A great number of carriages traversed the city in all directions, and that of Lord Stewart, the English ambassador, eclipsed all the others in virtue of its elegance and its appointments. At an early hour Empress Marie-Louise had come from Schönbrunn to offer her good wishes to her august father. Standing aloof from everything that happened at Vienna, she never attended any entertainment, Court fête, or public ceremony. Nevertheless, the greatest deference was shown her everywhere. During the first months after her arrival at Schönbrunn, she had kept the imperial arms of France on the panels of her carriage, on the scutcheons of her harness, and on the buttons of her liveries. On the occasion of a famous visit to her father, some people in the street had loudly expressed themselves on what they chose to regard as a blunder in the matter of etiquette. Marie-Louise had heard the words, and from that day she had been careful to efface the last traces of her presence on the throne of France; and when we caught a glimpse of the conveyance we noticed a new monogram instead of the Napoleonic one, and a livery not only brand-new, but altogether different in colour from the old. Nevertheless, in spite of the unfavourable predictions current on the Graben with regard to the turn of the discussions of the Congress, the Imperial Palace from nine that evening was scarcely able to hold the enormous crowd seeking admittance. The sovereigns, the political and diplomatic notabilities, had forgathered in what was called the Hall of the Ceremonies, where the Austrian Court was giving a state ball. Not far from there the big hall usually set apart for the large routs was filled with masks and dominos. Griffiths and I had repaired thither. It presented, as always, the most animated picture of all, and only one purpose seemed paramount, the pursuit of pleasure. After a few turns Griffiths and I left, surprised at such a total absence of care so rapidly succeeding and ousting most important preoccupations. One of the most curious gatherings of the Congress and of Vienna was no doubt the ‘pic-nic dinner’ to which Admiral Sidney Smith invited the sovereigns and the political and other celebrities then within the walls of the capital. The idea of bringing together so many eminent personages, and of making each pay his share of the entertainment, could not fail to please them by its very sincerity amidst the constant gaiety which was gratuitously offered to them. Consequently, a great many had responded to the appeal. Sir Sidney Smith had not been attracted to the Congress from simple motives of curiosity. His aim was political as well as philanthropic. And though not invested with any official mission, he had created for himself as many occupations as had the representative of the most influential Power. His projects in no way belied his adventurous life, the episodes of which savoured as much of a novel as of history.