Zibin, who had succeeded in getting his head out of the royal hug of his Majesty of Prussia, soon joined us, and I complimented him upon the particular attention of which he had been the object. In order to swell his pride, and give him the opportunity of having the delicate juxtaposition renewed, I cited some of the recommendations of the Prince de Ligne, our common master. ‘Be moderate in your praise. Kings are no longer caught with words. The only thing to which they are not absolutely proof is a peculiar kind of look of admiration. But that’s all. The sort of praise so lavishly used by Lauzun would not seduce our modern Louis XIV.’ In company with several ‘majesties’ we stood watching some of the worthy knights of Vienna going through the traditional minuet. ‘Who would believe,’ said Zibin, ‘that this dance saw the light in a village? To watch its ponderous monotony no one would imagine that in principle it was exceedingly bright and gay. Introduced to the Court, its sprightliness has been changed into gravity, and now it is sufficiently doleful to make people ill with melancholy.’ ‘If that incomparable Prince de Ligne had not been taken away from us, he would recall for us the minuets he danced at the Grand Trianon with the charming Marquise de Coigny,’ said the Comte de Witt. ‘The Prince de Ligne himself voted the minuet a bit of _stupid_ gracefulness,’ replied Zibin. ‘His qualification dated from the period previous to his having danced it himself,’ I remarked. ‘I am inclined to think, with you, that they acquitted themselves somewhat better at it at the Court of France than they do to-day in Vienna. But be assured that the old traditions of stately dances are not lost beyond redemption.’ ‘But where is one to look for the traditions?’ was the general cry around me. ‘Well, if it will afford you any pleasure, I shall enable you to judge’; saying which, I took a few steps to the young Princesse de Hesse-Philippstadt, of whom I had just caught sight, accompanied by her mother. ‘Princess,’ I said, walking up to her and holding out my hand, ‘will you do me the honour to convince these gentlemen that the Court minuet is not altogether a lost art?’ The princess accepting, Zibin lent me his hat, and, mindful of the lessons of Abraham, who had been her teacher as well as mine, we went through the figures of that character-dance with a good deal of precision. As for my charming partner, the suppleness and grace of her steps might have tempted another Juan of Austria to come _incognito_ all the way from Brussels to see her perform them, as the original one came all the way to the Louvre for Marguerite de Bourgogne. Our critics were not sparing in their praise, and were obliged to acknowledge that the much-abused minuet was not as yet dethroned.