‘You are just in time to see great doings,’ he said. ‘The whole of Europe is in Vienna. The tissue of politics is embroidered with fêtes, and inasmuch as at your age one is fond of joyous gatherings, balls, and pleasure, I can assure you beforehand of a series of them, because the Congress does not march to its goal; it dances. It is a royal mob. From all sides there are cries of peace, justice, equilibrium, indemnity; the last word being the new contribution of the Prince de Bénévent to the diplomatic vocabulary. Heaven alone knows who shall reduce this chaos to some semblance of order, and provide dams for the torrent of various pretensions. As for me, I am only a well-meaning and friendly spectator of the show. I shall claim nothing, unless it be a hat to replace the one I am wearing out in saluting the sovereigns I meet at every street-corner. Nevertheless, in spite of Robinson Crusoe,[17] a general and lasting peace will no doubt be concluded, for a feeling of concord has at length united the nations which were so long inimical towards each other. Their most illustrious representatives are already setting the example of it. We shall witness a thing hitherto unheard of: pleasure will bring in its wake peace, instead of strife.’ After this, he started asking me, with all the impetuosity of youth, a series of questions with reference to Paris, my travels, and my own plans, until he was interrupted by his servant informing him that his carriage was at the door. ‘You’ll come and dine with me to-morrow,’ he said; ‘and then we’ll go to the grand rout and ball. You’ll see the most practical common-sense of Europe wearing the motley of folly. When there I’ll explain to you in a few moments the curiosities of that grand piece of living tapestry composed of the most notable personages.’ The prince had kept to his habit of dining early: it was four o’clock when I reached his pretty house on the Bastion. It contained but one room on each story, hence he called it jocularly his ‘perch.’ His friends knew it by the name of ‘L’hôtel de Ligne.’ Shortly after my arrival he sat down to dinner, surrounded by his charming family.[18] Candidly speaking, the repast, like the well-known suppers of Madame de Maintenon, when she was still Widow Scarron, stood in need of the magic of his conversation to make up for its more than scanty fare. And although he himself ate nearly all the little dishes that were served, his guests were so thoroughly engrossed and delighted as to be rendered oblivious of the unsubstantial nature of the entertainment--until the end of it.