THE PARK.
The first days of a smiling spring had filled the park with hundreds of
splendid equipages and prancing horsemen. There was the carriage of the
Princess Esterhazy, with twenty outriders in the livery of the prince;
that of the new Prince Palm, whose four black horses wore their harness
of pure gold; there was the gilded fairy, like vis-a-vis of the
beautiful Countess Thun, its panels decorated with paintings from the
hands of one of the first artists of the day; the coach of the Countess
Dietrichstein, drawn by four milk-white horses, whose delicate pasterns
were encircled by jewelled bracelets worthy of glittering upon the arm
of a beauty. In short, the aristocracy of Austria, Hungary, and Lombardy
were there, in all the splendor of their wealth and rank. It seemed as
though Spring were holding a levee, and the nobles of the empire had
thronged her flowery courts.
Not only they, but the people, too, had come to greet young Spring. They
crowded the footpaths, eager to scent the balmy air, to refresh their
eyes with the sight of the velvet turf, and to enjoy the pageant
presented to their wondering eyes by the magnificent turn-outs of the
aristocracy. Thousands and thousands filled the alleys and outlets of
the park, all directing their steps toward the centre, for there the
emperor and his court were to be seen. There the people might gaze, in
close proximity, at the dainty beauties, whom they knew as the denizens
of another earthly sphere; there they might elbow greatness, and there,
above all, they might feast their eyes upon the emperor, who, simply
dressed, rode to and fro, stopping his horse to chat, as often with a
peasant as with a peer.
The emperor dismounted, and this was the signal for all other cavaliers
to dismount and accompany him. The ladies also were compelled to rise
from their velvet cushions and to tread the ground with their
silken-slippered feet. Their equipages were crowded together on one side
of the square, and around them the horses, now held by their liveried
jockeys, were champing their bits and pawing the ground with restless
hoofs.
The crowd was so dense, that the patrician and plebeian stood side by
side. The people, in their innocent enjoyment of the scene, broke
several times through the ranks of titled promenaders, who, vainly
hoping to find some spot unprofaned by the vicinity of the vulgar herd,
were moving toward the centre of the garden.
The emperor saw the lowering brows of his courtiers, and knew that their
angry glances were directed toward the people.
"What is the matter with you, my lords?" asked he. "You are the picture
of discontent. Pray, Count Furstenberg, speak for the court. What has
happened to discompose your equanimity?"
"I do not know, your majesty," stammered the count.
"And yet you frown terribly," laughed Joseph. "Come--no concealment.
What has vexed you all?"
"Your majesty commands?"
"I do."
"If so, sire, we are annoyed by the vulgar curiosity of the populace,
who gape in our faces as if we were South Sea Islanders or specimens of
fossil life."
"True, the curiosity of the Viennese is somewhat troublesome," replied
the emperor, smiling: "but let us call this eagerness to be with us,
love, and then it will cease to be irksome."
"Pardon me, your majesty, if I venture to say that under any aspect it
would be most irksome to us. If your majesty will excuse my freedom, I
think that in opening all the gardens to the people, you have made too
great a concession to their convenience."
"You really think so?"
"Yes, sire, and I beg you to hear the request I have to prefer."
"Speak on, count."
"Then, your majesty; in the name of every nobleman in Vienna, and, above
all, in the name of our noble ladies. I beseech of you grant us the
exclusive privilege of ONE garden, where we may meet, unmolested by the
rabble. Give us the use of the Prater, that we may have some spot in
Vienna where we can breathe the fresh air in the company of our equals
alone."
The emperor had listened with a supercilious smile. "You desire to see
none but your equals, say you? If I were to indulge in a similar whim, I
should have to seek companionship in the crypts of the Capuchins.
[Footnote: The emperor's own words. Ramshorn's "Life of Joseph II."] But
for my part I hold all men as my equals, and my noble subjects will be
obliged to follow my example. I shall certainly not close any of the
gardens against the people, for I esteem and love them." [Footnote: When
the emperor opened the park to the people, he caused the following
inscription to be placed over the principal entrance: "Dedicated to all
men, by one who esteems them."]
The emperor, as he concluded, bowed and turned to greet the Countess
Pergen.
"Welcome, countess, to Vienna," said he, bowing. "You have been away for
some time. May I inquire how you are?"
"Tres-bien, volre majeste," replied the countess, with a profound
courtesy.
The emperor frowned. "Why do you not speak German?" said he, curtly. "We
are certainly in Germany. "
And without saying another word to the discomfited lady, he turned his
back upon her. Suddenly his face brightened, and he pressed eagerly
through the crowd, toward a pale young man, who met his smiling gaze
with one of reciprocal friendliness.
Joseph extended his hand, and his courtiers saw with surprise that this
person, whose brown coat was without a single order, instead of raising
the emperor's hand to his lips, as was customary at court, shook it as
if they had been equals.
"See," cried Joseph, "here is our young maestro, Mozart. Did you come to
the park to-day to teach the nightingales to sing?"
"Heaven forbid, your majesty; rather would I learn from the tuneful
songsters whom God has taught. Perhaps some of these days I may try to
imitate their notes myself."
The emperor laid his hand upon Mozart's shoulder and looked with
enthusiasm into his pale, inspired countenance. "Mozart has no need to
learn from the nightingale," said he, "for God has filled his heart with
melody, and he has only to transfer it to paper to ravish the world with
its strains. Now for your 'Abduction from the Auge Gottes'--nay, do not
blush; I am a child of Vienna, and must have my jest with the Viennese.
Tell me--which gave you most trouble, that or your opera 'Die Entfuhrung
aus dem Serail?'" [Footnote: On the day of the representation of the
opera "Die Entfuhrung aus dem Serail," in Vienna, Mozart ran away with
his Constance. He conducted her to the house of a common friend, where
they were married. This same friend brought about a reconciliation with
the mother of Constance. The house in which the widow and her daughter
lived was called "Das Auge Gottes," and the Viennese, who knew the
history of Mozart's marriage, had called it "Die Entfuhrung aus dem Auge
Gottes."--Lissen's "Life of Mozart."]
"Truly," replied Mozart, still somewhat embarrassed, "the abduction from
the Auge Gottes, sire. I had to sigh and sue until I was nigh unto
despair before I was successful."
"But you concluded both works on the same day."
"Yes, sire. First, that which lay in my head, and then that which was
nearest my heart."
"I congratulate you upon the success of both. 'Die Entfuhrung aus dem
Serail' is a charming opera. Charming, but it contains too many notes."
"Only as many as were necessary, sire," said Mozart, looking full in the
emperor's face.
Joseph smiled. "Perhaps so, for you must be a better judge of the
necessity than I. For that very reason," added he, lowering his voice to
a whisper, "I have sent you my sonata for revision. Like all
inexperienced composers, I am anxious to know my fate. Tell me, what do
you think of my sonata, Herr Kapellmeister?"
Mozart was silent, while the emperor waited anxiously for his reply.
"Why do you not speak?" said he, impatiently. "Tell me, what do you
think of my sonata?"
"The sonata, sire, is--good," returned Mozart, with some hesitation;
"but he who composed it," added he, smiling, "is much better. Your
majesty must not take it ill if you find some of your passages stricken
out."
The emperor laughed. "Ah!--too many notes, as I just now remarked of
your opera--only that from your judgment there can be no appeal.
Well--give us a new opera, and let it be comic. Music should rejoice,
not grieve us. Addio." [Footnote: This interview is strictly
historical.--Lissen's "Life of Mozart."]
He then returned to the group which he had left, none of whom seemed to
have been much comforted by the familiarity of the emperor with a poor
little kapellmeister.
"My hour of recreation is over," said Joseph, "but as you know that I am
no lover of etiquette, let no one retire on my account. I know where to
find my equerry, and prefer to find him alone." With these words he
turned away.
Suddenly he was seen to stop and frown visibly. With a quick motion of
the hand he signed to Count Podstadsky-Liechtenstein to approach.
As Podstadsky was about to make a profound inclination, the emperor
interrupted him roughly. "No ceremony--we have no time to be
complimentary. What are you doing in Vienna?"
The count saw that his sovereign was angry. "Sire," replied he, "I spend
my time just as it happens--"
"That is, you ride, walk, gamble, and carouse, when you are doing
nothing worse. I thought you had left Vienna. You had better go upon
your estates and attend to the welfare of your vassals. Idleness is the
parent of crime, and I fear that if you remain another day in Vienna,
you will bring disgrace upon your father's name. Go at once." [Footnote:
The emperor's own words to Podstadsky.--"Anecdotes, etc., of the
Emperor Joseph II."]
Count Podstadsky looked in wonder after the emperor. "Is this accident
or design? Does he suspect something, or is he only trying to induce me
to work, as he does every nobleman? Ah, bah!--I must see Arabella, and
hear what she thinks of it!"