It would be like enumeration by catalogue to give the list of pictures that we have pencilled notes of admiration against; but only think of seeing elegant pictures from the pencils of Paul Veronese, Titian, Raphael, Guido, Correggio, Murillo, Rembrandt, Cuyp, Poussin, Vandyke, Rubens, Teniers, Albert Dürer, Van Eyck, Andrea del Sarto, Gerard Dow, and Schneyders! Why, after going through this gallery, having seen that at Munich, it seemed as if we had seen the originals of half of all the engravings and copies of great works that we have ever looked upon; and as in other galleries, we found the longest time we could possibly give to it allowed us only a glance, comparatively speaking, at its treasures.
There was Titian's Ecce Homo, a masterpiece of artistic skill that one wanted hours to study; the Entombment, and his beautiful figure of Danaë; Correggio's elegant picture of Christ and the Woman of Samaria; Guido's Holy Family—a room entirely filled with the works of that industrious artist, Rubens, among which was his Assumption of the Virgin, Loyola casting out Evil Spirits, and Xavier healing the Sick. Teniers also had a room, among which his Peasants' Marriage, and Village Fête, were conspicuous; Albert Dürer's Martyrdom of Ten Thousand Christians—a wonderful work, in which every form of torture and death seemed to have been represented; a student for the torture chamber of the Holy Inquisition might have obtained new ideas by studying it; Dürer's magnificent picture of the Holy Trinity, surrounded by a crowd of saints, cherubs, and angels—a representation in which perfect finish in all the details of features and heavenly beauty was marvellously executed; Paul Veronese's Holy Family, and two splendid battle-pieces by Salvator Rosa.
In the modern gallery there were also many wonderfully beautiful works of art—a fearfully real picture of the Massacre of the Innocents, by Charles Arrienti; a wonderfully funny one of Mischief-Makers in an Artist's Studio, by Joseph Danhauser—a picture that will make one laugh aloud; a fine picture, of the Adieu of a soldier of the Austrian Landwehr to his wife and children—figures all of life-size, painted by Pierre Krafft; a sortie of a garrison against Turkish assailants—a great painting crowded with figures in the most spirited action, and all beautifully finished by the same artist.; Shnorr's Mephistophiles appearing to Faust—an elegant and effective composition; Grand Canal of Venice, by Schoefft—a lovely scene. And so it continued—great battle-pieces with life-like warriors, with weapons and mail strikingly like reality; lovely landscapes that filled one with admiration to gaze upon; religious subjects, on which the loftiest art and the sublimest conceptions were exhausted; wonderful trickery of art in some compositions; quiet beauty in others, that drew the beholder, again and again, back to gaze upon them, till, with aching limbs and fatigued vertebræ, we closed our first visit to this glorious collection, with the thought of how discouraging is the effort to attempt, in a day or two, that over which weeks, and even months, might be used with pleasure and intellectual profit.
Tourists, who are always buying something in every European capital they visit, find the beautiful fancy goods shops and Vienna goods potent attractions. It is in this city that all the beautiful leather-work, known as Russia leather, is manufactured, its deep-red stain and peculiar perfume as fascinating as the many-colored hues and glossy surface of fresh kid gloves, or the fragrance of the leaves of a new volume, to the purchaser. Travelling satchels of this material, which at home are an extravagant luxury, are here obtainable at less than half the American price. Then the leather is wrought in a hundred fanciful ways: it appears in trunks; portfolios soft, elegant, and portable; pocket-books smooth and elastic; work-boxes, hat-boxes, covered smelling-bottles, flasks, and canes; in watch-chains or portable inkstands, whip-stocks, boots and shoes, elegantly mounted horse harnesses; and, in fact, in about every way it can be used to court the eye and be of service.
The meerschaum pipe stores of Vienna must make a smoker half crazy with delight; and indeed, to those who do not use the weed, their windows are among the most attractive upon the great streets, from the ingenuity and skill displayed in the innumerable forms into which pipe bowls are carved. The most artistic skill and elaborate workmanship appear to have been expended upon these pipes, and the great pipe stores vie with each other in displaying in their windows specimens of delicate carvings and curious designs, beautiful amber mouth-pieces, tobacco-boxes, pouches, and the smoker's paraphernalia. An American rarely leaves Vienna without some of its meerschaums in his baggage. Gentlemen's clothing, excellently made to order, can be bought here at astonishingly low prices, and the ladies find fans, fancy goods, and laces to be not so dear as in Paris.
The prices at the leading hotels are rather high, but the cuisine is unexceptionable, and Vienna bread the best in the world. Once eaten, the traveller will establish it as his standard of excellence. It is snowy white, without flake, fine-grained, has a light, brown, crisp crust, no particle of flavor of yeast, gas, or acidity, but a fragrance of purity and sweetness, and the dyspeptic may devour the delicious, round breakfast rolls, almost in any quantity, with impunity. Most Americans are astonished to find what a luxurious repast can be made from mere bread and butter in Vienna.
Vienna appears more like London and Paris than other European capitals. Its brilliant cafés, shops, and the elegant new Boulevards, recently completed, give it quite the air of Paris; and so also do the numerous amusements, out-of-door concerts, and musical entertainments, together with the general pleasure-seeking character of the people. Among the fine promenades just out of the city is one known as the Prater, near the River Danube, a favorite resort of fashion and aristocracy, where we saw a brilliant display of elegant carriages and gayly-dressed occupants; equestrians, out to display their elegant horses, and their own horsemanship; Austrian officers, in their rich uniforms, and pedestrians, out for an afternoon lounge and enjoyment of the gay scene.
We stopped en route to Venice, by rail, at Adelsberg, about fifty miles from Trieste, and which we were told by certain Americans to be sure and visit, as its grotto, the Cave of Adelsberg, was one of the wonders of Europe; and, for once, we found the assertion to be correct, for, after a visit to it, we classed in our mind as among the wonders we had seen, thus: the Alps, Milan Cathedral, and the Grotto of Adelsberg.
It is an odd experience to arrive in a foreign country at a railroad station at nine o'clock at night, and yourself and companion the only persons who leave the train, finding, on looking about you, after it has whizzed away into the darkness, that the five or six officials in attendance cannot understand a word of English, and that their language is equally unintelligible to you. However, travel sharpens one's wits, and by sign language, and the pronouncing of the name of the hotel mentioned in our guide-book, "Ungarish Krone," we managed to make the somewhat stolid officials understand that we wished to go to that place. But now a new difficulty seemed to arise, and an animated palaver took place, with the accompaniment of various shrugs, gesticulations, and contortions of visage, which really seemed to portend something serious, but which turned out to be that, as we had arrived on a train that very seldom set down any passengers there, there was no means of conveyance to the hotel, and we must walk.
A guide, with a hand wagon bearing our luggage, accordingly started, and we trudged after him in the darkness. No, not darkness; for during our detention the moon had risen, and our journey to the old-fashioned, quaint-looking village, and through the court-yard of the Hungarian Crown Hotel, was less disagreeable than it might have been. Arrived at the hotel, a new difficulty arose. The landlord spoke only Italian and a patois of German, which was Dutch to us, and was vexed at being disturbed from a grand exhibition, which was in progress in his dining-room, of feats of jugglery, and elocutionary exercises by two itinerant performers.