The birthday fête of the Emperor of Austria, which happened to come amidst all these rejoicings, was spent in the privacy of his family. His health did not permit it to be celebrated with all the pomp generally displayed. The reception, in spite of its being less numerous, nevertheless presented a most rare spectacle. Nearly all its members called each other ‘brother’ or ‘cousin,’ and those brothers were the most powerful sovereigns of Europe. In the morning, Emperor Alexander had preceded them all, wearing the uniform of an Austrian general, and giving his arm to his charming wife. He tendered his wishes and offered his bouquet with that cordial simplicity that adds so delightfully to the expressions of friendship. For some time those monarchs had each adopted a particular society in which they lived on a most familiar footing. Nevertheless, when they assembled together their affectionate familiarity was very genuine. The masked routs were more numerously attended than ever. Griffiths and I went one evening to one of those gatherings, which might fitly be termed the magic-lanterns of the Congress, in virtue of the number and variety of the personages present. The crowd was so considerable that, after having opened all the rooms, they were obliged to shut the outer doors and to refuse admission to a great number. Nothing could convey an idea of the happy-go-lucky animation presiding at this gathering of so many diverse elements. In the crowd I ran up against Prince Koslowski. ‘To watch on all sides this exchange of sweet smiles and sweet looks, and hand-pressures sweeter still, one might call the Vienna rout an exchange for the traffic of amorous assets.’ ‘Beaumarchais said that before you about the Opéra of Paris, but you could add, as an appendix, that all such kinds of assets are marketable on all the dancing exchanges of Europe. ‘Just watch that young woman, so simply disguised as a Calabrian peasant,’ the prince went on. ‘She seems to remember how dearly her mother once paid for an impulse of vanity. That mother, who was distantly related to my family, found out that an imperial diadem may often cruelly hurt the head, even if politics are altogether foreign to the attempt to wear it.’ The lady was pretty, the anecdote promised to be interesting. I asked my bright interlocutor to tell it to me. He complied with my wish.