To the gaping tourist the Ville Lumiere resembled nothing so much as a huge world fair, with enormous caravanserais, gigantic booths, gaudy merry-go-rounds, squalid taverns, and huge inns.  Every place of entertainment was crowded, and congregations patiently awaited their turn in the street, undeterred by rain or wind or snow, offering absurdly high prices for scant accommodation and disheartened at having their offers refused.  Extortion was rampant and profiteering went unpunished.  Foreigners, mainly American and British, could be seen wandering, portmanteau in hand, from post to pillar, anxiously seeking where to lay their heads, and made desperate by failure, fatigue, and nightfall.  The cost of living which harassed the bulk of the people was fast becoming the stumbling-block of governments and the most powerful lever of revolutionaries.  The chief of the peace armies resided in sumptuous hotels, furnished luxuriously in dubious taste, flooded after sundown with dazzling light, and filled by day with the buzz of idle chatter, the shuffling of feet, the banging of doors, and the ringing of bells.  Music and dancing enlivened the inmates when their day’s toil was over and time had to be killed.  Thus, within, one could find anxious deliberation and warm debate; without, noisy revel and vulgar brawl.  “Fate’s a fiddler; life’s a dance.”

To few of those visitors did Paris seem what it really was—­a nest of golden dreams, a mist of memories, a seed-plot of hopes, a storehouse of time’s menaces.

THE PARIS CONFERENCE AND THE CONGRESS OF VIENNA

There were no solemn pageants, no impressive ceremonies, such as those that rejoiced the hearts of the Viennese in 1814-15 until the triumphal march of the Allied troops.

The Vienna of Congress days was transformed into a paradise of delights by a brilliant court which pushed hospitality to the point of lavishness.  In the burg alone were two emperors, two empresses, four kings, one queen, two crown-princes, two archduchesses, and three princes.  Every day the Emperor’s table cost fifty thousand gulden—­every Congress day cost him ten times that sum.  Galaxies of Europe’s eminent personages flocked to the Austrian capital, taking with them their ministers, secretaries, favorites, and “confidential agents.”  So eager were these world-reformers to enjoy themselves that the court did not go into mourning for Queen Marie Caroline of Naples, the last of Marie Theresa’s daughters.  Her death was not even announced officially lest it should trouble the festivities of the jovial peace-makers!