We have driven round the dull old town, seen the house where Mozart was born, and his statue by Schwanthaler in one of the squares, and bought elegantly-painted china covers for the tops of beer mugs—drinkers at the bier halles having their special mugs, and recognizing them by the design upon the cover. Some of the beer flagons and tankards exposed for sale here were very beautiful and elaborate, and got up with much artistic taste.
One of the most delightful rides we ever took was over the romantic road from Salzburg out to the Chateau of Hellbrunn, for the whole distance of nearly three miles was one continuous arch of splendid elms, shading the broad, smooth, level road. The view of the town, and the old castle in the centre, with the background of grand Alpine walls, which we had constantly before us, and from many different points of observation, was very picturesque and beautiful.
The gardens of the chateau are celebrated for containing the most wonderful and curious of water-works. The grounds are beautifully laid out, and at every turn we met new surprises. There was, of course, every variety of ordinary fountain, dolphins and nymphs spouting, &c., and besides these many curious contrivances for the fluid. There were two beautiful pictures painted on copper, before which was apparently a sheet of glass; but it was only a broad, thin, falling, transparent, aqueous curtain. A beautiful bouquet of flowers was enclosed in a complete hemisphere of falling water, as pure and unbroken as a glass globe, with scarcely a perceptible motion in its swift current. Two turtles, directly opposite each other, five feet apart, seemed to hold a glass cord, the size of a man's finger between them, in their mouths. Touching the transparent cord with a cane, we interrupted a swift stream, and the liquid spattered in every direction. The cane was withdrawn, the stream immediately reunited, and the turtles again held their apparently motionless crystal cord as before. We came to automaton old men grinding their scythes at a grindstone, millers at work at their mill, all running by water power; entered a wondrous grotto, where Neptune in his car drawn by sea-horses swam around, the horses and dolphins spouting liquid streams from their mouths, and birds piping their liquid notes from the wall, all moved by water power.
In another beautiful grotto a whirling fountain lifted a handsome golden crown eight feet into the air, and kept it suspended amid a shower of sparkling drops. Taking a position at the rear of a dark cavern, and looking out towards the little arched entrance, the water was let on in fine mist, and the arched doorway was as rich as the gates of Paradise in wreathed rainbows. Two huge stags guarded another cavern, streams issuing from their mouths and every point of their huge antlers. Hunters were on galloping steeds, and blew torrents from their horns, or were enveloped in the floods that spouted from their spear-heads. Luxurious seats invited the tired pedestrian to repose, when, on seating himself, he was ringed in with a circle of miniature water-spouts, rendering dry egress apparently impossible. Finally we came to a place where two huge doors were thrown open, displaying a space about twelve feet high and eight or ten wide, in which was the complete representation in miniature of the square in a city.
There were cathedral, palace, dwelling-house, and artisans' shops, all faithfully represented; and in the streets, the shops and the houses which were open to view, were over one hundred automaton figures of men, women, and children, all moved by water power, and giving life to the scene before you. There were masons hoisting stone and building a house, coopers and tinkers clattering away in their shops, butchers killing and cutting up, cobblers pegging away in their little stalls, wood-sawyers, blacksmiths beating with a regular clink-clank-clink upon their anvils, artisans in their shops; also all the usual street scenes of a city. Here was a man with a dancing bear, surrounded by a curious crowd; there a shrewish old woman shaking her head, gesticulating, and scolding at her tipsy husband; children playing in the street; ladies, looking from windows of houses, returned the courtly salutes of gallants who passed by in the streets with graceful bow or wave of the hand; loaded teams passed by; people went in and out of houses; Turks, priests, Jews, and courtiers passed along in the most natural manner, and finally came a whole regiment of soldiers, marching across the square; at last, the notes of the organ were heard in the cathedral, and into its broad portal filed priests and people, and the scene closed. The size of these automatons was from six to eight inches; they were very well executed; and the whole scene, with the cathedral, square, streets, and throng of moving figures, seemed a sort of realization of Gulliver's experiences in Lilliput. This place is the property of the king, and no fee is charged for viewing it and its many wonders; nevertheless, the custodian, who had so kindly and faithfully exhibited them to our party, was extremely gratified at the magnificent fee of thirty cents, and took leave of us with a profusion of bows and polite expressions.
Our visit to the old castle was also an interesting one. From its battlements we looked directly down upon the town, and, afar off, on a beautiful landscape of fields, winding river, and distant mountain. Within the walls we saw the grand apartments of the old bishops, and the remains of the torture chamber, fragments of the rack, and other hellish inventions of cruel ingenuity which they used to apply to their victims.
Following the advice of a friend, we telegraphed on in advance to the Hotel Archduke Charles, at Vienna, that we were coming, and to secure rooms. An eight hours' ride by rail brought us to the capital of the Austrian dominions, and I had scarce stepped from the railway carriage ere a well-dressed, gentlemanly-looking individual, in dress coat, dark pants and vest, gloves, spotless shirt-front, and immaculate neck-tie, called me by name, and in perfectly correct English inquired if the luggage of the party was upon the train, and was to be taken to the hotel. I looked at him inquiringly, and assented.
"I am attached to the hotel, sir, and have received your despatch (exhibiting it). If you will please to step into this carriage we have in waiting for you, after pointing out your trunks, I will follow you with them."
We were amazed, and began to wonder whether or not the fellow might not be a clever English impostor, who had obtained our telegraphic despatch with a view of getting our luggage into his hands, and running away with it. Our doubts were, however, soon settled by a young Prussian lady of the party, who conversed with him in his native tongue, and found that he was a sort of chief clerk, or managing man, for the proprietors of the hotel, and was equally at home in the German, French, or English languages. We therefore committed our impedimenta to his charge, were escorted by him to the carriage, when, as he helped us in, tumbled and travel-stained as we were, and passed in the travelling-pouches and shawls, and stood in his spotless linen and polished boots, raising his French hat, as if he had just stepped from a ball-room or the opera,—I could not help feeling a little awkward at presuming to permit so gentlemanly-appearing a personage to perform a menial act; but our reflections were cut short by his rapid directions to the driver in his own tongue. The coach-door was clapped to, and we were soon whirling through the brilliantly-lighted streets on our way to the hotel.
Vienna appears to be a city that is having immense additions made to it; in fact, to have recently taken a fresh start in new and spacious squares, wide streets, and new buildings. The different portions of it are known as the old and new cities. The new city streets are open, wide, and airy, with broad and handsome sidewalks; the streets of the old are narrow and crooked, with no sidewalk or curbstone. Our hotel—the Archduke Charles—is situated on a street scarcely wide enough for two vehicles to pass, and the noise (for it is always crowded) that comes up between the tall buildings is almost unbearable in warm weather, when open casements are a necessity. Talk of the crooked streets of Boston! Why, some of the corkscrew passages of the old city of Vienna will wind up an expert Bostonian into a most inexplicable tangle.