Probably my amateur German was as
puzzling to him. The PASSIERSCHEIN, which I produced, was
not in my favour; unfortunately I had forgotten my Foreign
Office passport. What further added to his suspicion was his
inability to comprehend why I had not availed myself of the
notice, duly given to all foreigners, to leave the city
before active hostilities began. How anyone, who had the
choice, could be fool enough to stay and be shelled or
bayoneted, was (from his point of view) no proof of
respectability. I assured him he was mistaken if he thought
I had a predilection for either of these alternatives.
'It was just because I desired to avoid both that I had
sought, not without risk, the protection I was so sure of
finding at the hands of a great and gallant soldier.'
'Dummes Zeug! dummes Zeug!' (stuff o' nonsense), he puffed.
But a peppery man's good humour is often as near the surface
as his bad. I detected a pleasant sparkle in his eye.
'Pardon me, Excellenz,' said I, 'my presence here is the best
proof of my sincerity.'
'That,' said he sharply, 'is what every rascal might plead
when caught with a rebel's pass in his pocket. Geleitsbriefe
fur Schurken sind Steckbriefe fur die Gerechtigkeit.' (Safe-
conduct passes for knaves are writs of capias to honest men.)
I answered: 'But an English gentleman is not a knave; and no
one knows the difference better than your Excellenz.' The
term 'Schurken' (knaves) had stirred my fire; and though I
made a deferential bow, I looked as indignant as I felt.
'Well, well,' he said pacifically, 'you may go about your
business. But SEHEN SIE, young man, take my advice, don't
satisfy your curiosity at the cost of a broken head. Dazu
gehoren Kerle die eigens geschaffen sind.' As much as to
say: 'Leave halters to those who are born to be hanged.'
Indeed, the old fellow looked as if he had enjoyed life too
well to appreciate parting with it gratuitously.
I had nothing with me save the clothes on my back. When I
should again have access to the 'Erzherzcg Carl' was
impossible to surmise. The only decent inn I knew of outside
the walls was the 'Golden Lamm,' on the suburb side of the
Donau Canal, close to the Ferdinand bridge which faces the
Rothen Thurm Thor. Here I entered, and found it occupied by
a company of Nassau JAGERS. A barricade was thrown up across
the street leading to the bridge. Behind it were two guns.
One end of the barricade abutted on the 'Golden Lamm.' With
the exception of the soldiers, the inn seemed to be deserted;
and I wanted both food and lodging. The upper floor was full
of JAGERS. The front windows over-looked the Bastei. These
were now blocked with mattresses, to protect the men from
bullets. The distance from the ramparts was not more than
150 yards, and woe to the student or the fat grocer, in his
National Guard uniform, who showed his head above the walls.
While I was in the attics a gun above the city gate fired at
the battery below. I ran down a few minutes later to see the
result. One artilleryman had been killed. He was already
laid under the gun-carriage, his head covered with a cloak.
The storming took place a day or two afterwards. One of the
principal points of resistance had been at the bottom of the
Jagerzeile. The insurgents had a battery of several guns
here; and the handsome houses at the corners facing the
Prater had been loop-holed and filled with students. I
walked round the town after all was over, and was especially
impressed with the horrors I witnessed. The beautiful
houses, with their gorgeous furniture, were a mass of smoking
ruins. Not a soul was to be seen, not even a prowling thief.
I picked my way into one or two of them without hindrance.
Here and there were a heap of bodies, some burnt to cinders,
some with their clothes still smouldering. The smell of the
roasted flesh was a disgusting association for a long time to
come. But the whole was sickening to look at, and still more
so, if possible, to reflect upon; for this was the price
which so often has been, so often will be, paid for the
alluring dream of liberty, and for the pursuit of that
mischievous will-o'-the-wisp - jealous Equality.
CHAPTER XIII
VIENNA in the early part of the last century was looked upon
as the gayest capital in Europe. Even the frightful
convulsion it had passed through only checked for a while its
chronic pursuit of pleasure. The cynical philosopher might
be tempted to contrast this not infrequent accessory of
paternal rule with the purity and contentment so fondly
expected from a democracy - or shall we say a demagoguey?
The cherished hopes of the so-called patriots had been
crushed; and many were the worse for the struggle. But the
majority naturally subsided into their customary vocations -
beer-drinking, pipe-smoking, music, dancing, and play-going.
The Vienna of 1848 was the Vienna described by Madame de
Stael in 1810: 'Dans ce pays, l'on traite les plaisirs comme
les devoirs. . . . Vous verrez des hommes et des femmes
executer gravement, l'un vis-a-vis de l'autre, les pas d'un
menuet dont ils sont impose l'amusement, . . . comme s'il
[the couple] dansait pour l'acquit de sa conscience.'
Every theatre and place of amusement was soon re-opened.
There was an excellent opera; Strauss - the original -
presided over weekly balls and concerts. For my part, being
extremely fond of music, I worked industriously at the
violin, also at German. My German master, Herr Mauthner by
name, was a little hump-backed Jew, who seemed to know every
man and woman (especially woman) worth knowing in Vienna.
