ON

IMPRESSIONS OF LIFE IN VIENNA.

Na former occasion, we endeavored to record briefly a few impressions of Vienna, and naturally attempted, in the first place, a brief description of some of the most striking ecclesiastical buildings, though in so very limited a space not a tithe of the vast religious wealth of this enchanting city could be given. One of the temporal advantages of our faith is that we find ourselves at home, and derive profit and instruction from that which, to those outside the pale, is a closed book, or, at best, devoid of meaning. And in Vienna the Catholic will, in a peculiar manner, find himself on his own ground, for she is the capital of the only remaining country where the Church retains a large share of her ancient supremacy and dignity; while, it may be added, nowhere will the Catholic traveller meet with a heartier welcome and readier assistance from her clergy. To the antiquarian the city of Vienna is full of boundless interest. To the student of art, whether music or painting, the magnificent opera house, concerts, vocal and orchestral, and the treasures of the collections of all kinds will furnish an inexhaustible source of occupation and pleasure. The galleries of painting and sculpture, one might well say, are all public, for even those which are nominally private are open to all comers, through the munificence of the princely owners, and the tourist is free to wander at will through the stately halls of the Czerwins, the Liechtensteins, the Harrachs and the Schönborns. Lastly, we would add, to the mere flaneur there is no city in the world that offers greater attractions.

We believe that, to the gentle influence of the Church in Austria, where, save during the reign of Joseph II., she has always been undisturbed in her rights, are due the charming manners of the people,-a geniality reminding one much of Ireland, a cordiality that at once puts strangers at their ease, and which is as different from the boorishness of the Prussian as light from darkness. The word, gemüthlich the shibboleth of the Viennese, is difficult to translate satisfactorily, but the sense of the adjective is soon realized. Teutonia is essentially the land of ceremony, but in Prussia, with all its many forms, there is no courtesy,-one meets only with etiquette. In Austria only is found the true politeness which is, after all, no more than respect for the feelings of one's neighbors. To-day entry into Vienna is free. No papers or passports are demanded, and the mysteries of one's luggage are respected by VOL. XIII.-46

the politest of douaniers. A greater contrast to the system of thirty years ago could not well be imagined. Then Vienna was said to be as hard to enter as Heaven. Often enough an offer of the personal responsibility of some well-known citizen did not save the traveller from espionage, and his correspondence from systematic overhauling in case of suspicion. He might console himself as well as he could with the thought that the ambassador's letter-boy received the same polite attention. There is a story told of a certain English envoy at the Court of Austria, in the time of Metternich, who, smarting under the constant tampering with his letters, ordered, one day, an alteration in the seals, but of so slight a character as to escape the lynx-eyed postal spies, who continued to open and close the letters with a seal of the old pattern. Proof positive was thus obtained of the treachery. Shortly afterwards the diplomatists met in a drawing-room, and the envoy took the opportunity to say in the most friendly manner possible: " By the way, Prince, would you kindly let your employees know that we have for some time been using a different seal?" Les maladroits! exclaimed Metternich, for once off his guard. He shortly departed, and doubtless les maladroits had subsequently a very uncomfortable interview with their master.

Now the Viennese postal arrangements are equal to those of London. The letter-boxes, painted bright yellow, and bearing the double-headed eagle, are cleared a dozen times daily, and there is, in addition, an excellent pneumatic tube post for the rapid conveyance of messages in the old town.

But, though English-speaking travellers are free to come and go. without passports or other documents, no prudent tourist will enter Austria, or, indeed, any other European country except Belgium, without a passport of recent date, or at least some positive evidence of identity. Over and over again it has happened to some luckless wight, ignorant of the language of the country, to be pounced upon by the police in mistake for some malefactor, and in the absence of documentary evidence, to be detained for hours, or even days. The police of Vienna inherit the Metternich traditions. They are smiling and courteous like the rest of the world, but one feels they have no uneasiness, for they know all about everybody. The ordinary policeman's uniform is smart and tasty: a short, dark, patrol jacket, gray trousers, and a black, peaked cap, with a red band. He is armed with a sabre, and wears on the breast his badge on a metal plate hung round the neck by a steel chain. They are a good-looking body of men, with quite a dapper, light-cavalry appearance, in marked contrast to the police of northern Teutonic latitudes, where the system-the "fortiter in modo" as well as "in re"-is reflected in the uniform

of cumbrous helmet and long, military frock-coats. As a rule, too, the types of face seen under the Pickelhaube are very unpleasant, nor will an attempt to cultivate the acquaintance of the Owner receive anything but a rebuff. In Frankfort-on-the-Main, we believe, above all other places, the insolent brutality of the police has passed into a proverb, and many are the angry tales we have heard of their interferences and aggression. In Vienna, as elsewhere, the work of the police is commonly facilitated by the system of notifying at once all arrivals and departures. On reaching his abode, the traveller has put before him a little blue paper called the Meld Zettel or notice-ticket. Thereon he is invited to inscribe his name and surname, his profession and his place of birth, as well as his habitual dwelling. He must state his age and religion, also whether he be single, married, or a widower. If married, the names and ages of his wife and children must be given. The day of his departure must be notified by his landlord, or his representative, who must also furnish the address to which he is bound. In case these minute inquiries should fail to impress, a note is appended, wherein it is set forth that neglect to forward the report within twenty-four hours will be punished by arrest or a fine, while the penalty for a false declaration will be imprisonment from three days to a month. Thus the traveller is gently kept in hand, and, without his suspicions being excited, may be watched from one end of the empire to the other.

But the first business on arrival is to decide on a place of abode, and to a complete stranger this is rather bewildering. The hotels are very numerous, and of every shade of quality, from the colossal" Imperial" and "Grand," on the Kärnthner Ring, down to the modest" garni" where a traveller, with some knowledge of German, may have excellent sleeping accommodation for a sum so small as to seem ridiculous. In the modern hotels prices rule very high, and they are not much less in the " Erzherzog Karl” and "Goldener Lamm," both old-fashioned houses of high repute, and situated, the former in the Kärnthner Strasse, and the latter across the Danube canal on the road to the Prater. A traveller who does not mind noise, and who cares to see a thoroughly cheerful hotel of the old style, might do worse than try the "König von Ungarn," or the "Ungarische Krone," the latter in a street of celestial title, the "Himmelpforte Garse." Both are hard by the Cathedral, and are considerably frequented by Magyars.

In most hotels the rooms are large, and the furniture is handsome, but carpets are few and far between, while the washing accommodation is often Lilliputian,

For families, private apartments, which may be readily obtained, with or without board, are decidedly preferable, if for quiet only.

For what with the furious driving through the narrow streets, and what one may call the "domestic" noises of the hotels where people seem never to go to bed, and converse all night in stentorian tones, sleep is obtainable only by those having good nerves. One point, at any rate, is worth remembering. In the Austrian hotels there is always a large room on the ground floor called the "Gast-Zimmer," where refreshments are served in a somewhat rough style, and at very moderate prices to suit the poorer class; in fact, it, to some extent, resembles the " Tap" of English hotels. This resort is open nearly all night, and the unfortunate tourist, to whom has been assigned a room immediately over it, will find sleep impossible. It is, therefore, a good rule never to accept a room on the entresol, no matter how attractive, without ascertaining that it is not too near the "Gast-Zimmer." Hotel life in Vienna is expensive, and exorbitantly so for those who would, in ordinary English fashion, take their meals in the house. Except in the large modern hotels, which mostly date from about the period of the '73 Exhibition, there is no table d'hôte; but all have restaurants which are open to all comers, and where the traveller may dine at a fixed price, or may lose himself in the intricacies of a Viennese Carte du jour, which is often harder to read than to understand.

In the hotel-restaurant everything is paid for on the spot, to the great simplification of the hotel bill, which merely consists of the charge for bedroom and attendance. Hence, there is no consciencestricken stealing past the office-window, at which reproachful faces are visible, but the traveller passes out to his dinner in peace, receiving on the way an appropriate benediction from the porter, together with the title of nobility. Under ordinary circumstances every meal, even breakfast, is taken at a café, and thus at least half the expense is saved. There are some little peculiarities in the way of living, which the visitor will do well to note, and do at Vienna as Vienna does. As a rule breakfast is taken early, and is always a light meal, consisting only of coffee and rolls, butter being conspicuous by its absence unless specially called for. This may seem little enough. But the coffee is so deliciously fragrant, and the rolls are such toothsome morsels, such masterpieces of the pictorial art, of all shapes and flavors, each more delicious than the other, that it would be nothing short of sacrilege to defile them with dubious butter. Bread in Austria is excellent; but in Vienna it reaches a pitch of perfection unknown elsewhere, even in Spain. The coffee is usually served in a large tumbler, well mixed with milk and with a spoonful of cream frothed on the surface. This is called mélange-coffee with less milk is called capusiner and its name suggests its color. Cream is in Vienna called obers

and shlag-obers or whipped cream is a favorite dainty. The excellence of the Vienna coffee is not surprising, for in that city the fragrant berry was first introduced to Christendom. In 1683, when Vienna was besieged by the Turks under Kara Mustapha, whose skull is seen in the museum of the arsenal, a young Pole, by name George Kulczycki, volunteered to enter the enemies' lines as a spy. Thanks to his thorough knowledge of the Turkish language and his disguise as a dervish, he accomplished his mission, returning with information which enabled the combined attack in front and rear of the Turks to be concerted and secured so signal a triumph for the Christian arms. As a reward for his courage, Kulczycki was presented by the municipality with a house in the Leopoldstadt and at his request the innumerable sacks of coffee berries abandoned by the Turks, in their flight, were handed over to him. Thus he founded the first café, to which he gave the name of the "Blaue flasche" (the Blue-bottle), and this by degrees became the resort of all that was brilliant and witty in Vienna. Here the popular singer "Augustin," the "du licter Augustin" of the immortal popular tune, gave forth his most satirical verses. With the death of Kulczycki ended the monopoly he had secured. Vienna was seized with a perfect mania for everything Turkish. Cafés opened in all directions, and have ever since retained their popularity. Not only are the refreshments offered therein excellent, but the service is a model to the rest of the world. The Viennese waiter

is the prince of servants and a past-master in his art. He is sought for far and wide for his activity, good temper and courtesy. The instant a visitor enters a café, the waiter at a glance divines his nationality, and, with a kindly hospitality that has nothing obsequious about it, hastens to bring him, if he be alone, such newspapers as will be likely to please him, for the Vienna cafés are provided with a profusion of newspapers of all nations.

The hour of dinner-for we may as well exhaust the all-important food question-varies, but is almost always from 1 to 3. It is hard to find good cooking. The cuisine is essentially international, like the people. The most refined restaurants are those of the best hotels, while Sacher opposite the Grand Opera may be considered the Brebant of Vienna, and there are many others of high rank, such as those of the Breyings. But after all, the typical Viennese restaurants are the large beer cellars, of which the great establishment of Dreher, the renowned brewer, is one of the most remarkable. Here, at the hour of the midday meal, the noise and bustle, the incessant coming and going of all sorts and conditions of men, are not a little bewildering, nor is the constant passage up and down of peripatetic vendors of all sorts of wares, from newspapers and pamphlets to statuary and paper collars, conducive to tran