The first, confined to his room by a somewhat serious indisposition, had sent a donation of a thousand ducats; the second had, two days previously, left Vienna, and his abrupt departure formed the subject of every conversation. Naturally imperious and irascible, the very corpulent King Frederick chafed and fretted against the slowness of the diplomatic discussions. In the state-gatherings, he always seemed to be grumbling or devoured with care. He was not the only one, for it was generally felt that the ordinary passions were pursuing their course under all those floral ornaments and decorations. There came an opportunity, however, for his impetuous character to show itself in all its violence. Among the many conflicting claims submitted to the Congress, the landed nobility of Germany herself had deemed it advisable to join the petitioners, and it had sent its deputies entrusted with the claim for recovering its ancient position and rights. During a conference attended by his majesty of Würtemberg, that claim was discussed, and there was also a good deal of desultory talk about the restoration of the Holy Roman Empire. The king was scarcely able to contain himself, and when it became a question of measures that might restrict the prerogatives of sovereigns, he rose in great anger. Before him there was a table which, unlike the boards at the imperial banquets, had not been scooped out to accommodate his majesty’s enormous corpulence. In his sudden movement the abdominal prominence of the king lifted the table off its legs and it fell with a crash. The mishap naturally aggravated the temper of the king, who quickly regained his own apartments, and in the evening left the capital of Austria, after having strenuously recommended his plenipotentiaries systematically to reject every demand on the part of the nobles. As for his son Wilhelm, he remained much more concerned with the handsome eyes of the Grande-Duchesse d’Oldenbourg than with the questions of the Congress.