VIENNA.
_May 31._--I have at last seen the thousand wonders of this great
capital--this German Paris--this connecting link between the
civilization of Europe and the barbaric magnificence of the East. It
looks familiar to be in a city again, whose streets are thronged with
people, and resound with the din and bustle of business. It reminds me
of the never-ending crowds of London, or the life and tumult of our
scarcely less active New York. Although the end may be sordid for which
so many are laboring, yet the very sight of so much activity is
gratifying. It is peculiarly so to an American. After residing in a
foreign land for some time, the peculiarities of our nation are more
easily noticed; I find in my countrymen abroad a vein of restless
energy--a love for exciting action--which to many of our good German
friends is perfectly incomprehensible. It might have been this which
gave at once a favorable impression of Vienna.
The morning of our arrival we sallied out from our lodgings in the
Leopoldstadt, to explore the world before us. Entering the broad
Praterstrasse, we passed down to the little arm of the Danube, which
separates this part of the new city from the old. A row of magnificent
coffee-houses occupy the bank, and numbers of persons were taking their
breakfasts in the shady porticoes. The Ferdinand's Bridge, which crosses
the stream, was filled with people; in the motley crowd we saw the
dark-eyed Greek, and Turks in their turbans and flowing robes. Little
brown Hungarian boys were going around, selling bunches of lilies, and
Italians with baskets of oranges stood by the side-walk. The throng
became greater as we penetrated into the old city. The streets were
filled with carts and carriages, and as there are no side-pavements, it
required constant attention to keep out of their way. Splendid shops,
fitted up with great taste, occupied the whole of the lower stories, and
goods of all kinds hung beneath the canvass awnings in front of them.
Almost every store or shop was dedicated to some particular person or
place, which was represented on a large panel by the door. The number of
these paintings added much to the splendor of the scene; I was gratified
to find, among the images of kings and dukes, one dedicated "_to the
American_," with an Indian chief in full costume.
The _Altstadt_, or old city, which contains about sixty thousand
inhabitants, is completely separated from the suburbs, whose population,
taking the whole extent within the outer barrier, numbers nearly half a
million. It is situated on a small arm of the Danube, and encompassed by
a series of public promenades, gardens and walks, varying from a quarter
to half a mile in length, called the Glacis. This formerly belonged to
the fortifications of the city, but as the suburbs grew up so rapidly on
all sides, it was changed appropriately to a public walk. The city is
still surrounded with a massive wall and a deep wide moat; but since it
was taken by Napoleon in 1809, the moat has been changed into a garden,
with a beautiful carriage road along the bottom, around the whole city.
It is a beautiful sight, to stand on the summit of the wall and look
over the broad Glacis, with its shady roads branching in every
direction, and filled with inexhaustible streams of people. The
Vorstaedte, or new cities, stretch in a circle around, beyond this; all
the finest buildings front on the Glacis, among which the splendid
Vienna Theatre and the church of San Carlo Borromeo are conspicuous. The
mountains of the Vienna Forest bound the view, with here and there a
stately castle on their woody summits. I was reminded of London as seen
from Regent's Park, and truly this part of Vienna can well compare with
it. On penetrating into the suburbs, the resemblance is at an end. Many
of the public thoroughfares are still unpaved, and in dry weather one is
almost choked by the clouds of fine dust. A furious wind blows from the
mountains, sweeping the streets almost constantly and filling the eyes
and ears with it, making the city an unhealthy residence for strangers.
There is no lack of places for pleasure or amusement. Beside the
numberless walks of the Glacis, there are the Imperial Gardens, with
their cool shades and flowers and fountains; the Augarten, laid out and
opened to the public by the Emperor Joseph: and the Prater, the largest
and most beautiful of all. It lies on an island formed by the arms of
the Danube, and is between two and three miles square. From the circle
at the end of the Praterstrasse, broad carriage-ways extend through its
forests of oak and silver ash, and over its verdant lawns to the
principal stream, which bounds it on the north. These roads are lined
with stately horse chesnuts, whose branches unite and form a dense
canopy, completely shutting out the sun. Every afternoon the beauty and
nobility of Vienna whirl through the cool groves in their gay equipages,
while the sidewalks are thronged with pedestrians, and the numberless
tables and seats with which every house of refreshment is surrounded,
are filled with merry guests. Here, on Sundays and holidays, the people
repair in thousands. The woods are full of tame deer, which run
perfectly free over the whole Prater. I saw several in one of the lawns,
lying down in the grass, with a number of children playing around or
sitting beside them. It is delightful to walk there in the cool of the
evening, when the paths are crowded, and everybody is enjoying the
release from the dusty city. It is this free, social life which renders
Vienna so attractive to foreigners and draws yearly thousands of
visitors from all parts of Europe.
St. Stephen's Cathedral, in the centre of the old city, is one of the
finest specimens of Gothic architecture in Germany. Its unrivalled
tower, which rises to the height of four hundred and twenty-eight feet,
is visible from every part of Vienna. It is entirely of stone, most
elaborately ornamented, and is supposed to be the strongest in Europe.
If the tower was finished, it might rival any church in Europe in
richness and brilliancy of appearance. The inside is solemn and grand;
but the effect is injured by the number of small chapels and shrines. In
one of these rests, the remains of Prince Eugene of Savoy, "_der edle
Ritter_," known in a ballad to every man, woman and child in Germany.
The Belvidere Gallery fills thirty-five halls, and contains three
thousand pictures! It is absolutely bewildering to walk through such
vast collections; you can do no more than glance at each painting, and
hurry by face after face, and figure after figure, on which you would
willingly gaze for hours and inhale the atmosphere of beauty that
surrounds them. Then after you leave, the brain is filled with their
forms--radiant spirit-faces look upon you, and you see constantly, in
fancy, the calm brow of a Madonna, the sweet young face of a child, or
the blending of divine with mortal beauty in an angel's countenance. I
endeavor, if possible, always to make several visits--to study those
pictures which cling _first_ to the memory, and pass over those which
make little or no impression. It is better to have a few images fresh
and enduring, than a confused and indistinct memory of many.
From the number of Madonnas in every European gallery, it would almost
seem that the old artists painted nothing else. The subject is one which
requires the highest genius to do it justice, and it is therefore
unpleasant to see so many still, inexpressive faces of the virgin and
child, particularly by the Dutch artists, who clothe their figures
sometimes in the stiff costume of their own time. Raphael and Murillo
appear to me to be almost the only painters who have expressed what,
perhaps, was above the power of other masters--the combined love and
reverence of the mother, and the divine expression in the face of the
child, prophetic of his mission and godlike power.
There were many glorious old paintings in the second story, which is
entirely taken up with pictures; two or three of the halls were devoted
to selected works from modern artists. Two of these I would give every
thing I have to possess. One of them is a winter scene, representing the
portico of an old Gothic church. At the base of one of the pillars a
woman is seated in the snow, half-benumbed, clasping an infant to her
breast, while immediately in front stands a boy of perhaps seven or
eight years, his little hands folded in prayer, while the chill wind
tosses the long curls from his forehead. There is something so pure and
holy in the expression of his childish countenance, so much feeling in
the lip and sorrowful eye, that it moves one almost to tears to look
upon it. I turned back half a dozen times from the other pictures to
view it again, and blessed the artist in my heart for the lesson he
gave. The other is by a young Italian painter, whose name I have
forgotten, but who, if he never painted anything else, is worthy a high
place among the artists of his country. It represents some scene from
the history of Venice. On an open piazza, a noble prisoner, wasted and
pale from long confinement, has just had an interview with his children.
He reaches his arm toward them as if for the last time, while a savage
keeper drags him away. A lovely little girl kneels at the feet of the
Doge, but there is no compassion in his stern features, and it is easy
to see that her father is doomed.
The Lower Belvidere, separated from the Upper by a large garden, laid
out in the style of that at Versailles, contains the celebrated
_Ambraser Sammlung_, a collection of armor. In the first hall I noticed
the complete armor of the Emperor Maximilian, for man and horse--the
armor of Charles V., and Prince Moritz of Saxony, while the walls were
filled with figures of German nobles and knights, in the suits they wore
in life. There is also the armor of the great "Baver of Trient," trabant
of the Archduke Ferdinand. He was nearly nine feet in stature, and his
spear, though not equal to Satan's, in Paradise Lost, would still make a
tree of tolerable dimensions.
In the second hall we saw weapons taken from the Turkish army who
besieged Vienna, with the horse-tail standards of the Grand Vizier, Kara
Mustapha. The most interesting article was the battle-axe of the
unfortunate Montezuma, which was probably given to the Emperor Charles
V., by Cortez. It is a plain instrument of dark colored stone, about
three feet long.
We also visited the _Bürgerliche Zeughaus_, a collection of arms and
weapons, belonging to the citizens of Vienna. It contains sixteen
thousand weapons and suits of armor, including those plundered from the
Turks, when John Sobieski conquered them and relieved Vienna from the
siege. Besides a great number of sabres, lances and horsetails, there is
the blood-red banner of the Grand Vizier, as well as his skull and
shroud, which is covered with sentences from the Koran. On his return to
Belgrade, after the defeat at Vienna, the Sultan sent him a bow-string,
and he was accordingly strangled. The Austrians having taken Belgrade
some time after, they opened his grave and carried off his skull and
shroud, as well as the bow-string, as relics. Another large and richly
embroidered banner, which hung in a broad sheet from the ceiling, was
far more interesting to me. It had once waved from the vessels of the
Knights of Malta, and had, perhaps, on the prow of the Grand Master's
ship, led that romantic band to battle against the Infidel.
A large number of peasants and common soldiers were admitted to view the
armory at the same time. The grave _custode_ who showed us the
curiosities, explaining every thing in phrases known by heart for years
and making the same starts of admiration whenever he came to any thing
peculiarly remarkable, singled us out as the two persons most worthy of
attention. Accordingly his remarks were directed entirely to us, and his
humble countrymen might as well have been invisible, for the notice he
took of them. On passing out, we gave him a coin worth about fifteen
cents, which happened to be so much more than the others gave him, that,
bowing graciously, he invited us to write our names in the album for
strangers. While we were doing this, a poor handwerker lingered behind,
apparently for the same object, whom he scornfully dismissed, shaking
the fifteen cent piece in his hand, and saying: "The album is not for
such as you--it is for noble gentlemen!"
On our way through the city, we often noticed a house on the southern
side of St. Stephen's Platz, dedicated to "the Iron Stick." In a niche
by the window, stood what appeared to be the limb of a tree, completely
filled with nails, which were driven in so thick that no part of the
original wood is visible. We learned afterwards the legend concerning
it. The Vienna Forest is said to have extended, several hundred years
ago, to this place. A locksmith's apprentice was enabled, by the devil's
help, to make the iron bars and padlock which confine the limb in its
place; every locksmith's apprentice who came to Vienna after that, drove
a nail into it, till finally there was room for no more. It is a
singular legend, and whoever may have placed the limb there originally,
there it has remained for two or three hundred years at least.
We spent two or three hours delightfully one evening in listening to
Strauss's band. We went about sunset to the Odeon, a new building in the
Leopoldstadt. It has a refreshment hall nearly five hundred feet long,
with a handsome fresco ceiling and glass doors opening into a garden
walk of the same length. Both the hall and garden were filled with
tables, where the people seated themselves as they came, and conversed
sociably over their coffee and wine. The orchestra was placed in a
little ornamental temple in the garden, in front of which I stationed
myself, for I was anxious to see the world's waltz-king, whose magic
tones can set the heels of half Christendom in motion. After the band
had finished tuning their instruments, a middle-sized, handsome man
stepped forward with long strides, with a violin in one hand and bow in
the other, and began waving the latter up and down, like a magician
summoning his spirits. As if he had waved the sound out of his bow, the
tones leaped forth from the instruments, and guided by his eye and hand,
fell into a merry measure. The accuracy with which every instrument
performed its part, was truly marvellous. He could not have struck the
measure or the harmony more certainly from the keys of his own piano,
than from that large band. The sounds struggled forth, so perfect and
distinct, that one almost expected to see them embodied, whirling in
wild dance around him. Sometimes the air was so exquisitely light and
bounding, the feet could scarcely keep on the earth; then it sank into a
mournful lament, with a sobbing tremulousness, and died away in a
long-breathed sigh. Strauss seemed to feel the music in every limb. He
would wave his fiddle-bow awhile, then commence playing with desperate
energy, moving his whole body to the measure, till the sweat rolled from
his brow. A book was lying on the stand before him, but he made no use
of it. He often glanced around with a kind of half-triumphant smile at
the restless crowd, whose feet could scarcely be restrained from
bounding to the magic measure. It was the horn of Oberon realized. The
composition of the music displayed great talent, but its charm consisted
more in the exquisite combination of the different instruments, and the
perfect, the wonderful exactness with which each performed its part--a
piece of art of the most elaborate and refined character.
The company, which consisted of several hundred, appeared to be full of
enjoyment. They sat under the trees in the calm, cool twilight, with the
stars twinkling above, and talked and laughed sociably together between
the pauses of the music, or strolled up and down the lighted alleys. We
walked up and down with them, and thought how much we should enjoy such
a scene at home, where the faces around us would be those of friends,
and the language our mother tongue!
We went a long way through the suburbs one bright afternoon, to a little
cemetery about a mile from the city, to find the grave of Beethoven. On
ringing at the gate a girl admitted us into the grounds, in which are
many monuments of noble families who have vaults there. I passed up the
narrow walk, reading the inscriptions, till I came to the tomb of Franz
Clement, a young composer, who died two or three years ago. On turning
again, my eye fell instantly on the word "BEETHOVEN," in golden letters,
on a tombstone of gray marble. A simple gilded lyre decorated the
pedestal, above which was a serpent encircling a butterfly--the emblem
of resurrection to eternal life. Here then, mouldered the remains of
that restless spirit, who seemed to have strayed to earth from another
clime, from such a height did he draw his glorious conceptions. The
perfection he sought for here in vain, he has now attained in a world
where the soul is freed from the bars which bind it in this. There were
no flowers planted around the tomb by those who revered his genius; only
one wreath, withered and dead, lay among the grass, as if left long ago
by some solitary pilgrim, and a few wild buttercups hung with their
bright blossoms over the slab. It might have been wrong, but I could not
resist the temptation to steal one or two, while the old grave-digger
was busy preparing a new tenement. I thought that other buds would open
in a few days, but those I took would be treasured many a year as sacred
relics. A few paces off is the grave of Schubert, the composer, whose
beautiful songs are heard all over Germany.
It would employ one a week to visit all the rich collections of art in
Vienna. They are all open to the public on certain days of the week, and
we have been kept constantly in motion, running from one part of the
city to another, in order to arrive at some gallery at the appointed
time. Tickets, which have to be procured often in quite different parts
of the city, are necessary for admittance to many; on applying after
much trouble and search, we frequently found we came at the wrong hour,
and must leave without effecting our object. We employed no guide, but
preferred finding every thing ourselves. We made a list every morning,
of the collections open during the day, and employed the rest of the
time in visiting the churches and public gardens, or rambling through
the suburbs.
We visited the Imperial Library a day or two ago. The hall is 245 feet
long, with a magnificent dome in the centre, under which stands the
statue of Charles V., of Carrara marble, surrounded by twelve other
monarchs of the house of Hapsburg. The walls are of variegated marble,
richly ornamented with gold, and the ceiling and dome are covered with
brilliant fresco paintings. The library numbers 300,000 volumes, and
16,000 manuscripts, which are kept in walnut cases, gilded and adorned
with medallions. The rich and harmonious effect of the whole cannot
easily be imagined. It is exceedingly appropriate that a hall of such
splendor, should be used to hold a library. The pomp of a palace may
seem hollow and vain, for it is but the dwelling of a man; but no
building can be too magnificent for the hundreds of great and immortal
spirits to dwell in, who have visited earth during thirty centuries.
Among other curiosities preserved in the collection, we were shown a
brass plate, containing one of the records of the Roman Senate, made 180
years before Christ, Greek manuscripts of the fifth and sixth centuries,
and a volume of Psalms, printed on parchment, in the year 1457, by Faust
and Schaeffer, the inventors of printing. There were also Mexican
manuscripts, presented by Cortez; the prayer-book of Hildegard, wife of
Charlemagne, in letters of gold; the signature of San Carlo Borromeo,
and a Greek testament of the thirteenth century, which had been used by
Erasmus in making his translation and contains notes in his own hand.
The most interesting article was the "Jerusalem Delivered" of Tasso, in
the poet's own hand, with his erasions and corrections.
We also visited the Cabinet of Natural History, which is open twice a
week "to all _respectably dressed_ persons," as the notice at the door
says. But Heaven forbid that I should attempt to describe what we saw
there. The Mineral Cabinet had a greater interest to me, inasmuch as it
called up the recollections of many a school-boy ramble over the hills
and into all kinds of quarries, far and near. It is said to be the most
perfect collection in existence. I was pleased to find many old
acquaintances there, from the mines of Pennsylvania; Massachusetts and
New York were also very well represented. I had no idea before, that the
mineral wealth of Austria was so great. Besides the iron and lead mines
among the hills of Styria and the quicksilver of Idria, there is no
small amount of gold and silver found, and the Carpathian mountains are
rich in jasper, opal and lapiz lazuli. The largest opal ever found, was
in this collection. It weighs thirty-four ounces and looks like a
condensed rainbow.
In passing the palace, we saw several persons entering the basement
story under the Library, and had the curiosity to follow them. By so
doing, we saw the splendid equipages of the house of Austria. There must
have been near a hundred carriages and sleds, of every shape and style,
from the heavy, square vehicle of the last century to the most light and
elegant conveyance of the present day. One clumsy, but magnificent
machine, of crimson and gold, was pointed out as being a hundred and
fifty years old. The misery we witnessed in starving Bohemia, formed a
striking contrast to all this splendor.
Beside the Imperial Picture Gallery, there are several belonging to
princes and noblemen in Vienna, which are scarcely less valuable. The
most important of these is that of Prince Liechtenstein, which we
visited yesterday. We applied to the porter's lodge for admittance to
the gallery, but he refused to open it for two persons; as we did not
wish a long walk for nothing, we concluded to wait for other visitors.
Presently a gentleman and lady came and inquired if the gallery was
open. We told him it would probably be opened now, although the porter
required a larger number, and he went to ask. After a short time he
returned, saying: "He will come immediately; I thought best to put the
number a little higher, and so I told him there were _six_ of us!"
Having little artistic knowledge of paintings, I judge of them according
to the effect they produce upon me--in proportion as they gratify the
innate love for the beautiful and the true. I have been therefore
disappointed in some painters whose names are widely known, and
surprised again to find works of great beauty by others of smaller fame.
Judging by such a standard, I should say that "Cupid sleeping in the
lap of Venus," by Correggio, is the glory of this collection. The
beautiful limbs of the boy-god droop in the repose of slumber, as his
head rests on his mother's knee, and there is a smile lingering around
his half-parted lips, as if he was dreaming new triumphs. The face is
not that of the wicked, mischief-loving child, but rather a sweet
cherub, bringing a blessing to all he visits. The figure of the goddess
is exquisite. Her countenance, unearthly in its loveliness, expresses
the tenderness of a young mother, as she sits with one finger pressed on
her rosy lip, watching his slumber. It is a picture which "stings the
brain with beauty."
The chapel of St. Augustine contains one of the best works of
Canova--the monument of the Grand Duchess, Maria Christina, of
Sachsen-Teschen. It is a pyramid of gray marble, twenty-eight feet high,
with an opening in the side, representing the entrance to a sepulchre. A
female figure personating Virtue bears in an urn to the grave, the ashes
of the departed, attended by two children with torches. The figure of
Compassion follows, leading an aged beggar to the tomb of his
benefactor, and a little child with its hands folded. On the lower step
rests a mourning Genius beside a sleeping lion, and a bas-relief on the
pyramid above represents an angel carrying Christina's image, surrounded
with the emblem of eternity, to Heaven. A spirit of deep sorrow, which
is touchingly portrayed in the countenance of the old man, pervades the
whole group. While we looked at it, the organ breathed out a slow,
mournful strain, which harmonized so fully with the expression of the
figures, that we seemed to be listening to the requiem of the one they
mourned. The combined effect of music and sculpture, thus united in
their deep pathos, was such, that I could have sat down and wept. It was
not from sadness at the death of a benevolent though unknown
individual,--but the feeling of grief, of perfect, unmingled sorrow, so
powerfully represented, came to the heart like an echo of its own
emotion, and carried it away with irresistible influence. Travellers
have described the same feeling while listening to the Miserere in the
Sistine Chapel, at Rome. Canova could not have chiseled the monument
without tears.
One of the most interesting objects in Vienna, is the Imperial Armory.
We were admitted through tickets previously procured from the Armory
Direction; as there was already one large company within, we were told
to wait in the court till our turn came. Around the wall on the inside,
is suspended the enormous chain which the Turks stretched across the
Danube at Buda, in the year 1529, to obstruct the navigation. It has
eight thousand links and is nearly a mile in length. The court is filled
with cannon of all shapes and sizes, many of which were conquered from
other nations. I saw a great many which were cast during the French
Revolution, with the words "_Liberté! Egalité!_" upon them, and a number
of others bearing the simple letter "N."
Finally the first company came down and the forty or fifty persons who
had collected during the interval, were admitted. The Armory runs around
a hollow square, and must be at least a quarter of a mile in length. We
were all taken into a circular hall, made entirely of weapons, to
represent the four quarters of the globe. Here the crusty old guide who
admitted us, rapped with his stick on the shield of an old knight who
stood near, to keep silence, and then addressed us: "When I speak every
one must be silent. No one can write or draw anything. No one shall
touch anything, or go to look at anything else, before I have done
speaking. Otherwise, they shall be taken immediately into the street
again!" Thus in every hall he rapped and scolded, driving the women to
one side with his stick and the men to the other, till we were nearly
through, when the thought of the coming fee made him a little more
polite. He had a regular set of descriptions by heart, which he went
through with a great flourish, pointing particularly to the common
military caps of the late Emperors of Prussia and Austria, as "treasures
beyond all price to the nation!" Whereupon, the crowd of common people
gazed reverently on the shabby beavers, and I verily believe, would have
devoutly kissed them, had the glass covering been removed. I happened to
be next to a tall, dignified young man, who looked on all this with a
displeasure almost amounting to contempt. Seeing I was a foreigner, he
spoke, in a low tone, bitterly of the Austrian government. "You are not
then an Austrian?" I asked. "No, thank God!" was the reply: "but I have
seen enough of Austrian tyranny. I am a Pole!"
The first wing contains banners used in the French Revolution, and
liberty trees with the red cap; the armor of Rudolph of Hapsburg,
Maximilian I., the Emperor Charles V., and the hat, sword and order of
Marshal Schwarzenberg. Some of the halls represent a fortification, with
walls, ditches and embankments, made of muskets and swords. A long room
in the second wing contains an encampment, in which twelve or fifteen
large tents are formed in like manner. Along the sides are grouped old
Austrian banners, standards taken from the French, and horsetails and
flags captured from the Turks. "They make a great boast," said the Pole,
"of a half dozen French colors, but let them go to the Hospital des
Invalides, in Paris, and they will find _hundreds_ of the best banners
of Austria!" They also exhibited the armor of a dwarf king of Bohemia
and Hungary, who died, a gray-headed old man, in his twentieth year; the
sword of Marlborough; the coat of Gustavus Adolphus, pierced in the
breast and back with the bullet which killed him at Lützen; the armor of
the old Bohemian princess Libussa, and that of the amazon Wlaska, with a
steel visor made to fit the features of her face. The last wing was the
most remarkable. Here we saw the helm and breastplate of Attila, king of
the Huns, which once glanced at the head of his myriads of wild hordes,
before the walls of Rome; the armor of Count Stahremberg, who commanded
Vienna during the Turkish siege in 1529, and the holy banner of Mahomet,
taken at that time from the Grand Vizier, together with the steel
harness of John Sobieski of Poland, who rescued Vienna from the Turkish
troops under Kara Mustapha; the hat, sword and breastplate of Godfrey of
Bouillon, the Crusader-king of Jerusalem, with the banners of the cross
the Crusaders had borne to Palestine, and the standard they captured
from the Turks on the walls of the Holy City! I felt all my boyish
enthusiasm for the romantic age of the Crusaders revive, as I looked on
the torn and mouldering banners which once waved on the hills of Judea,
or perhaps followed the sword of the Lion Heart through the fight on the
field of Ascalon! What tales could they not tell, those old standards,
cut and shivered by spear and lance! What brave hands have carried them
through the storm of battle, what dying eyes have looked upwards to the
cross on their folds, as the last prayer was breathed for the rescue of
the Holy Sepulchre!
I must now close the catalogue. This morning we shall look upon Vienna
for the last time. Our knapsacks are repacked, and the passports
(precious documents!) visèd for Munich. The getting of this visè,
however, caused a comical scene at the Police Office, yesterday. We
entered the Inspector's Hall and took our stand quietly among the crowd
of persons who were gathered around a railing which separated them from
the main office. One of the clerks came up, scowling at us, and asked in
a rough tone, "What do you want here?" We handed him our tickets of
sojourn (for when a traveler spends more than twenty-four hours in a
German city, he must take out a permission and pay for it) with the
request that he would give us our passports. He glanced over the
tickets, came back and with constrained politeness asked us to step
within the railing. Here we were introduced to the Chief Inspector.
"Desire Herr---- to come here," said he to a servant; then turning to
us, "I am happy to see the gentlemen in Vienna." An officer immediately
came up, who addressed us in fluent English. "You may speak in your
native tongue," said the Inspector:--"excuse our neglect; from the
facility with which you speak German, we supposed you were natives of
Austria!" Our passports were signed at once and given us with a gracious
bow, accompanied by the hope that we would visit Vienna again before
long. All this, of course, was perfectly unintelligible to the wondering
crowd outside the railing. Seeing however, the honors we were receiving,
they crowded back and respectfully made room for us to pass out. I kept
a grave face till we reached the bottom of the stairs, when I gave way
to restrained laughter in a manner that shocked the dignity of the
guard, who looked savagely at me over his forest of moustache. I would
nevertheless have felt grateful for the attention we received as
Americans, were it not for our uncourteous reception as suspected
Austrians.
We have just been exercising the risible muscles again, though from a
very different cause, and one which, according to common custom, ought
to draw forth symptoms of a lachrymose nature. This morning B----
suggested an examination of our funds, for we had neglected keeping a
strict account, and what with being cheated in Bohemia and tempted by
the amusements of Vienna, there was an apparent dwindling away. So we
emptied our pockets and purses, counted up the contents, and found we
had just ten florins, or four dollars apiece. The thought of our
situation, away in the heart of Austria, five hundred miles from our
Frankfort home, seems irresistibly laughable. By allowing twenty days
for the journey, we shall have half a florin a day, to travel on. This
is a homoeopathic allowance, indeed, but we have concluded to try it. So
now adieu, Vienna! In two hours we shall be among the hills again.