In Vienna there was a great distinction drawn between a "Court Ball" (Hof-Ball) and a "Ball at the Court" (Ball bei Hof). To the former everyone on the Palace list was invited, to the latter only a few people; and the one was just as crowded and disagreeable as the other was the reverse. The great rambling pile of the Hof-Burg contains some very fine rooms and a marvellous collection of works of art, and the so-called "Ceremonial Apartments" are of quite Imperial magnificence, but the general effect was far less striking than in Berlin.
In spite of the beauty of the women, the coup d'oeil was spoilt by the ugly Austrian uniforms. After the disastrous campaign of 1866, the traditional white of the Austrian Army was abolished, and the uniforms were shorn of all unnecessary trappings. The military tailors had evolved hideous garments, ugly in colour, unbecoming in cut. One can only trust that they proved very economical, but the contrast with the splendid and admirably made uniforms of the Prussian Army was very marked. The Hungarian magnates in their traditional family costumes (from which all Hussar uniforms are derived) added a note of gorgeous colour, with their gold-laced tunics and their many-hued velvet slung-jackets. I remember, on the occasion of Queen Victoria's Jubilee in 1887, the astonishment caused by a youthful and exceedingly good-looking Hungarian who appeared at Buckingham Palace in skin-tight blue breeches lavishly embroidered with gold over the thighs, entirely gilt Hessian boots to the knee, and a tight-fitting tunic cut out of a real tiger-skin, fastened with some two dozen turquoise buttons the size of five-shilling pieces. When this resplendent youth reappeared in London ten years later at the Diamond Jubilee, it was with a tonsured head, and he was wearing the violet robes of a prelate of the Roman Church.
As an instance of the inflexibility of the cast-iron rules of the Hapsburg Court: I may mention that the beautiful Countess Karolyi, Austrian Ambassadress in Berlin, was never asked to Court in Vienna, as she lacked the necessary "sixteen quarterings." To a non-Austrian mind it seems illogical that the lovely lady representing Austria in Berlin should have been thought unfitted for an invitation from her own Sovereign.
The immense deference paid to the Austrian Archdukes and Archduchesses was very striking after the comparatively unceremonious fashion in which minor German royalties (always excepting the Emperor and the Crown Prince) were treated in Berlin. The Archduchesses especially were very tenacious of their privileges. They never could forget that they were Hapsburgs, and exacted all the traditional signs of respect.
The unfortunate Empress Elisabeth, destined years after to fall under the dagger of an assassin at Geneva, made but seldom a public appearance in her husband's dominions. She had an almost morbid horror of fulfilling any of the duties of her position. During my stay in the Austrian capital I only caught one glimpse of her, driving through the streets. She was astonishingly handsome, with coiled masses of dark hair, and a very youthful and graceful figure, but the face was so impassive that it produced the effect of a beautiful, listless mask. The Empress was a superb horse-woman, and every single time she rode she was literally sewn into her habit by a tailor, in order to ensure a perfect fit.
The innumerable cafés of Vienna were crowded from morning to night. Seeing them crammed with men in the forenoon, one naturally wondered how the business of the city was transacted. Probably, in typical Austrian fashion, these worthy Viennese left their businesses to take care of themselves whilst they enjoyed themselves in the cafés. The super-excellence of the Vienna coffee would afford a more or less legitimate excuse for this. Nowhere in the world is such coffee made, and a "Capuziner," or a "Melange," the latter with thick whipped cream on the top of it, were indeed things of joy.
Few capitals are more fortunate in their environs than Vienna. The beautiful gardens and park of Schönbrunn Palace have a sort of intimate charm which is wholly lacking at Versailles. They are stately, yet do not overwhelm you with a sense of vast spaces. They are crowned by a sort of temple, known as the Gloriette, from which a splendid view is obtained.
In less than three hours from the capital, the railway climbs 3,000 feet to the Semmering, where the mountain scenery is really grand. During the summer months the whole of Vienna empties itself on to the Semmering and the innumerable other hill-resorts within easy distance from the city.
When the time came for my departure, I felt genuinely sorry at leaving this merry, careless, music and laughter-loving town, and these genial, friendly, hospitable incompetents. I feel some compunction in using this word, as people had been very good to me. I cannot help feeling, though, that it is amply warranted. A bracing climate is doubtless wholesome; but a relaxing one can be very pleasant for a time. I went back to Berlin feeling like a boy returning to school after his holidays.