light is, unfortunately, not as yet a medical prescription.’ Just as the baron had finished his portraits, supper was served. The principal topic of conversation was the imperial _carrousel_ which was to take place the next day. The young Comte de Woyna, who was to be one of the twenty-four knights, gave us all the particulars of the preparations, and was eagerly listened to, for the interest and curiosity of the moment centred there. Even business and pleasure paled before that memorable fête, which in itself was to condense all the splendour of the Congress. The day so much longed for broke at last. The preparations had occupied so many weeks as to leave no doubt about the intentions of the Court to display all the marvels of its pomp and the resources of its wealth. The fête was to conjure up all the brilliant and poetical traditions of the past. The last traces of the recreations of ancient chivalry were effaced before the last vestiges of feudalism. Our age, wholly practical in war as in love, no longer lends itself to those ingenious and delightful theories of mediævalism. The enthusiasm of the heart, the elevation of thought, and the abnegation of passion have disappeared from our manners and customs, and been replaced by a serious and polished selfishness. One is no longer the chosen knight of this or that fair one. One no longer maintains, lance in hand, the superiority of her charms against all comers; one no longer risks one’s life for a scarf embroidered by her fingers. Love nowadays avoids attracting attention; it is only an accessory of life, and its first care is to wrap itself round as if with some mysterious veil. The manners and customs of ancient chivalry are, nevertheless, deserving of regret. Love, thus understood and openly professed, was not only the life of the heart but the source of great thoughts and noble passions. It must have been grand to proclaim one’s disinterested courage, one’s contempt of danger, when the sole recompense hoped for was a word or a smile from the woman beloved.